A sharp crash tore through the silence of the mansion.
"Bang...!"
"Clang…!"
Damage-shattering sounds echoed from Cyrano's study. Glass splintered, wood cracked, and faint sparks of mana flared against the walls due to sudden burst of energy. Servants froze in the corridor, too terrified to breathe. It was well known that Lord Cyrano was difficult to talk when calm and when angry, he was terrifying .
Inside the room chaos grew worse.
"Damn it!" Cyrano roared, sweeping a stack of parchment to the floor. "It's been a year and you can't even kidnap a child! A child who can barely walk!"
A shadow stood before him, trembling slightly. The man's voice was low, after some hesitation he spoke.
"My lord, we've tried everything. They rarely leave the house. When they need anything, they send their butler, Michael. We attempted to infiltrate, but… every group we sent vanished into thin air. None returned."
Cyrano's glare could have frozen blood. "Then go yourself! Why did I even hire you if you can't complete a simple task?"
The man lowered his hood slightly. "Lord Cyrano, you misunderstand. We of the shadow Guild only act when success is certain. With an Arcane Mage like Lady Bella, guarding the boy, that is impossible without sufficient payment. If you wish us to proceed, you must pay the appropriate price."
Before Cyrano could respond, the shadow dissolved into black mist and disappeared leaving only the scent of cold air and burning rage behind.
Cyrano's hands shook. His face turned purple with fury, veins standing out across his forehead. For a long moment, he simply stared at the shattered desk before him, breathing hard.
"Jonny… Edward…" he muttered, voice hoarse. "We swore we were brothers. So why... why does everything good fall into your hands?"
............….
Years Ago
Back then, the three of them had nothing.
Jonny, Edward, and Cyrano, three orphans who shared one tattered blanket and one dream. They grew up together in a crumbling orphanage on the outskirts of red City, surviving on scraps, always side by side. Blood didn't matter to them; they were brothers forged by hardship.
Edward had been the youngest around eighteen with only early novice rank strength , wiry but with hands that never tired, endlessly curious about how things worked. Cyrano was lean and sharp-eyed, with hands always stained in ink or soot from whatever he tinkered with runes, powders, blood of beasts and salvaged trinkets he insisted could become potions. Jonny, taller and broader than the others, was the protector, the one whose arms could carry two of them across the city streets when danger arose.
Their days were filled with petty thefts, scrounging for food, and occasional Scuffle with local tyrants. Nights were spent around a dim candle in their shared room, huddled together for warmth, dreaming of better lives. "One day," Jonny whispered, eyes on the cracked ceiling, "we'll leave this place behind. We'll have our own names… our own skills. And no one will dare tell us we're worthless."
Edward nodded, tracing the faint lines of a forged blade diagram in his mind. "I'll learn every technique I can. Every weapon, every rune to be a spellbinder. We'll survive, yes but not only that, we'll thrive."
Cyrano smirked, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. "And I'll be the best potion refiner these lands have seen in centuries"
How would have though their wishes could be fulfilled so early, but will also broke their bond of brotherhood.
As Everything changed the day they discovered the ruined magic tower.
It had appeared in the old forest after a violent storm. Its walls, blackened and cracked, were etched with faint glowing runes. The locals whispered that it was cursed, that no one returned who dared enter.
"If we don't take the risk, we will never be able to turn our lives around "said Cyrano. Curiosity and perhaps the desperation of youth drove the trio inside.
The air smelled of ozone and dust. Mana hummed faintly in the walls, brushing against their skin like a ghost. Scrolls floated in glass cases, ancient weapons hung in crooked racks, and parchments lay scattered as though left in a hurry. Here, they discovered relics from a forgotten age: blueprints for weapon forging infused with elemental mana, spell scrolls written in an ancient dialect, and runes that seemed to pulse when touched.
But deep in the tower's heart stood a spherical object, floating above a cracked altar. It pulsed faintly, a soft white light that seemed alive.
After passing through countless hurdles and near encounter with death, they finally reached the centre of the tower where a orb's energy drew Jonny like a magnet.
"Wait," Edward cautioned. "It might be dangerous. We don't know what it is."
Jonny ignored him as if possessed by a ghost and reached out. The moment his fingers brushed the orb, it dissolved into a flood of energy, shooting directly into his chest. As it merge with Jonny, The room shook violently. Parchments scattered, glass cracked, and the ground beneath them trembled.
"Run!" Edward shouted, grabbing Cyrano by the arm. The wind whistled through gaps in the stone as pieces of the ceiling fell like jagged teeth. They barely escaped, coughing and covered in dust, but alive.
Outside, they collapsed onto the wet grass, lungs burning, hearts racing like horses. The storm had subsided, leaving only a pale moon to witness them.
After getting to a safe place, they decided to distribute the loot.
Edward smiled, trembling from adrenaline. "I only want the crafting knowledge for weapon-forging techniques. That's all I need. Nothing more."
Cyrano, brushing dirt from his clothes, nodded solemnly. "Then I'll take the potion archives."
Jonny chose the offensive spells and tactical scrolls. "I'll take what protects and fights. Someone has to make sure we survive."
As they packed their finds into makeshift satchels, Cyrano frowned, noticing the faint glow still lingering on Jonny's chest.
"First brother," he asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and unease, "what exactly did you touch at the altar?"
Jonny, placing a hand over his chest where the orb's energy had entered, gave a tired, strained smile. "Forget it, Cyrano. Whatever it was, has already merged with me . Let it be… my fortune, or misfortune. Only time will tell."
Hearing this Cyrano's heart was filled with jealousy. That day, a seed took root, small but venomous. He had always wanted what Jonny received naturally: strength, charisma, and now… a power that even the tower's relics seemed to acknowledge.
Months Later
Cyrano's envy had grown. He brought a stranger to examine Jonny's artifact, a middle-aged man with pale eyes, hands shimmering faintly with rune ink.
"First brother," Cyrano said with a false smile, "I've brought a spellbinder master. Perhaps he can help you remove that… burden from your chest."
Jonny hesitated, sensing a subtle malice behind the offer. "If it helps… I'll let him try. But I swear, nothing will come of it if it harms my soul sea."
He didn't notice the glint of greed in Cyrano's eyes or the old man's anticipation as he touched the artifact, fingers trembling, eyes alight with unconcealed desire.
That was the moment everything began to truly fell apart.
Trust among brothers, once unbreakable, had begun to splinter under envy, ambition, and unspoken desires. What had started as orphaned camaraderie was about to evolve into rivalry and eventually, tragedy.