Kreydan zarathos
Ash fell sideways, here and there, sudden gust of wind tugged at Kreydan's skin. Making his tufts of hair stand out. Burned stone, oiled votives, salt which was burned until it lost it's essence... Kreydan could smell it all.
He wanted to run, wanted to take shelter in an inn and just stay there... Never leaving.
If he did that... if only he could run... If only he doesn't have to face his own brother... If only his brother, Aldros, had bloodlust like him, but it was futile for...kreydan knew it too well that Aldros is not like that, he was never like that. Yet their father, zarathos, hated him.
His face, still the same as all those years ago... Took him back to those days where they talked about everything. Everything and everyone. He remembered Aldros best, in his quiet moments. Aldros never liked battle, never liked bloodshed, he wanted to be a lore keeper, was obsessed with history and languages.
Our father, zarathos, hated him as he spoke his first words. Aldros had shouted, darien ...
Ever since that, his life never remained in peace. I never understood why. Father never explained it. Yet still, his hate was completely irrational and unjust. A thing I could never comprehend. Aldros was strong even though he never fought, he was clever with words, and dutiful to every single member of our family. He learned sword play at just nine. He bowed lower, trained longer, and remained quiet. None of it mattered to our father, cause he would spat in contempt every time he laid eyes upon Aldros.
I was the smallest. They used to call me Kreydan the weakest. Zarathos ignored me, for that...was considered his mercy.
Aldros took every blow meant for the family. Every disappointment. Every rage that needed a target. Our father never struck him in public. That would have shamed the house. Instead he used words. Silence. The kind of contempt that eats you from the inside because there is nothing to fight.
"You are almost worthy. Too bad you're worse than a bastard. Work yourself to death or die in a battle. I would be more proud in that. Well... perhaps", Father would say. His words worked as poison in Aldros ears.
When Aldros failed, that happened rarely, father would say to our mom, "kovari...you sure you never had other men in your bed?",
And when he succeeded, father would give a cunning smile, "arrogant little swine. Got lucky or perhaps did some trick", zarathos never praised him. Never loved him, never shared any stories with him. Never once... He called him son.
When I was ten, i spend most of my time in stables, looking at different horses, mares and fox or firecats that played around our yard. Gryfalcon sometimes would come too, resting on my shoulder, i would offer them corn and they would peck at them with their brown beak. At most nights, Aldros would find me there, on roofs where I used to sleep, the stars were so close that I could touch them here. Aldros would sit beside me, give me half his bread, even when he was starving, given to him as a punishment of breathing too loud, apparently. We never talked about father, never once.
"We're alive", Aldros would say, smiling.
"Some days...that's more than enough..."
I always believed him. I trusted him and his voice that was so elegant yet grim. He could say that... father loved him and I would even believe that.
He taught me how to hold a blade without shaking. How to read the moods of men who wanted to hurt you. How to endure being small without becoming bitter. He laughed easily when we were alone. It shocked me the first time. I thought laughter was a luxury that our house couldn't afford.
When our father noticed, he would smile and put us against each other. To compare between two failures, perhaps that was his enjoyment.
"Why can he endure and you cannot?", father would say, laughing and spitting.
"Look at your brother. Learn", Aldros would hold back and i could see shame in his eyes.
Aldros would flinch everytime he had to strike me, that's when father would shout, "hit him! What are you waiting for? Is that how you will protect me? Protect your god?", father never needed protection, he was a god. Aldros did hit me, on elbow and on shins but never too hard. Father would smile everytime aldros would hit me. Our brothers too did the same, only our sister frowned and opposed father, in her own way.
I thought this would soon be over. Father would notice me and would love Aldros, that's why i never spoke... I never raised my voice for Aldros... That was my mistake.
Aldros was sent away... For he was too coward to protect his father... And could betray his knights at need. The day Aldros was sent away, Father said it was an honor. A proving. A chance to earn what blood had failed to give him. Aldros nodded and accepted it with the calm of a man walking into a grave.
He knelt before me that night and pressed his forehead to mine. "Stay like this, small and silent. It'll help... It's going to keep you alive. Father hates those people who challenge him".
I wanted to beg him not to go. I wanted to scream at Father. I did nothing.
When word came of Aldros's death, Zarathos did not mourn. He said only that weakness had finally found its shape. Then he ordered wine and celebrated his death.
I left the hall... And walked. Walked until blood poured around my boots. I wept... Like a newborn. Under a tree, so no one could see me. I cried, cried until my head hurt. I remembered his soft hands, his granite chest that would help me stop quivering while holding a bow. Hands that would pat my back if I perfected a sword form. I remember it all and still do.
Truth to be told, i could pretend all i can that I hate him now, but the actual truth is, even if he kills me with his own sword... I wouldn't hate him... For he was my teacher, my brother, my friend and now... My Enemy.
Years passed...
Years in which Aldros became a memory I carried inside my chest. I learned how to breathe around the hollow he left. Some wounds do not heal. They only quiet down when you stop touching them.
Then the stories began.
Whispers at first. Refugees, fishermens, merchants and lore keepers speaking too quickly, eyes too wide. A warrior with a god's mark. A blade that burned with faith. Towns put to the torch. Streets drowned in blood. No mercy. No hesitation.
They spoke his name.
Aldros.
I laughed the first time. A broken sound. I told myself grief had finally rotted my mind. Dead men do not butcher cities. Dead brothers do not kneel before new gods.
But the stories kept coming.
They said he served Eldros. A young god. Hungry. They said Eldros had raised him up, poured power into his veins, crowned him with divinity. A demigod now. A weapon with a will sharpened by belief.
I stopped sleeping.
When I finally stood before my father again, Zarathos did not ask how I was. He never did. He listened as the messengers spoke, his face carved from stone, his eyes bright with something I recognized too well.
Jealousy. Rage.
Aldros had risen without him.
That was unforgivable.
"He was always a traitor",Zarathos said. "Now he is a monster too".
I said nothing. I couldn't believe it still.
Then my father turned to me. Really looked at me. The way he never had before.
"I will not be shamed by a son who kneels to another god. A new god!", he said. "If Eldros has made him a demigod, then I will do the same for you".
Power crushed into me like a mountain collapsing inward. Fire and stone and old blood flooded my veins. I screamed. I did not beg. I did not thank him.
When it was done, I could barely stand.
Zarathos leaned close.
"Kill him", he said. "Prove yourself. Do this, and I will be proud of you".
Proud. The word meant nothing to me. It never had.
So that is how I came here. To Eldhaven.
A city fat with devotion. Banners bearing Eldros's sigil hanging from every tower. Priests preaching mercy with mouths still wet from blood. Streets that would soon run red whether I wished it or not.
They think I am here to kill my brother. They are wrong.
I did not cross continents. I did not let my father carve divinity into my bones. I did not watch cities burn and call it fate just to strike down Aldros like an animal.
I want answers.
I want to know when my brother broke. Or if he was broken at all. I want to know what Eldros whispered into his ear. I want to look into Aldros's eyes and see if there is still something left of the man who shared his bread with me under the stars.
If I must fight him, I will.
If I must bleed, I will.
But Eldros will answer for this.
Gods like to pretend they are absolution. They are not. They are choices wearing crowns.
I did not come to Eldhaven to end my brother.
I came to end the god who took him from me.
World of sumaka through eyes of Aldros —
They say my name bends toward his.
Eldros. Aldros. As if birth itself chose a master for us. Maybe it did.
All I know is this. I will serve Eldros until the day I die. And that service will end him.
He gave me respect when no one else ever did.
He looked at me and saw worth.
For that, I could kill for him.
For that, I could die for him.