the butterfly,

“Brother!”

That one word. No blade, no magic, had ever cut deeper than that damn word.

As if woven by a spell, Dyrroth hesitated.

But Silvanna did not. Her holy spear pierced straight through the crystal on his chest.

A flood of memories surged. Laughter in a golden palace. A crown. A name he no longer recognized.

Whose memories are these? Mine…?

He tried to grasp them, but another voice rose louder. Alice, always by his side. Thamuz, hammering strength into his bones. The Abyss, calling him its Son.

…That past life meant nothing.

Snarling, Dyrroth wrapped his hand around the spear, blood burning against steel. With a cry that shook the night, he tore it from his chest. His body collapsed, plunging back into the shadows below.