Cane continued to drag the general across the kingdom when he was met with a soldier frantically running toward him.

  “Cane—Cane!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, his breath running ragged, his chest heaving as if his lungs might burst. He couldn’t contain himself.

  As he came to a halting stop, the soldier hunched over, hands on his knees and eyes fixed on Cane and the general.

  Cane looked down at the soldier, confused. “Spit it out, soldier—what is it?”

  “It’s…” the soldier took in two more breaths, trying to steady his breathing. “Ezra… he’s back.”

  Cane licked his lips in excitement. He discarded the general’s arm, then grabbed a hold of the soldier by his chest plate and began to shake him. “Where—where is he?”

  “He was in the ship hangar,” the soldier said. “Just leaving his ship.”

  Cane didn’t even bother to say thank you. Why would he? They were pawns to him, a means to an end with no real value other than serving and giving their life. He threw the soldier down to the ground and stepped over him like he was a discarded piece of waste in his way.

  The general, on the other hand… he couldn’t help but lock eyes with the poor soldier as he stepped around him.

  Cane turned back and noticed the sympathy the general’s eyes bore for the soldier. “Come on, general. He can help himself up.”

  The general looked back at Cane, then back at the fallen soldier. He stood there for a second, visibly torn between two worlds: the world of hate he bowed to, and the world of compassion he gave to his men.

  Ultimately, he gave in to his fear, scared of what the darkness brought for defiance of its rules. He lowered his head, hiding the pity in his eyes, and carried on down the hall toward the ship hangar.

  As the pair arrived at the ship hangar, Cane immediately spotted Ezra’s ship. The hangar door was wide open, and the lights were still on. It was as if Ezra had left the door open on purpose, goading his brother to enter.

  Cane didn’t hesitate; the sight of the ship only fueled the fire in his chest. He didn’t wait for an invitation—he didn’t believe he needed one in his father’s kingdom.

  He sprinted across the hangar toward the ship, his boots slamming against the cold metal floor. Behind him, the general struggled to keep up.

  “Ezra—oh, Ezra!”

  Cane spoke the name so spine-chillingly that it made the hairs stand up on the back of the general’s neck. As he reached the base of the ship, his whole demeanour shifted. The frantic running had died away, replaced by slow, methodical steps as he walked up the ramp.

  He was savoring every second. He waited years for this exact moment where he could finally put to bed his mistake on planet Zoron.

  “You can’t hide, brother! I know you’re here… show yourself. Father knows what you’ve done, and soon enough all the people in Elden City will know of your crimes. So make it easier on yourself and come out!”

  Cane looked around the ship while the general waited on the ramp, his eyes darting nervously around at the soldiers coming in and out of the hangar. There was no sign of Ezra anywhere on the ship. It was empty.

  “W—where is he?” Cane shouted as he ran both his arms across the console board, knocking everything to the floor.

  “Maybe he retired to his chambers,” the general said nervously, hoping the answer would tame his anger.

  But the general never got an answer. Cane stormed back down the ramp, walking straight past him. He didn’t look back; he was hell-bent on finding his brother, and anything in his way was just collateral damage.

  Cane stormed through the halls toward his brother’s room. No one dared to lay their eyes on the Prince; they looked at the floor, at the walls, at anything other than the epitome of blinding rage marching toward them. To catch his gaze was to invite his wrath upon themselves.

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  As he drew closer to Ezra’s room, he found the corridor full with a sea of people. Servants, high-ranking officials, and soldiers going about their everyday. But as Cane approached, the sea quickly parted. They scrambled backward, pressing themselves against the walls, allowing him to pass—creating a clear path toward Ezra.

  As he walked down the sea of parted people, he turned left, and there it was… Ezra’s room.

  Cane didn’t hesitate. He flung open the doors, slamming them into the walls and revealing the one person that seemed to be eluding him… Ezra. Standing with his back to the door, looking out of the window and down at Elden City.

  “Brother,” Ezra said nonchalantly, his voice low and dangerously calm compared to the heavy breathing of his brother. “Be careful with those doors… they leave a mark.”

  “Your room is the least of your worries, brother,” Cane said, his voice raising for the audience building outside down the hall. “You must answer for your war crimes. The general saw you, brother, an elemental wielder slaughtering father’s men. Tut—tut—tut,” Cane continued as he stepped closer to Ezra. “You see what your problem is, dear brother—its that your heart holds a place for empathy. Remorse. Forgiveness. Emotions that only have a hold on the weak. How could you leave the last remaining witness to your crimes alive? Now here they are… in father’s kingdom and able to tell all about your heroics on Arleon, a tale that should have never been able to trickle off of their tongue.”

  “Such a great tragedy,” Ezra replied, his eyes still fixed on the people of Elden City moving about their everyday lives. “To be slaughtered in such a way. But your witness is mistaken, brother. I was nowhere near planet Arleon.”

  Cane let out a calm, mocking sound. He felt he finally… had his brother exactly where he wanted, cornered and nowhere to go.

  “Humph. You can’t talk your way out of this one, brother. Your title nor your kinship will save you this time. The scars your body bears from the battle with the worg beast are moooore than enough to satisfy my claims to father of your treachery.”

  But as Cane began to chuckle and could see his brother behind bars already, Ezra finally turned away from the window and faced him.

  “What scars, brother?” Ezra asked with a taunting half-smile. “As you can see, my body does not bear such scars.”

  Cane scanned his brother’s body over and over again with diligent, desperate eyes, searching, scanning for the torn flesh and jagged scars the general had described. But there was nothing. Ezra’s skin was fresh, smooth, unmarked… skin that did not resemble a man who had been to hell and back.

  How is this even possible? The thought rattled around in Cane’s head, and no matter how hard he thought, the answer never reached the surface. He knew the general wouldn’t lie. He was petrified of Cane, and everyone knew the consequences of lying to Cane at the expense of their lives. Yet Ezra stood before him, and not a single scar was present on his body.

  “What kind of witchcraft is this, brother?” Cane shouted. “You think you can fool me with some mediocre magic trick, brother?”

  “Magic,” Ezra said, wearing a half-smile that made Cane’s blood run cold. “You forget… I possess no magic, brother. That was a skill that only you inherited from mother.”

  Cane’s mouth began to twist with a silent, ugly snarl before he finally exploded. He lunged forward, stopping just inches from Ezra’s face, and shouted at the top of his lungs.

  “You’ll slip up someday, brother! I’m getting closer! One day—one day you will stumble, and I’ll be right there, ready and waiting!”

  The desperation in his voice was clear for all to hear, but Ezra didn’t even blink. He simply watched, the same half-smile frozen on his face, as Cane spun on his heel and stormed out of the room.

  He didn’t look back. He just tore through the sea of people in the corridor, violently bumping everyone out of his way as he fled the scene of his own humiliation. The crowd scrambled to avoid him, then… when he was nowhere to be seen, their whispers turned into loud chatter.

  Ezra, on the other hand, walked over to the velvet chair beside his bed. He dropped into it, sinking deep into the cushions as he let out a long, shuddering breath. The mask he had worn in front of his brother had finally broken, replaced by a look of relief.

  That was too close, he thought, his heart still slamming against his ribs.

  He looked down, analysing his own body in disbelief. Ezra was still yet to find out the full extent of his power; he barely had any control over the elemental powers that lay deep within him.

  But luck had been on his side… this time. His powers possessed a healing property that he had yet fully understood. During the long journey back to Elden City, his body had quietly gone to work, stitching muscle and skin back together until not a single scratch remained from the battle with the worg beast.

  He ran a hand over his shoulder where the deepest wound had been—the exact spot where the beast had sunk its teeth the deepest.

  As his fingers brushed the smooth skin, he was hit with a sudden, violent flashback. The pain came flooding back, searing and raw. He could almost hear the screams he had echoed out into the empty sky, felt the cold terror of the moment he realized he wasn’t going to make it. He remembered the smell of the earth and the weight of the beast, the exact second he had accepted his own death.

  And yet, here he was.

  A power he possessed—but had no control over—had pulled him back from the brink. It had sewed his flesh back together while he slept, erasing the evidence of his toughest test to date. He was a walking miracle, a man kept alive by a power he had yet to understand its full capabilities.

  But a miracle wouldn’t be enough next time.

  Ezra stared at his trembling hand, the weight of the future settling on his chest. If he wanted to survive his brother, he had to learn how to wield that miracle power he possessed before Cane made good on his promise.