The voice in his dream seemed surprised that he responded. It paused briefly, then answered with a hint of joy, "I am your brother… Dear Adrian, I'm imprisoned in Saint Elmon's Chapel. Please, come save me."
Adrian froze. "Brother? That's impossible."
For as long as he could remember, he had never heard of having a brother. He was the sole heir to the throne of Aldoria. How could there be another prince? And Saint Elmon's Chapel was a sacred place reserved for the royal family. Who would dare do anything improper there?
"If you don't believe me, come see for yourself." The voice returned, filled with both helplessness and urgency.
Adrian's thoughts were in disarray. His instinct told him it wasn't true, but the desperate plea made it impossible to ignore. In the end, he decided to go to the chapel and find out the truth.
At dawn the next morning, Adrian arrived at Saint Elmon's Chapel. The moment he stepped inside, a solemn and heavy air enveloped him. The scent of incense clung to the thick stone walls. Sacred images hung above the pews, and shafts of colored light from the stained-glass windows scattered across the floor like blessings and burdens alike. Every footstep on the plush carpet seemed to echo within him rather than in the hall.
He walked the length of the aisle and stopped before the altar. A few monks knelt nearby in silent prayer, their eyes filled with reverence. Adrian turned to the Archbishop and spoke quietly, "Your Excellency, may I request a moment of confession?"
The Archbishop regarded him with calm composure and nodded. "If your heart carries questions, His light will guide you."
With the Archbishop leading the way, Adrian followed him to a quieter corner of the chapel. There, kneeling beneath a tall crucifix, Adrian lowered his head and whispered the question that had haunted him all night.
"Your Excellency, do I… have a brother?"
He watched the Archbishop's reaction closely and did not miss the flicker of hesitation that crossed the elderly man's face.
Adrian's chest tightened.
The Archbishop looked at him for a long moment. His voice was steady, yet his expression held something heavy and sorrowful.
"Your Highness," he began at last, "you do have a brother."
Adrian had already guessed, but hearing it confirmed sent a tremor through his body. His throat tightened as he struggled to speak. "Where is he now? Why have I never heard of him?"
The Archbishop's expression darkened, and a long sigh left his lips. "When you were born, Your Highness, you were not alone. You were one of a pair. A twin."
He paused before continuing.
"But in the traditions of the Church, twins are considered an ill omen. It is said they bring instability to the kingdom. To prevent disaster, His Majesty and Her Grace were forced to make a cruel choice."
Adrian's breath caught. "So, you mean… he's dead?"
The voice in his dreams had claimed to be imprisoned, begging to be rescued. How could that be if he had already died?
Adrian swallowed, his voice strained. "Is he… still here?"
"Yes," the Archbishop replied, his voice now almost a whisper. "On the day you were born, the King and Queen chose the stronger child—you. The weaker one, your twin, was abandoned. As part of an ancient rite, his body was consecrated to the gods as an offering, a penance for the kingdom's survival."
Adrian stared in disbelief. "To comfort his soul…"
He let out a bitter laugh. The soul calling to him in dreams felt anything but comforted.
"I want to see him," he said.
The Archbishop hesitated, but eventually led him deep into the recesses of the chapel. There, inside a dim, narrow chamber, stood an old wooden altar. A small wooden cross was fixed to its center, surrounded by wax-dripped candles. Beneath it, the tiny preserved body of an infant lay on a slab—thin, pale, and seemingly untouched by time.
His eye sockets were hollow, yet Adrian felt the gaze locked on him.
Adrian had grown up in luxury, praised and cherished as the sole prince of Aldoria. But this child—his brother—had been condemned at birth and left to spend eternity in this forgotten corner.
Guilt. Sorrow. Even a strange sense of relief. All of it tangled in his chest.
Then came the voice again, low and mournful: "Adrian… help me…"
Adrian felt a painful pressure in his chest. Perhaps it was the bond of twins, perhaps it was the weight of guilt—but he could almost feel the same pain his brother had endured.
His eyes grew hot. He reached out to touch the infant's tiny frame.
"Your Highness, no!" the Archbishop stopped him.
Adrian paused, lowered his hand, and stood in silence.
But his mind was no longer in doubt.
"I will bring you peace," he thought.
That night, the voice returned in his dream, urgent and hopeful. "Will you truly help me?"
Adrian replied softly, "Of course. You're my brother. After all you've suffered, how could I turn my back on you?"
He paused for a moment, then added, "If I help you, perhaps I can finally find peace myself. Tell me what I must do."