In the beginning, there was light and darkness
one cursed to remember, the other cursed to forget.
This story took place long before humanity was plunged into an endless nightmare. Before the world drowned in darkness.
"Young master, you mustn't keep challenging your brother like this! You know you can't win!"
The servant's words echoed across the courtyard, almost lost beneath the crack of wooden blades. Two boys barely fourteen clashed again and again, their movements sharp and wild under the sun's dying light.
One fought with precision, every strike clean and efficient. The other, driven by fury, by the desperate need to prove something that no one else could see.
"The boy still tries?"
A deep voice came from the balcony overlooking the yard.
The servant froze. "G-Grandmaster!"
An old man stood above them, tall and severe, his eyes a dark void framed by silver hair.
"Yes," he said slowly. "It seems the lesser twin still hasn't accepted what he is."
Below, Percival lunged again. His body ached, sweat stung his eyes, but he kept moving.
His brother met the strike easily. Wood collided with wood then split apart. In one effortless motion, Percidiel disarmed him. The next blow struck his chest, sending him sprawling across the dirt.
"Argh—!"
Percival gasped, staring up at his twin. Percidiel's white hair shimmered in the light, his skin radiant, his eyes a pale glow of divine power.
He looked like their mother the goddess who had once walked between dreams.
"Another loss for you, Percival," his brother said. His tone wasn't cruel. It was worse. It was indifferent.
"Seriously? In front of Father?"
Percival's throat tightened. Tears burned behind his eyes.
"Don't tell me you're going to cry again," Percidiel said flatly.
Percival hated him.
They were born on the same day, raised in the same palace. But where one was light, the other was a shadow.
Percidiel had inherited their mother's divine blood white iridescent hair, glowing eyes, power that radiated even in silence.
Percival had inherited their father's darkness silky black hair, crimson eyes that burned faintly in the dark. His father, Lord Nyseron, the Nightmare God who ruled all five Nightmare Realms, had once been the most feared being in existence.
But his power had not passed to Percival. Not fully.
That was why they called him the lesser twin.
"Brother… why must you be so cruel when you beat me?" Percival asked, voice trembling.
Percidiel looked down, his face an emotionless mask. "Because you still believe Father will ever recognize you."
He turned away.
Their father, who had watched silently from the shadows of the balcony, scoffed and left without a word.
Percival stayed on the ground, jaw clenched, dust clinging to his skin as the sun disappeared behind the walls.
That night, the city of Salvaya burned bright under the moons. The capital of the Nightmare Realms, carved from black stone, alive with echoes of forgotten gods.
Percival walked alone through the streets, cloak drawn tight, his thoughts heavy. Every lantern flicker reminded him of the fight. Every reflection showed the face of someone who wasn't enough.
"Hey, boy. Come here."
The voice came from a dark corner.
An old man sat hunched over, a tin cup in his hand, his skin gray and thin like paper stretched too far.
"You got a few coins to spare for a dying man?"
Percival hesitated. The man's tone was strange hoarse, but layered with something sharp. Ancient.
"I'll tell you a secret," the old man said. "If you pay for it."
Curiosity flickered in Percival's crimson eyes. He tossed the man a few coins.
The beggar grinned, his teeth yellow and cracked. "Hehehe… thank you kindly."
Then, without warning, he lifted his shirt.
Percival's eyes widened. The right side of the man's body was gone. Flesh twisted into a crater of black rot, as if something had eaten him alive.
"I once hunted a Nightmare God," the man said. "A black dragon the God of Death himself."
Percival leaned forward, breath caught. "You fought a Nightmare God?"
"You damn right I did! Bastard nearly killed me." the man said, voice low and trembling with memory. "His name was Nyxstorm. The dragon that never stops growing. Each battle, win or lose, he evolves. He never loses twice. He is one of the ten Nightmare Gods closest to becoming a True Supreme Ruler."
Percival froze.
His father ruler of all nightmares had never reached that rank. Not even he had ascended to that level.
"True Supreme Ruler…" he murmured. "Even Father couldn't rise that high."
The beggar's eyes gleamed. "Kill the dragon that sleeps atop the Black Mountain. Bring me its Nightmare Core. I can forge you a weapon that will make your power grow without limit."
"You can do that?"
"Not now," the old man rasped. "You're still weak. But when you're ready come back to this place."
He grabbed Percival's arm. His hand was freezing cold. A feather appeared between his fingers black, metallic, and sharp as a blade. He pressed it to Percival's skin.
Blood welled up instantly. The old man smeared it across a parchment.
"A blood oath," he said. "When we meet again, your blood will remember me."
His eyes opened wide blue, endless, and wrong.
Then, in a blink he was gone.
Only the sound of the wind remained.
Years passed.
The memory faded. The training did not.
Percival fought. Killed. Conquered. His body hardened. His will sharpened. He became one of the strongest beings in the Nightmare Realms second only to his brother, the Ten Devils, and his father.
Yet the hollow inside him never filled.
When he sought his brother again, it was not in the Nightmare Realms but in the human world.
He found him standing under a human sky, hair silver-white under the morning sun, dressed not in divine robes but in simple clothes.
Inside the tiny home was a human girl preparing a meal for her family.
The realization hit Percvial like a storm.
Percival's wings unfurled in shock. "Brother! You know the law relationships between our kind and humans are forbidden!"
Percidiel didn't flinch. His expression was calm.
"I only wish to live here in peace. Maybe someday, you'll understand the beauty of their world."
"Beauty?" Percival spat. "You'd betray Father? Everything he built for this?"
"I don't care about Father's empire," Percidiel said quietly. "He doesn't want heirs. He wants vessels. When his body fails, he'll take one of ours."
"Bullshit!" Percival shouted. "He raised us to rule! You were supposed to be the chosen one!"
A small sound cut him off.
"Daddy?"
A child's voice.
Percival froze as the door opened and a little girl peeked out, her eyes soft and curious.
"You couldn't possibly…"
Percidiel stepped forward, lifting the girl into his arms.
"If you want the throne," he said, "take it. I don't want it. I want this."
"She's human," Percival said through clenched teeth.
"Yes," Percidiel replied softly. "Human lives are short. Fragile. But that's what makes them beautiful. They burn brighter than anything in our world."
Percival said nothing. His wings trembled, feathers falling away like dying embers.
Then he turned and vanished into the clouds, a storm of black wind and rage.
Behind him, the little girl picked up one of the feathers.
"Papa, who was that man?"
Percidiel looked at the horizon for a long moment before answering.
"No one, sweetheart," he whispered. "No one at all."