He remembered...
As if it were yesterday.
As if the weight of the world, the smell of stale bread, the guards' shouts, and the desert's blood had all faded—replaced by a forgotten scent... the scent of childhood.
He was ten.
He and his twin brother.
Two souls born together, two hearts beating as one, two boys shattered by the same fate far too early.
They lost everything that same night.
The fire.
The screams.
The silence after the chaos.
Their mother...
She was gone.
He hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye.
The soldiers found them huddled together in the ruins.
And without a word of comfort, they were sent... there.
To that orphanage that reeked of dust, mildew... and abandonment.
A cold building with gray walls, gnawed by time and indifference.
A place where smiles died quickly, and dreams never lasted more than a winter.
But they...
They endured.
Not thanks to the adults.
Not thanks to the rules.
Not because of the disgusting food or the torn sheets.
No.
They survived because of each other.
Because of that flame between them.
Because of their bond.
"Are you asleep?"
"I can't."
"Don't worry. As long as we're together, the night will never win."
Simple words, yet powerful.
Every night, he'd say them. And every night, he believed them.
His brother was his only pillar in that life of shadows.
His only friend.
His only ray of sunlight.
Life was harsh. They were often beaten for absurd reasons: speaking without permission, eating too fast, or just... being in the way.
But every morning, they got up. Together.
And despite the pain, despite the tears hidden under the covers, they found a way to laugh.
"Today, I stole an apple from the kitchen."
"What?! Are you crazy? And where is it?"
"I ate it while running. Almost choked, but it was worth it."
"You could've shared it..."
"Tomorrow, I'll steal you a pear. Deal?"
Laughter.
Childish promises.
Fragments of eternity.
They played all the time. Inventing worlds. Fighting as heroes and monsters.
His brother always wanted to be the hero.
"You'll be the villain, okay? The mysterious one, with a mask."
"Why me? I wanna be the hero too."
"Because you're cooler as the villain. And... if you're too strong, there won't be any challenge for me."
He always laughed at that. He always accepted the role.
Because... seeing his brother happy was worth more than any role in the world.
At night, on the orphanage rooftop—a forbidden place—they dreamed.
Eyes turned to the stars.
"You think there's a god watching us?"
"Maybe. I hope he's ashamed."
"I want him to listen. And one day, give me a power... a real one. So we can leave this place."
"Even without power, we'll leave. One day. Together."
And they shook hands.
A promise.
An oath.
But gods have no hearts.
And the world never keeps its promises to children.
The wind whistled softly through the gaps in the broken boards. The late afternoon sun bathed the orphanage courtyard in a golden, almost unreal light. The other children were inside, busy with their chores. But they had slipped away quietly to play, once again, their favorite game.
"Today, I'm the Supreme Hero, Knight of Eternal Flame!" his brother shouted, brandishing a worn wooden stick like a sword.
"And I am the Lord of the Abyss. Prepare to die, hero," he replied, wrapping a dirty rope around his arm as if controlling magical chains.
They locked eyes for a moment, their gazes gleaming with excitement, then lunged at each other in a choreography they knew by heart. A mix of clumsy rolls, imaginary blows, and dramatic cries.
"Argh! You struck me in the heart! But I won't fall so easily!"
"Surrender, Lord of the Void! I will cleanse this world with my light!"
He laughed, even while playing the villain. He was always the one to fall in the end, as planned. His brother would plant his stick into the ground and point at him triumphantly:
"Peace is restored! Thanks to the Knight of Eternal Flame!"
"You're so dramatic..." he muttered as he got up.
"That's what makes it fun."
Every day, they created a new scenario. Kingdoms to save, creatures to fight, betrayals, sacrifices… but always, in the end, he was the one who fell. And always, he rose with a smile.
"Why do you always want to be the hero?" he asked one evening, as they lay side by side on the rooftop, the starry sky above them.
His brother turned his head toward him, unusually serious.
"Because I want to save people. I want them to smile. Like you make me smile every day."
A long silence followed. Then he replied:
"Then I'll always be your favorite villain."
They burst out laughing. Another promise. A silent pact between two souls too young to understand the weight of their words… but too sincere for them to ever be forgotten.
And yet… he had lost everything. Even that.
The wind howled fiercely, as if even the sky wanted to flee from what was about to happen.
The orphanage, once noisy and full of life, was drenched in a heavy silence, broken only by the screams coming from the ground floor. A monster had breached the walls — a deformed creature with the shape of a wolf, bearing two roaring heads, each one breathing out a devouring hatred. Its skin seemed made of shadow and claws, its eyes red like devouring flames.
Children screamed, nurses cried. Everyone fled. The stairs trembled under the frantic steps of dozens of little feet. On the top floor, a common room sometimes used for study was hastily barricaded. Furniture was pushed against the door, windows slammed shut.
He held his brother's hand, breath short, heart pounding. He didn't know what was happening. He didn't understand anything. He just wanted to survive. He just wanted to stay with him.
The room was filled with sobs. Children curled up in corners, the youngest calling out for parents they no longer had. Some stared at the door in silence, eyes hollow. The adults weren't braver. The director murmured prayers, and two staff members exchanged tearful, helpless looks.
A loud thud echoed.
Then another.
The door trembled. The furniture groaned.
Everyone held their breath.
And suddenly, the door shattered.
Splinters and screams burst all at once. The wood broke like glass, flying inward. Some children were thrown backward. The monster had entered, majestically terrifying, carving its way through the shadows.
Its two heads sniffed the air, tracking fear like a delicious scent.
Chaos froze.
Not a sound. Even time seemed suspended.
Then… a step.
Just one.
At the back of the room, he felt his blood freeze as he recognized the silhouette.
His brother.
His brother had stepped forward, standing before the creature.
Barefoot, trembling legs, a wooden sword in hand — a ridiculous replica they used to play heroes. The monster stared, stunned. The adults were frozen, too, shocked to see this little boy standing alone between them and death.
"No…" he whispered. "No…"
He tried to stand, to run, to scream, but his legs refused to move. As if an invisible force pinned him to the ground.
The wooden sword shook in his brother's hand. His breath was shaky, tears glistened at the corners of his eyes, but he didn't budge. He stood there, between the beast and the children. Maybe he didn't fully understand what he was doing. Or maybe… he understood too well.
The monster roared.
The room vibrated with the cry of the two heads.
The boy's body trembled.
He was going to be devoured. He was going to die. For nothing. For no one.
So, he screamed.
"Nooooooo!"
He screamed with all his strength, shattering the silence, the fear, even the chains inside him.
He tried to reach him. Tried to crawl, to hurl himself forward — but too late.
The monster leapt.
And then…
A light.
Blinding. White. Pure. Divine.