The Reapers : Sons of the Void

– Night, Within the Palace's Silence

After a day filled with training, sweat, conversations, and the resonances of crystals… it was all behind them now. The palace corridors had fallen into darkness, and only a few waning torch‐lights flickered against the walls.

Without a word, Miller and Brien retreated to their rooms, exhausted. Doors closed behind them. Night finally claimed the two strangers in complete silence.

Miller's RoomThe stone walls were cold. Moonlight filtered in through the window, casting pale beams across the courtyard. Miller sat down on the edge of his bed, slowly placing his sword on the floor and resting his forehead on his knees.

"I don't know who I am. This power… does it belong to me? Or was it forced upon me?"

He pressed his hand against his eyes, recalling the moment that morning when his eyes had changed color—a flicker of orange flame writhing within the black.

"Even Felix was surprised. Brien said nothing. Maybe he felt something. But… what if I'm a danger? What if I harm them? Harm Brien?"

Slowly, he lifted his head, staring into the empty room. Inside him, something stirred—a fading echo of a past too distant, yet frighteningly near.

"But Brien… he stood by me. He smiled. It felt as if he was watching me not to frighten me. Maybe he didn't speak on purpose. Because sometimes, silence says more than words."

Brien's RoomBrien lay across his bed diagonally, hands placed under his head, gazing at the stone patterns on the ceiling. His eyes were open, though his spirit wandered elsewhere.

"Miller… that child is different than me. Even his silence is different. His eyes sometimes shine, but inside them… something darker. And I look at him not with fear… but with respect."

Slowly, he turned and gripped the edge of his pillow.

"I laugh, because otherwise I couldn't survive. But he… he absorbs everything. Even fear. And maybe that's why… he's so strong."

"But one day… something will explode within him. And I'll be there. Because Miller shouldn't be alone. This road is not one to walk by oneself."

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. But his thoughts refused to let him sleep.

Night deepened over Leonhardt Palace. In the silent rooms of these two warriors, only their thoughts echoed—silent bonds forming in the spaces where words could not reach.

Under the Shadows, A New IdentityLeonhardt – Dawn, General Felix's Office

Sunlight fell like amber across the palace's stone walls, filtering through the high towers and illuminating Leonhardt's gilded carpets.

General Felix stood by the large window, his hands clasped behind his back, his other hand on his chin. His gaze was not distant, but rather fixed on a complicated future. Miller and Brien… not only were they talented, they were dangerous. And Leonhardt's politics valued appearance even more than power.

A soft knock echoed. Felix turned.

Felix:

"Enter."

A guard appeared and bowed respectfully.

Guard:

"My lord, King Pendragon is ready for your morning audience in the throne hall."

Felix nodded slightly. He wore no armor—just a simple yet noble tunic. Taking a steady breath, he walked out toward the throne hall.

Pendragon's Throne Hall – Early MorningThe hall was empty. Pendragon stood before his throne, holding a document. When Felix approached, the king lifted his head.

Pendragon (sternly):

"The Academy… I've approved their enrollment. But…"

(He paused, gesturing to the document.)

"They are still 'unidentified.' And Leonhardt Academy doesn't welcome those with unknown origins."

Felix:

"I am aware, Your Majesty. That's why, after securing your permission… I will place them under a family. If they must bear a surname, it must be noble, not false."

Pendragon stepped closer, eyes intense.

Pendragon:

"Felix. They're more than children. They are symbols. Symbols can't slip through the crowd unnoticed. Place them with a family. But choose with care. Trust few."

Felix bowed.

Felix:

"As you command, Majesty."

Felix's Office – Soon AfterThe room held a large oak desk covered in maps and scrolls, with two spare swords in a corner. Felix sat at the head of the table, eyes turned toward the door.

Felix:

"Bring them in."

The door opened, and Miller and Brien entered side by side. They wore simple, everyday clothes but their eyes betrayed traces of a sleepless night.

Brien (whispering as he enters):

"Ugh… I just hope today they don't make me spar again. My arm still aches…"

Miller (quietly):

"I think we should take this seriously. When Felix doesn't smile… it usually means trouble."

They stood before the desk. Felix's gaze shifted between them.

Felix:

"I didn't ask you to sit—this will be quick."

Brien (chuckling lightly):

"Sounds like a prelude to bad news."

Felix's voice remained calm, yet firm.

Felix:

"I have the King's permission. You will be registered at the Academy. However… there's a condition."

The boys looked surprised. Brien raised an eyebrow; Miller listened warily.

Felix:

"Every student who enters the palace must have a background acceptable to Leonhardt's citizens. One without a surname… is either a fugitive or cursed. In the records, both of you are 'nameless.'"

Miller:

"So… someone's going to 'adopt' us?"

Felix:

"No. Not a false adoption. A noble family I trust will take you under their protection. That way, when you attend the Academy, you won't draw suspicion."

Brien:

"Do we know this family?"

Felix:

"Not yet. But you will. And they—more importantly—you must accept them."

Miller:

"What if they question us? Where we came from, why we seem… different?"

Felix paused, and then looked Miller in the eye.

Felix:

"Then… learn silence. In this world, speaking the truth too soon only creates enemies."

The two nodded. They understood this was not only protection—it was a mask to conceal them.

Felix:

"Tomorrow morning we leave. I'll introduce you to the family, and afterward you begin at the Academy."

Brien (joking):

"I hope they're not too strict. As long as they don't cut their omelets with swords at breakfast, we'll be fine."

Miller (smiling):

"Maybe this time… we'll learn how to act 'normal.'"

Felix gave a slight nod, a faint smile crossing his face.

Felix:

"In this palace, nothing is 'normal,' boys. Only those who play the part well survive."

Two Warriors On City StreetsLeonhardt – Outside the Palace Gate, Late Morning

The heavy stone gates creaked open. Miller and Brien stepped out together, making their way toward the heart of the city. A light breeze drifted across the streets, weaving between the high towers.

Soldiers saluted them; townsfolk gazed with respectful curiosity. Brien noticed eyes on them.

Brien (leaning to Miller, quietly):

"Look… that guy's stared three times now. I think he recognizes me. Or I'm too handsome for words."

Miller (smiling):

"Maybe they think we're city ruffians—covered in palace dust and sweat."

Brien (rolling his eyes):

"If I'm a ruffian, you're the Dark Lord's laundry boy."

Miller laughs. They slip into a crowded street, the hum of market stalls growing louder: fruit, fabric, spices lingering in the air.

Brien (shrugging):

"I still can't get over what Felix said. 'Placed under a family's protection.' Sounds… weird. Like wrapping a child in a blanket."

Miller:

"To hide us. Otherwise at the Academy they'll whisper: 'Who are they?' Without a surname, walking there is like walking on shards of glass barefoot."

Brien:

"I've always been the loud one. That's nothing new. But… someone giving me a surname—is strange. Never thought about it."

Miller (pauses):

"Me neither."

They pause at a stall where an old woman offers sliced apples on wooden boards. Brien takes one, grinning at her.

Brien:

"Am I as sweet as one of these fruits?"

The woman squints at him.

Woman:

"Sweet children tend to be troublemakers."

Her words land heavy. Brien and Miller exchange glances as they walk on.

Miller:

"Perhaps that's why a surname feels strange. We've never belonged to anyone."

A quiet moment follows. They sit on a wall overlooking the city's outer ramparts. The sky above birds drifting.

Brien:

"Still… I like this feeling. The unknown. Starting from zero. We have no past here. But maybe… we'll find a future."

Miller:

"And we're not alone anymore."

Brien turns to him, winking.

Brien:

"Then let's move forward together, Mr. Nameless."

Miller (laughing):

"Soon we'll have a name. And who knows… it might not just be fighters we become."

Brien:

"Like what?"

Miller:

"Friends. Brothers. Maybe even heroes. Or… troublemakers."

They laugh as they stand, sun blessing their faces as they stride onward through Leonhardt's streets—toward a new identity, a new purpose, and possibly the first lines of a yet‐to‐be‐written destiny.

Leonhardt – City Streets, Early AfternoonSunlight poured down on the two strangers. Their secrets trailing behind as shadows. Pastless. Nameless. But destiny's pen had begun writing their names…

Narrator (calm, literary tone):

"And so… Miller, with the mystery of the three essences within him, walked on silently; while Brien wore his classic careless grin. Time would tell who was stronger. But eyes never lie. In Miller's eyes… the dark flame of fate flickered."

Brien (suddenly halting, looking up):

"Again—you?!"

Narrator (surprised):

"Me? Who? Me?"

Brien:

"Yes—you! With your dramatic tone praising Miller again. 'The dark flame of fate in his eyes…' Just shut up!"

Narrator (still calm, with a hint of mocking):

"Brien… you're talented too, you know. Though this morning you held your sword upside‐down, remember?"

Brien (wagging a finger):

"That was a tactic! A tactic! Who are you to question my tactical genius?!"

Narrator:

"I'm the narrator. The storyteller of it all. You, my friend, are simply second fiddle… but don't worry—every hero needs a jester in this tale."

Brien:

"A jester?! Hey! I'm a legend who fights with wit!"

Narrator:

"Of course… wit. After all, last chapter you dropped your apple and philosophized: 'The earth reclaimed it.'"

Brien:

"That's enough! Even Miller's laughing! MILLER! You say something, won't you?!"

Miller (laughing, out of breath):

"Sorry… but 'The earth reclaimed it' is still hilarious."

Brien (clutching his head):

"How am I supposed to maintain my seriousness in this story?! This narrator is draining my charisma!"

Narrator:

"Dear Brien… charisma is born, not made. Like Miller's. Yours… perhaps came with faulty craftsmanship."

Brien (throwing his hands up, dramatically):

"I'm finished! I'll be that guy who wears glasses and hides in the corner of the story!"

Miller (linking arms):

"Come on, corner guy. Let's go get an omelet."

Brien:

"One day, narrator… I'll crush you! This story isn't over!!"