20 Years Ago…
The sun bathed the land in golden warmth, casting a vibrant glow over the Eryndor continent. Cheers echoed through the streets as the people waved flags and flowers, their voices rising in celebration.
A young boy, no older than four, walked proudly beside the King of Eryndor—his father. Clutching the King's hand, Allesio beamed at the adoration around him.
"When I become king, will they cheer for me like this?" Allesio asked, looking up with innocent wonder.
"They will cheer even louder, my son," the King replied with a proud smile.
"Won't they, Advisor Tharil?" he added.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Tharil responded with a stiff nod. But as the King turned away, a subtle flicker of resentment flashed in the advisor's eyes. His teeth clenched behind a practiced smile.
On their way back to the palace, Allesio tugged at his father's robe, pleading, "Can we stop by the river, Father? Please?"
The King chuckled softly. "How can I say no to you?"
They veered off the main road to the riverside. As they walked along the bank, the King noticed something unusual—an infant, alone in a basket, crying helplessly beneath a tree.
The guards immediately stepped forward, tense and cautious. "It could be a trap, Your Majesty," one warned.
But the King raised a hand. "Stand down." He approached the child, his steps firm but gentle.
As soon as he lifted the baby into his arms, the crying stopped. The baby blinked at him… and smiled. When Allesio peeked over his father's shoulder, the baby giggled.
That was the moment the King made a decision "I'll raise him as my own."
Years passed. Allesio and Aamon grew up side by side—two boys with different blood but a bond stronger than most brothers. Aamon trained diligently with the royal guards, mastering swordsmanship and eventually becoming a Royal Knight, sworn to protect the King and Allesio with his life. Allesio, on the other hand, studied assassination tactics and advanced combat magic, molded into a silent blade for the kingdom.
Their lives were simple, yet filled with purpose.
One day, the King summoned them to the throne room.
"Allesio, Aamon," he said solemnly. "I'm sending you on a mission of utmost importance. A scroll has been stolen—one that contains critical information about our economy and trade routes. If it falls into enemy hands, the entire continent could suffer. I trust only you two to retrieve it."
"Yes, Your Majesty," they answered in unison, hearts firm with resolve.
Later…
The carriage rumbled along the dirt road as the sun began to set in the horizon. Inside, Allesio leaned back with arms crossed, lost in thought.
"There's been too many thefts in the castle lately," he said quietly.
Aamon, polishing his blade, looked up. "Someone from inside must be feeding them information."
"You're saying there's a traitor… in the palace?" Allesio's voice grew tense.
Aamon nodded. "That's what I believe."
A heavy silence filled the carriage as Allesio's mind wandered.
"We're here," the driver called out, pulling the reins as the horses slowed to a halt.
Allesio and Aamon stepped down from the carriage, only to find themselves in a slum—a mess of randomly placed huts and smoke lingering in the air.
"Why are we here?" Aamon asked, eyes scanning the filth-covered streets. "Weren't we supposed to be in the town of thieves?"
Before they could react, shadows closed in from all directions. Thugs emerged from between the huts, surrounding them.
"What's the meaning of this?" Allesio demanded, stepping protectively in front of Aamon.
"It's best if you don't struggle," the carriage driver said, his voice suddenly cold.
The thugs lunged forward all at once, but they had no idea who they were up against.
Blades clashed, fists flew, and within moments, Allesio and Aamon took down the attackers one by one—moving with precision, timing, and the seamless coordination of two people who'd trained together all their lives. Soon, only the carriage driver remained, trembling as he tried to crawl away.
Allesio grabbed him by the collar and raised his sword. "Who the hell are you working for?"
"Please… spare my life!" the driver begged, his voice shaking with fear.
Aamon stepped in. "Do you know who stole the scroll?"
"If I tell you, they'll kill me!"
"If you don't tell us," Allesio growled, eyes narrowing, "I will."
The driver flinched under Allesio's glare.
"Calm down," Aamon said, placing a hand on Allesio's shoulder. Then he turned to the driver with a softer tone. "If you tell us, we'll ensure your safety."
The man hesitated, but the calm in Aamon's voice gave him a sliver of hope.
"They call themselves the Revolutionary," he finally said.
"What's their motive?" Allesio asked.
"They want to—" Thud!
An arrow pierced the driver's head. He dropped to the ground lifeless.
"A snipe?" Aamon muttered, drawing his sword.
"There!" Allesio shouted, pointing toward a cliff. A faint figure stood there, a bow still in hand.
The figure turned and ran.
Without hesitation, Allesio and Aamon gave chase. But by the time they reached the cliff, the figure was gone.
"Look, footprints," Allesio pointed out.
"This could be a trap," Aamon warned.
"Our priority is to catch her," Allesio replied, eyes focused. "Besides… when I have you by my side, no one can kill me."
Aamon blinked, surprised at the rare show of vulnerability from Allesio. But it made him smile.
They followed the trail to the mouth of a dark cave.
"Is it safe to go in?" Aamon asked.
"We don't have time to think," Allesio replied. "Let's move."
They entered the cave. It was dark, damp, and silent—except for the faint scent of food, which suggested someone had been living there.
"Stay sharp," they both said at the same time.
Suddenly, a masked figure in a black cloak charged at them, drawing a hidden blade. Allesio blocked the strike, and Aamon swiftly beheaded the attacker with one clean cut.
But then… the body vanished into thin air.
"A summoned shadow," Allesio muttered.
"It's not alone," Aamon warned.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of the masked figures emerged from the darkness.
Back to back, the two fought relentlessly, covering each other, slicing through shadows, reacting to each other's movements like synchronized warriors. It was a battle of endurance, and though they held their ground, the enemies kept multiplying.
"There's no end to them!" Allesio shouted.
Suddenly, from deeper in the cave, Aamon spotted movement—a glint of steel. Someone fired an arrow straight at Allesio.
"Look out!" Aamon yelled, pushing Allesio aside. The arrow grazed Aamon's arm, drawing blood.
Allesio looked up to see the same cloaked figure disappear into the cave's depths.
"We can't fight these many, you get out of the cave," Aamon said, clutching his wound. "I'll hold them off."
"I'm not leaving you behind!" Allesio snapped.
"Just go! Don't argue with me!"
"Shut up! We're getting out of here together," Allesio said firmly, his voice low and fierce.
But fate had other plans.
The cave rumbled. Rocks fell from the ceiling. The entrance collapsed with a deafening crash, sealing them inside.
"Fire," they whispered in unison.
They conjured fireballs for a brief second, just enough to illuminate their surroundings.
The masked figures were gone.
They were alone, trapped in darkness, with only each other.