The world beyond the prison gates stretched wide and unfamiliar, a vastness that felt less like freedom and more like an uncharted wound. The road ahead was empty, but the silence carried weight—thick, cautious, fragile. Blue walked a few steps behind Arin, his movements tentative, as though each footfall might shatter the fragile miracle of escape. Freedom did not come easily to someone who had grown up measuring life in iron bars and numbered days. Even now, his shoulders remained tense, his gaze darting instinctively toward shadows that might conceal pursuit.
Arin noticed everything. He slowed his pace without announcing it, adjusting instinctively, allowing Blue the space he needed to breathe, to exist outside captivity for the first time. The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but heavy with years of unspoken history. They were no longer prisoner and guardian, no longer separated by glass and chains. They were simply brothers—equal now, stripped of roles, bound by blood and survival.
They avoided the main roads, slipping through forgotten alleys, broken paths, and overgrown stretches where the world seemed to have abandoned itself. Towns were passed at a distance, their lights avoided, their presence too dangerous. Each exchanged glance carried meaning. Each small, hesitant smile felt like a fragile thread, slowly weaving something new—something stronger than fear.
Eventually, Blue's voice broke the quiet.
"Arin…" His words trembled, uncertain, as though he feared speaking might undo everything. "You… you risked everything for me. All these years. All those fights with the courts. You could've stopped. You could've lived your life." He hesitated, swallowing hard. "Why didn't you?"
Arin did not answer immediately. His eyes stayed on the path ahead, dark with memories that had never loosened their grip. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but worn."Because you're my brother," he said simply. "Because you were all I had left."He glanced at Blue then, meeting his gaze. "And because our mother believed in us. In both of us. I couldn't let her faith die with her."
The name struck Blue like a sudden blow.
"Our mother…" he whispered. His steps faltered. "What… what happened to her?"
Arin felt the familiar tightening in his chest—the ache he had carried alone for ten years. The truth had waited long enough."She died," he said quietly. "The same day I was imprisoned. She passed while I was locked away." His voice cracked despite himself. "I wasn't there. I never got to say goodbye."
Blue stopped completely.
The world tilted beneath him. His breath hitched sharply, as though the air had been torn from his lungs. Slowly, his knees gave way, and he collapsed onto the dust-choked ground, hands clawing at the earth as sobs tore free."No…" he choked. "No, no—this is my fault. If I hadn't—if I hadn't been born cursed, if I hadn't—" His voice dissolved into broken gasps. "She died because of me. I wasn't there. You weren't there. She was alone."
Arin dropped to his knees beside him, gripping Blue's shoulders firmly, forcing him to look up."No," he said, sharper now, refusing to let the lie take root. "Listen to me. This was not your fault. Not then. Not now. She loved you. She loved us. And she would never blame you for surviving."He pulled Blue into his arms, holding him as the grief finally spilled over, raw and uncontrollable. "We couldn't save her. But we can save each other."
They stayed there for a long time—two brothers crouched on a forgotten road, grief soaking into the soil beneath them. When Blue's sobs finally quieted, exhaustion replacing anguish, Arin helped him to his feet. The world did not look kinder, but it felt survivable.
They moved on.
By nightfall, they reached a city long abandoned. Buildings stood hollow, windows shattered, streets swallowed by weeds and silence. It was a graveyard of lives once lived—but also a refuge. No guards. No laws. No watchers. Only echoes and wind.
Here, they rested.
In the stillness of empty rooms and shared meals scavenged from forgotten stores, Blue began to understand the full weight of what Arin had done. Not just the escape. Not just the risk—but the decade of relentless struggle, of rejection, of hopeless mornings fueled only by stubborn love.
And as the shadows stretched across the abandoned city, the brothers—fractured, grieving, alive—began to rebuild something fragile but real. Not innocence. That was long gone. But trust. And with it, a bond forged not in blood alone, but in sacrifice, endurance, and the quiet promise that neither would ever face the darkness alone again.
Far from the abandoned city, beyond the fragile pocket of freedom Arin and Blue had carved for themselves, Lbow's fate unraveled in silence and blood.
His involvement had not gone unnoticed.
Patterns had been traced. Whispers had circulated. Whether through betrayal, coincidence, or the quiet efficiency of a system trained to punish dissent, the authorities came for him without warning. The arrest was swift and merciless. Hands seized him like iron claws, shackles biting into his wrists as he was dragged through the streets. The murmurs of onlookers followed—curiosity mingled with fear—as his body struck stone and dirt, dignity stripped away piece by piece.
The interrogations began immediately.
They were not interested in truth—only location. Names. Coordinates. A trail that would lead them back to the escaped brothers. Questions were hurled like weapons, answers demanded with fists and instruments of pain. Lbow was beaten, starved, broken down to exhaustion, yet something within him refused to fracture. Every scream, every blow, every threat carved deeper lines into his body but failed to breach his resolve.
"I don't know," he repeated, again and again."I swear, I don't know where they went."
His voice grew hoarse, his lips split, his vision blurred—but the words never changed.
Days passed. Then more. Patience thinned. The methods grew crueler, more deliberate, designed not just to extract information but to erase resistance itself. Still, Lbow endured. Pain became routine. Silence became armor. He had chosen his side long before the first chain closed around his wrists, and no torment could make him regret it.
When they finally understood that nothing would break him, the decision was made—not out of justice, but frustration.
Finality.
Bound and barely able to stand, Lbow was led toward the gallows. His body bore the evidence of what he had endured, yet his eyes were clear, almost peaceful. As the rope was fitted and the world narrowed to a single breath, he whispered—not to his executioners, not to the crowd, but to the truth itself.
"I did what I had to," he murmured."I did what was right."
The trapdoor fell.And with it, a life extinguished—not in fear, but in sacrifice.
Unaware of the price paid in their absence, Arin and Blue continued their fragile existence in the abandoned city.
For them, the world had softened—not because it had become kinder, but because they had survived long enough to feel hope again. They scavenged what they needed, explored hollow streets and silent buildings, learned the rhythm of survival without pursuit breathing down their necks. More importantly, they talked.
Words flowed where silence once ruled.
Memories surfaced—some painful, some warm. Dreams were shared hesitantly, fears confessed without shame. Ten years of separation slowly unraveled as understanding replaced distance. Blue watched Arin closely now, seeing not just his brother, but the man forged by sacrifice—by relentless struggle, quiet courage, and a love that had never wavered.
The city became their crucible.
Amid crumbling walls and overgrown streets, something new took shape. A bond deeper than obligation. Stronger than grief. One that transcended loss, law, and even death.
Life asserted itself in small, defiant ways.
Sunlight filtered through broken windows, casting golden arcs across dust-filled rooms. The wind carried something gentler now—not just echoes of the past, but whispers of possibility. Each shared meal felt like victory. Each step forward, proof that survival was not meaningless.
Arin guided, taught, protected—watching as Blue began to heal. Not completely. Not yet. But enough to stand. Enough to breathe. Enough to understand the cost of love and the weight of sacrifice carried for him.
As dusk settled, the brothers stood atop a crumbling building, gazing out over the city abandoned by time. Their silhouettes cut sharp against the fading light.
Behind them lay a world still cruel and unforgiving.Between them burned something fragile—but bright.
They had endured loss, escape, injustice, and death. And though their mother's dream lived only in memory now, it breathed through them—in their resolve, their unity, and the brotherhood reclaimed from the ruins.
For now, that was enough.