The heavens wept.
Rain hammered the earth, devouring every spark of warmth left in the night. Beneath the skeletal branches of an old oak, a man knelt before a fresh grave. The soil was dark and soft, still raw from burial.
Gable didn't feel the cold.
He didn't feel the rain.
He only felt the emptiness inside him — a hollow wound that no blade could ever heal.
"Why… why!"
His voice cracked through the downpour, echoing against the silent tombstones. The words came out strangled, half a cry, half a roar.
Gable's crimson hair clung to his face, the strands heavy with water and grief. His eyes once fierce, once proud were now glassy and unfocused, staring at the grave as if it could somehow answer him. His hands, calloused from years on the battlefield, trembled as they pressed against the soaked ground.
"Why did you have to go now?" he whispered hoarsely. "We were about to start our new life together… with our unborn child."
His voice broke, and the words dissolved into a sob. "But now… now you're both gone."
For years, he had stood as Silverhaven's blazing shield The Crimson Flame, Fourth-Tier Flame Force Knight, and the king's most loyal blade. But here, stripped of armor and title, he was only a man and a broken one.
The storm raged harder, thunder splitting the sky in two.
And then… a voice.
"You look so very sad, Sir Gable."
The words slithered through the night, soft yet venomous. It wasn't a sound one heard it was a sound one felt crawl beneath their skin.
Gable's head snapped up, his grief igniting into fury. Flame Force flickered instinctively across his shoulders, faint embers glowing through the rain.
"Who the hell are you?" he barked into the shadows.
A chuckle answered deep, distorted, and wrong. "Oh, come now, Gable. Let's skip the pleasantries. You seek truth, don't you? Then listen closely. I know who killed your wife… and your unborn son."
The words struck him like a spear through the heart.
Gable froze, his eyes wide, lips trembling. "W-What are you talking about? It was an accident… a fire. Not murder."
"Do you truly believe that?" the voice whispered, circling him unseen. "Listen to yourself. You don't even sound convinced. Deep down, you know the truth that the fire wasn't chance. It was a message."
The rain poured harder, a curtain between heaven and hell. Gable's breathing grew ragged.
"No," he muttered, shaking his head. "No, it can't be. It was… it was an accident."
"An accident?" the voice sneered. "You saw the mark left behind, didn't you? The pendant. It wasn't hers, Gable. It was the sigil of the Royal Mercenaries… the king's own private force."
Gable's pupils shrank. His hand instinctively reached into his pocket, feeling the small, burned emblem — the one he'd found beside her body. He'd ignored it, convincing himself it was meaningless. But now…
"You're saying one of my brothers killed her?" His voice cracked under the weight of disbelief. "That's madness!"
A hiss of amusement followed. "Oh, it was no ordinary brother, Sir Knight. It was your dearest friend. The king himself — Marcellius Grimgold."
Lightning ripped across the sky, casting Gable's face in pale, broken light.
"You lie!" he roared, but his voice wavered. "Marcellius would never! He's my brother-in-arms, my—"
"Your brother?" the voice interrupted, its tone dripping with mockery. "He took everything from you, and you still call him brother? Wake up, Gable. He killed your family to protect his throne. To bury a truth you were never meant to learn."
Gable's mind twisted. His heart screamed no, but the seed had already been planted — and grief is fertile soil for despair.
"Why… why would he—"
"Ask him yourself," the voice murmured darkly. "Or better yet… make him answer."
"…What do you mean?" Gable's tone was unsteady now, more whisper than defiance.
"The king has a newborn son," the shadow said. "Take from him what he took from you. Steal the child. Let him drown in the same pain that consumes you now."
Gable staggered back, trembling. "No… I could never… he's innocent."
"So was your unborn child," the voice snapped. "And yet he burns with her still. The choice is yours, Gable. Revenge or despair."
The wind howled, carrying the words into the storm and then, the presence vanished.
Only the rain remained.
Gable stood motionless in the graveyard, the pendant heavy in his hand.
His heart screamed no, but his grief whispered yes.
And grief, once poisoned by doubt, can burn hotter than any flame.
---
Hours Later
"INTRUDER! SOMEONE—SOMEONE'S IN THE INFANT'S CHAMBER!"
A wounded guard collapsed against the wall, clutching a relay crystal slick with blood. His vision blurred as his final breath left him. The crystal dimmed, and the echo of his warning faded into silence.
By the time the royal knights arrived, the cradle was empty.
Rain lashed through the shattered window. Curtains whipped in the wind like ghosts.
"Damn it," muttered a man kneeling by the window. His gloved hand brushed a single strand of crimson hair. His jaw clenched. "No… it can't be."
The man rose to his full height Ryker Darnel, Second-Tier Shadow Force Knight. His presence was calm but heavy, his eyes dark and sharp as midnight steel.
A younger knight burst into the chamber. "Sir Ryker! His Majesty requests your presence immediately!"
Ryker looked out the window one last time, the strand of red hair twisting between his fingers. His expression didn't change — but his heart did.
"...So, it's true," he murmured. Then he turned and left.
---
The Throne Chamber
"Report!"
The word thundered through the marble hall like a blade drawn from its sheath. King Marcellius Grimgold stood tall upon the dais, gold and white robes gleaming even beneath the dim torchlight. His golden eyes sharp and commanding burned with fury and disbelief.
Ryker entered and bowed deeply, his cloak dripping with rain. "My king… this matter is personal."
The king's voice softened but held the weight of command. "Everyone, leave us."
The chamber emptied, the great doors shutting behind the last knight. Only the two remained, brothers not by blood, but by loyalty.
"Speak," Marcellius demanded. "You are my right hand, Ryker. Tell me how the child of my blood vanished under your watch."
Ryker hesitated, the silence stretching thin. "Because, my king," he said at last, "the man who took him… knows this castle better than any of us."
Marcellius's brows furrowed. "Who?"
Ryker slowly opened his hand, revealing the crimson strand. The firelight reflected off it like blood.
"Our brother, Gable."
The name struck the king like a sword through the ribs.
"Gable?" His voice cracked. "Impossible! He is—he was—my closest friend. My brother!"
Ryker's eyes held no malice, only sorrow. "Loyalty blinds even the purest heart, my king. His grief consumed him. He believes you ordered Grace's death."
Marcellius took a step back, his breath trembling. "Grace… no. He thinks I—?"
His hand clenched into a fist, trembling against his chest. "Oh, Gable… how far have you fallen?"
Ryker bowed his head. "Your orders?"
For a long time, the king said nothing. Only the rain whispered against the stained-glass windows.
Finally, Marcellius's voice came — low, pained, and heavy with love.
"Bring him back to me, Ryker. Alive."
Ryker nodded once. "As you command."
He vanished into shadow — a whisper against the wind.
Marcellius remained, his golden eyes dimmed by sorrow.
He looked up toward the ceiling, where stormlight flickered through the glass like broken fire.
"Why, Gable…" he whispered. "What did I do to lose you too?"
The storm outside answered with thunder.
---
Five Years Later…
The night Silverhaven's brotherhood broke became legend.
The Crimson Flame was extinguished.
The Shadow Blade walked alone.
And the stolen child… grew beneath the ashes of betrayal.
A new story was waiting to begin.