Chapter 30:

  "The Smile Before War"

  Arc 3: Chapter 9

  POV: "???"

  Laughter echoed through the cold, damp cell as if stolen from the world outside. Flávio sat on the dirty floor, back against the opposite wall from Empty, telling an exaggerated story about the first time he tried to impress a girl in the Safe Zone and ended up face-first in a bucket of dirty water. Raphadun laughed so hard he clutched his stomach, eyes wet from guffawing.

  Empty tried to keep up. The sound coming from the mask was hoarse, broken, almost a mechanical rumble mixed with human laughter—but it was laughter. Flávio and Raphadun encouraged him, as if they could teach his body to remember how it was done.

  “That was quite a moment! Damn… I always wanted to know what you wanted to say that day, Empty,” Flávio said, wiping a tear of laughter.

  “Yeah…” Empty replied. The voice came out low, almost thoughtful.

  Flávio continued, smile still on his face.

  “But thinking about it… How did you get so good at talking now that you’re back? You couldn’t even write properly. Barely managed a sentence with gestures.”

  The smile beneath the mask faltered. It didn’t disappear completely, but wilted. Luna, leaning against the opposite wall, observed every detail: the slight tilt of the head, the silence that stretched like a thread about to snap. Raphadun stopped laughing, body stiffening.

  Flávio realized the mistake too late.

  “But if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand,” he said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “Forget it. Let’s talk about something else.”

  Raphadun gave a nervous laugh, trying to break the mood.

  Then Empty’s voice came. Not loud. A whisper that seemed to suck all the air from the cell.

  “I can tell you what I saw, Flávio.”

  Everyone froze.

  “I saw you,” he said, masked gaze fixed on Flávio.

  “I saw you,” he repeated, slowly turning toward Raphadun.

  “And you…” He finished, looking directly at Luna.

  The silence that followed was not empty. It was full of unspoken things. No one dared ask what he meant by it. Perhaps because, deep down, they all knew.

  In the Tower of Light, morning entered cold through the high windows. Bruce Darking walked the corridors with steps that made soldiers straighten automatically. He stopped before a Shadow Guard.

  “How’s the situation in the prison?”

  The soldier bowed.

  “Sir. We left the watch after Lord Alfredo’s order.”

  Bruce’s emerald eyes gained a cutting intensity.

  “Alfredo?” he repeated, voice low and dangerous. “What are you talking about?”

  The soldier swallowed hard.

  “He… dismissed our shift. Said he would place Light soldiers in their place.”

  Bruce did not respond. He merely continued walking, but now his steps were heavier. Something in the air changed—as if the darkness around him had grown denser.

  Outside the prison, Raphadun and Flávio waited leaning against the outer wall. The rising sun painted the gray concrete in orange tones.

  “What do you think he meant by that?” Flávio asked, voice low.

  Raphadun shrugged, but his eyes were distant.

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  “I don’t know… But he was somewhere. He’s different.”

  Flávio felt a chill down his spine.

  “Different how?”

  Before Raphadun could answer, Fencer appeared at the end of the corridor, steps quick and precise. Flávio waved.

  “Fencer!”

  But Fencer did not smile. His eyes were fixed on the prison entrance.

  Inside the cell, Luna was about to leave. She stopped at the door, turned suddenly.

  Empty watched her in silence.

  “What if I got you out of here, huh?” she said, voice low, almost defiant.

  The mask tilted slightly—confusion, perhaps.

  Luna took a step back inside.

  “That would be… impossible,” Empty replied slowly.

  “Why?” The question came out more like a disappointed breath than a demand.

  He did not answer immediately. He merely lowered his head.

  “Seriously?” Luna crossed her arms. “You spent your life without speaking, and now that you can, you stay silent.”

  She approached without fear. Her hand rose and, with a gentleness that contrasted with the brutal environment, touched the surface of the mask. Her fingers traced the cold curve of the metal, as if searching for a crack, an entrance.

  “What are you doing?” Empty asked, voice hoarse, almost gentle.

  “Politics, prophecy, future…” she murmured. “You never thought about letting it all go? I think about it every single day.”

  “That… would not be possible,” he replied. There was something that could have been a silent lament in those words.

  Luna smiled—a small, tired, but real smile.

  “So now it’s your turn to reject me?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, withdrawing her hand. A shadow of resignation passed through her green eyes. “When the trial ends tomorrow, and you’re condemned—and you will be—I’ll force Raphadun to teleport us. I’ll get you out of here by force. Because I do what I want. And you? You’ll stay there, still. I want to see how you’re going to convince this population that hates you that you’re something worth believing in.”

  Empty raised his face.

  “I will,” he replied. “One way or another.”

  Luna truly smiled this time.

  Outside, Alfredo raised his eyes to the sky. As if already expecting something.

  Outside the prison, Fencer and Flávio ran when they saw the Shadow soldiers approaching in tight formation. At the center, Bruce Darking. Darkness emanated from him like living smoke.

  He saw Raphadun standing in front of the entrance.

  “As expected… Raphadun!” Bruce shouted, voice cutting through the air.

  “Grandfather… It’s not what you think,” Raphadun replied, still distant.

  Bruce took a step forward.

  Then Alfredo Lighting emerged from the prison door, blocking the way. His sword, “Dawn’s Edge,” was already in hand, the blade shining with pure, implacable light.

  Bruce stopped.

  “I received orders from my Queen,” Alfredo said, voice firm as granite. “No one passes.”

  Bruce observed his old rival. His hand rested near the hilt of “Valkyria,” still sheathed.

  “You will let me pass,” he said calmly.

  “That will not happen,” Alfredo replied.

  Fencer and Flávio watched from afar.

  “We have to get out of here,” Flávio whispered, pulling his brother.

  Fencer did not move.

  “It’s going to happen,” he said, eyes fixed on the confrontation.

  And then Bruce smiled—a cold, joyless smile.

  “Then there is no other way.”

  He drew Valkyria. Alfredo raised Dawn’s Edge.

  For an instant, time seemed to stop.

  In his mind, a memory he had buried for decades resurfaced

  Then, like an echo from another place, the image of Bruce overlapped with itself: younger, adolescent, common soldier uniform, on a distant battlefield.

  Bruce Darking

  16 years old:

  “Do you really think they’d attack at this hour of the night, Cyan?” said young Bruce, smiling at the companion beside him.

  “They attack at any hour,” Cyan replied, laughing. “But you’re being a coward, huh, what a noble you are?”

  “Shut up,” Bruce retorted, also laughing, a light laugh the current Bruce would never allow.

  “When this war ends,” Cyan continued, “I want to become a writer.”

  Bruce laughed louder.

  “Writer?”

  Cyan gave him a playful punch on the arm.

  “Don’t laugh.”

  But Bruce kept laughing.

  “You won’t be a soldier?”

  Cyan looked at the starry sky.

  “I think I never wanted to be.”

  Then a boom. Pure light tore through the night.

  Alfredo and Marcos Lighting, young and powerful, appeared like lightning. Alfredo moved too fast. His light blade cut Cyan’s chest in a clean, cruel stroke. The young man fell without a sound, burned and dead.

  Bruce screamed. Ran forward. Alfredo knocked him down with a punch that echoed like thunder.

  The sword was pointed at Bruce’s chest on the ground.

  Marcos intervened.

  “Stop. See the seal. He’s a noble.”

  Alfredo stopped.

  Bruce tried to rise with a knife. Alfredo knocked him down again with the sword hilt.

  “You lost,” Alfredo said.

  Before leaving, Alfredo looked back. He saw Bruce embracing Cyan’s lifeless body, crying silently. Their eyes met for a second—a look that was not hatred, it was something else.

  Returning to the present:

  Bruce faced Alfredo with that same hatred fed by decades.

  The swords left their sheaths at the same time.

  Valkyria and Dawn’s Edge collided in an impact that shook the ground. Light and darkness exploded in blinding bursts. The Shadow soldiers hastily raised barriers, but the trail of destruction already raced toward Fencer and Flávio.

  Then a bluish barrier appeared before them.

  Amanda Graymon, in her wheelchair, eyes blazing.

  “You… shouldn’t be here!” she shouted.

  Flávio blinked, stunned.

  “Amanda! You can still do that?”

  Fencer ignored her. His eyes did not leave the confrontation.

  “The whole kingdom is trembling,” he murmured.

  Down below, in the cell, Luna felt the ground vibrate. She ran upward.

  Empty merely watched, motionless.

  At the epicenter of the collision, Bruce and Alfredo smiled—identical, fierce smiles, full of a history no one else understood.