Time froze.
Everyone in the room looked up. Even the monster stopped mid-leap.
The light came from the boy's body. It radiated from his heart, his chest, his arms, his eyes.
It was magnificent.
The adults fell to their knees.
The children stopped crying.
Even he, frozen on the ground, was left speechless.
"What… is this?" the headmaster murmured.
The creature growled, confused.
An aura—like the ones in the stories told by priests during sermons—was emanating from his brother. A divine blessing.
But he didn't understand. No one did.
His brother, eyes wide, stared at his glowing hands. He looked just as lost as the others. His body was levitating slightly, as if held up by something invisible.
Silence fell again.
The monster took a step back. It growled, uncertain.
His brother, still crying, seemed to want to say something. He opened his mouth.
"I… I want to protect them…"
The light grew brighter.
And he, still on the ground, watched him—fascinated, paralyzed.
He no longer felt fear. He felt something else. A mix of pride, terror, and… loss.
As if something was changing forever.
The light spread like a silent wave, enveloping the room. The floor cracked under the pressure of the energy released. The creature took a step back, both of its heads growling in unison, visibly disturbed.
He, still on the ground, felt tears streaming down his face without even realizing it. His brother… it was really him. The trembling boy who shared his bed, his hunger, his games. And now, he was glowing like a fallen star on Earth.
His brother raised his wooden sword.
A toy—ridiculous, worn down by the years.
But as he gripped the hilt, the light concentrated around it. The wood crackled, splintered, then… was replaced by a radiant blade—pure, almost unreal. It seemed made of solid light, vibrant, humming softly in tune with its wielder's heartbeat.
The children held their breath.
The monster growled.
And the battle began.
The creature lunged, both heads open, drooling with hunger.
His brother didn't flinch. He clenched his jaw and charged. His body, powered by the blessing, moved fast. Too fast for a normal human.
The impact made the ground tremble.
The blade of light struck the monster's left paw, slicing through it like butter. A beastly howl tore through the air as a stream of black blood splattered the walls.
His brother leapt back in a graceful, almost floating motion.
"Get back!" he shouted without turning around.
The adults pulled the children toward the back of the room—some screaming, others frozen in adrenaline. He, still on the ground, slowly pushed himself up, unable to look away.
The monster struck.
Its tail swept across the room.
Furniture was obliterated.
But his brother slipped under the attack with divine fluidity. He took a step, then another, and sliced through the air.
One of the monster's heads was grazed.
A burn appeared on its jaw.
The creature staggered back, roared, and attacked again.
Claws. Fangs. Rage.
But everything felt slower. His brother dodged, almost flying. He spun through the air as if guided. The light around him grew stronger by the second.
"What is that power…?" the headmaster whispered.
No one answered.
Because it wasn't normal.
Because it was impossible.
A child shouldn't be able to do this.
And yet, he did.
His brother slid under the beast's paw, plunged his blade into its side, and in one fluid motion, climbed onto its back. He jumped—high, very high—and raised his blade toward the sky.
A beam of light descended from the broken ceiling, drawn to him.
And he shouted:
"FOR THEM!"
He brought the blade down.
The strike landed on the beast's left head.
An explosion.
The room flooded with light.
The ground shook. The ceiling cracked. One of the two heads collapsed, severed cleanly. Black blood burst like a geyser. The creature screamed in agony, thrashing against the walls. His brother was thrown to the ground, sliding several meters.
He tried to get up, but his breath was short.
The light around him flickered.
"No, no, no… not now…!" he murmured.
The monster, despite its wound, slowly rose. Its remaining head trembled with rage. Its wild eyes searched for the child. It was going to strike. Again. It was going to kill.
And he, finally on his feet, wanted to run.
"NO!"
But the monster struck.
His brother raised the blade to defend himself.
A shock. An impact.
Then, deathly silence.
The monster struck.
The impact hurled his brother across the room.
But on the ground, on his knees, his gaze remained fixed on the beast. His chest rose with difficulty, but his eyes… they still shone.
The monster roared, preparing to deliver the final blow. It leaped, claws stretched toward the child still standing.
"NOT NOW!" his brother shouted.
In a final burst of strength, he rose to his feet.
The light around him exploded like a star.
His blade lit up—white, pure, burning.
And in a split second, he struck.
An arc of light sliced through the air, drawing a perfect line toward the beast's throat.
The monster's body froze mid-air.
Then, slowly, it collapsed.
Silence.
A divine silence.
The corpse of the beast lay on the ground, both heads lifeless, its chest split by a still-smoking trail of light.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Then suddenly…
"HE DID IT! HE KILLED IT!" a child's voice screamed.
A cry of joy.
Then another.
And another.
Soon, all the children were jumping, screaming, crying in relief. The adults fell to their knees, thanking the heavens, holding each other tightly. Some laughed nervously, others burst into tears.
He, still on the floor, ran to his brother.
He took him in his arms, trembling.
"Are you okay?! Are you okay?!"
His brother gave a faint smile, breathless, his cheeks streaked with tears and soot.
"I was… a little scared," he admitted with a soft laugh.
That night, they had an exceptional meal.
For the first time in months… no, in years, they ate meat.
The village director, the soldiers called in as reinforcements—everyone came to see the child. The villagers brought supplies, milk, bread, and even a small firework made of colored powder.
— "You're our hero!" the children said, lifting their bowls toward him.
— "He's incredible… an Awakened at that age…"
— "Such courage… such heart…"
The brother didn't understand everything.
He blushed at every compliment.
But he, the other twin, watched in silence.
A strange feeling grew in his chest.
He wasn't jealous… not yet.
He was proud. Proud of his brother.
His brother, his twin, his friend, had become a hero.
And that day, the rumor spread.
In the village. In the neighboring villages. Even traveling merchants heard of it: a child blessed by light had defeated a two-headed monster in an abandoned orphanage.
In the following days, more and more visitors came.
They brought gifts. Clothes. Toys.
But they were all for him.
For the blessed brother.
He stood beside him—forgettable.
He smiled anyway.
He tried.
But something, ever so slowly… had begun to crack.
Days passed.
His brother still laughed like before, sharing everything with him.
But the looks changed.
The children looked at him differently.
So did the adults.
Even the caretakers at the orphanage, once so warm, spoke a little more softly when he walked by.
They didn't know why… but everything felt a bit colder, a bit more distant.
Then, one morning, horses trampled the village earth.
Their armor gleamed under the sun, both golden and dark.
Imperial knights.
Ten in total. Silent. Grim.
And among them, a man in a purple cloak, with eyes almost glowing, dismounted his steed. He bore the symbol of an eye with three pupils.
An Inquisitor of the Gods.
The villagers immediately bowed.
The children hid.
"Where is the child?" he asked simply.
The village director obeyed without question.
The brother was brought to the center of the courtyard.
The Inquisitor approached.
He extended his hand, his palm glowing with silver symbols.
The boy stepped back, confused. But a knight placed a hand on his shoulder, keeping him still.
Then… the light erupted.
An aura of gold, white, and black surrounded the boy.
Celestial flames danced around him.
The symbols stirred in the air like warped stars.
The Inquisitor took a step back, his eyes widening.
"…Impossible…"
The knights raised their heads.
Their faces were marked with shock… and fear.
"This is no ordinary blessing," one of them whispered.
"It's…"
"The mark of an unknown God."
Silence fell like a stone.
And in that silence… a decision was made.
The next day, they returned with a sealed carriage.
"He will not be punished," said the Inquisitor. "He is simply… dangerous. He must be taken away to be studied. Understood."
The director, the caretakers, the children… none dared protest.
He watched him climb into the carriage.
His brother didn't cry.
He simply waved.
"I'll come back," he said with a smile.
He believed it.
He truly believed it.
But it was the last time he ever saw his brother.
And that memory… that final image…
Would haunt his nights until the end of time.