The Antagonist’s Narrator

The Duchess's hand hovered near the door handle, but instead of stepping in, she stayed where she was, listening. His voice, calm yet deliberate, wrapped around the words of a story. It had been so long since she'd heard him speak with such ease, without the weight of formality or restrained politeness.

Through the small opening, she caught a glimpse of the scene inside.

The twins were seated together, their faces lit with wonder as they listened intently. Irish leaned forward slightly, her hands clasped beneath her chin, while Irien's posture was calm and composed, though her quiet focus revealed just how engrossed she was.

And there was Arlon, seated across from them, holding a book in one hand. His expression was steady, his tone measured as he read aloud. Even Ace, ribbon still tied snugly around his neck, lay curled lazily at the edge of the table, his tail flicking in faint contentment.

The soft murmur of Arlon's voice drifted through the slightly ajar door, mingling with the faint crackle of the library's fire.

He's changed so much, she thought, her gaze lingering on the calm authority in his posture. But this… this moment feels like a glimpse of the boy he used to be. Maybe the weight hasn't crushed him completely.

The Duchess's heart stirred at the sight, and memories she had tucked away long ago began to resurface.

Years ago, when the twins were no more than infants, she had often found Arlon sneaking into their nursery late at night. He had only been a boy of ten, his shoulders not yet heavy with the responsibilities he would one day bear. Yet even then, she had seen something in his eyes—a quiet tenderness, a protective instinct that spoke of the bond he felt with the twins.

She had stood silently in the doorway that night, unseen, as Arlon leaned over their cribs with hesitant steps. His small hand had reached out, brushing gently against one of the twins' tiny hands. The infant stirred, its fingers curling instinctively around his.

And Arlon had smiled. Not the formal smile he would later perfect, but a true, unguarded one—a fleeting moment of joy that had warmed her heart.

That warmth had disappeared in the years that followed.

But then, after Ceil's death, something in him had shifted—withdrawn behind a wall she couldn't breach,the tender boy she had seen in the nursery hardening into someone colder, more distant. His smiles became rare, his laughter unheard.

But now, standing outside the library, she saw a glimpse of that boy again.

The way he read to the twins, the way their eyes lit up as they hung on his every word—it reminded her of what she had always believed: that deep down, Arlon had never stopped caring for them.

The Duchess lingered, her hand resting lightly against the doorframe. She didn't want to disturb the moment, afraid that her presence might shatter the fragile connection unfolding inside.

Her lips curved into a faint smile, one tinged with both relief and hope. Perhaps the shadows of the past were beginning to lift.

With a quiet breath, she stepped away, her footsteps fading into the stillness of the hall. For the first time in years, she let herself hope—and left them undisturbed in the glow of their shared moment.

As her footsteps echoed softly down the hall, she let herself hope—for the first time in years—that the family might begin to heal.

Step— Step—

As the sound of the Duchess's footsteps faded, the library was left in peaceful stillness. The crackling fire in the hearth was the only sound that filled the room, its warm glow casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Arlon sat at the head of the long wooden table, the twins now fully absorbed in the book he was reading aloud. Irish was leaning forward, her eyes wide with curiosity, while Irien sat with a calm focus, her attention fully on Arlon's voice.

Beside him, Ace, the lazy cat, had curled up on the chair, his tail flicking lazily as if even he enjoyed the quiet moment shared with them all.

Irish leaned forward, her hands clasped neatly on the table. "Do you remember that story Father used to tell us?" Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, like she was reaching for a memory she wasn't sure was real.

Arlon paused, the book lowering slightly as he glanced over at her. Her gaze was expectant, but there was a quiet, almost hesitant sadness in it.

He frowned, trying to pull the memory from the depths of his mind, but it was like reaching for something that wasn't there.

"Father…" he echoed quietly.

Irish's smile wavered, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face before she quickly hid it. Irien, ever observant, noticed the shift in Arlon's expression and tilted her head, her voice calm but searching.

"Do you think... he would have told us stories like that? About the stars, I mean. I heard from some people that he believed they were like little messengers, always watching over us."

Arlon blinked, trying to process the sudden shift in conversation. His gaze drifted between the twins, noticing the hopeful yet uncertain look in their eyes. They didn't have memories of their father, only fragments, bits and pieces passed down from others or perhaps imagined.

His fingers twitched around the book, but he didn't speak. His mind raced, trying to think of something—anything—to bridge the gap between the twins and the boy they once knew.

"I... I don't remember it exactly," he murmured, his voice low, betraying the discomfort. "But it sounds like something he would say."

There was a beat of silence, and then Irish's soft voice broke through. "We miss him so much." Her eyes shimmered, but she quickly blinked them away, as if the vulnerability caught her by surprise.

Arlon's heart twisted at the sight of the sadness in her eyes. He wasn't used to seeing them so... fragile. It was so unlike the strong, independent personalities they'd both exhibited. In the briefest of moments, he wondered what it would have been like if he were truly Arlon—if he could be the brother they needed.

But instead of the comforting words he wished he could speak, his voice came out in a strange, awkward stutter.

"I—I'm sure he's watching over you, both of you. From up there." His hand, unbidden, reached out to gently pat Irish's head, his touch hesitant, unsure.

Irish didn't pull away. Instead, she let out a soft sigh and looked up at him with a faint smile, her eyes still holding the same mixture of curiosity and longing. "You really think that?"

"I... I think he would want you to know that he's still with you," Arlon said quietly, swallowing down the lump in his throat. I'm not the one to say these things, he thought. But I'll try. I'll try for them.

Irien, who had been silently watching the exchange, gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Father always made us feel safe. I know that much."

A wave of guilt hit Arlon—guilt that he couldn't give them the same sense of security that their father had, guilt that he wasn't truly their brother, not in the way they remembered. But the twins' gentle smiles, faint but genuine, told him they didn't need perfection. They just needed something.

"I might not remember the stories, but I'm here now," Arlon said quietly, his voice firming as he spoke. "And I won't leave you alone."

For a long moment, there was nothing but the quiet crackle of the fire, the sound of Ace's content purring in the background.

Irish's soft confession hanging in the air: "We miss him so much."

Her voice trembled slightly, catching him off guard. She sat with her hands folded on the table, her usual bright demeanor dimmed by the weight of her words. Irien, though composed, was no less affected, her calm exterior betraying a flicker of something deeper in her eyes.

The air felt heavier. Arlon wasn't used to these kinds of moments—raw, vulnerable. He didn't know how to respond, how to fill the silence pressing down on them. All he could think of was to reach out.

Before he realized it, his hand moved. It rested lightly on Irish's head, his palm brushing against her hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

"You don't have to worry about that anymore," he murmured, his voice low but steady. "I'm here now."

For a brief moment, Irish froze. Her wide eyes snapped up to meet his, and Irien stiffened beside her, her calm expression breaking into something startled.

Irish's hands flew up to her chest as she leaned back abruptly. "I—I'm sorry!" she stammered, panic rising in her voice.

"I didn't mean to—please, Lord Arlon, I—"

Arlon blinked, his hand lowering as confusion furrowed his brow. "What are you apologizing for?" he asked, glancing between the twins.

"I don't want to hurt you," Irish whispered, her voice trembling with an almost childlike fear. Her hands tightened into fists in her lap, as if trying to keep herself from reaching out again.

"We're not supposed to… to touch anyone like you."

Arlon frowned. "Why not?"

Irien answered this time, her voice low but steady, as though repeating a truth she'd had to accept long ago. "We take energy from awakeners when we're close to them. That's why we're supposed to keep our distance."

"And Father…" Irish's voice cracked, and she clutched the edge of the table as though it were the only thing holding her together. "He died because of us. Because of our energy. That's what they told us."

Irien's calm façade faltered, and her voice softened. "The plague weakened him, but they said our energy made it worse. We didn't mean to hurt him, but we did. And we can't…" She hesitated, glancing at Arlon. "We can't let it happen again."

Arlon's chest tightened as he took in their words. Their father had been gone for years, and yet they carried the weight of his death as though it had happened yesterday. The twins had barely been two years old when Ceil had died—how could they blame themselves for something so far beyond their control?

But they did. And no one had ever told them otherwise.

He forced his expression to soften, tilting his head slightly as if in understanding. "I see," he said carefully. "But you don't need to worry about me."

Irish blinked, her panic faltering. "W-We don't?"

"No," Arlon said, his tone calm and reassuring. "You see, I'm still... new to all this. My energy hasn't fully stabilized yet—it's overflowing, honestly. If anything, you might be helping me keep it in check."

The twins exchanged a glance, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. "Are you sure?" Irish asked hesitantly. "We don't want to make you sick."

"Sick?" Arlon echoed, his brow furrowing. "Why would you think that?"

Irien lowered her gaze, her hands tightening in her lap. "Because of Father," she said softly. "He… he got sick because of us."

Irish's voice trembled as she added, "They told us he died because his body was too weak to handle it. The plague—it came from us. That's why we're not allowed to be close to anyone awakened. We don't want to hurt you the way we hurt him."

Arlon felt the weight of their guilt pressing against him like a tide threatening to pull him under. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if the real Arlon—if Ceil's true son—would have known what to say to ease their burden.

But he wasn't him. He wasn't their real brother. And yet, here they were, looking at him with a mixture of hope and fear, waiting for him to say something that would make it better.

His secret—the one thing that separated him from being an awakener—was what made him immune to their energy. They didn't know that. They couldn't know that. And in this moment, it didn't matter.

He pushed his own unease aside and met their gazes head-on. "Father didn't die because of you," he said, his voice steady and firm. "You were children. What happened wasn't your fault."

Irish opened her mouth to protest, but Arlon held up a hand. "And as for me," he continued, "I told you, my energy is overflowing. If anything, you're helping me. So stop worrying about hurting me. You're not going to."

The twins stared at him, their eyes wide and uncertain. Slowly, Irish nodded, though the tension in her shoulders hadn't fully eased.

"You really mean that?" she asked quietly. "We're not... hurting you?"

"You're not," Arlon said firmly. "And you won't."

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire. Then Irish let out a shaky sigh, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. "Okay," she whispered.

Irien nodded faintly, her expression unreadable. "Thank you," she said softly, though there was still a lingering edge of doubt in her voice.

Arlon leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze softening as he looked at them. "No more apologies," he said, a faint hint of dry humor creeping into his tone. "Agreed?"

Irish sniffled, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. "Agreed," she murmured, ducking her head.

"Good," Arlon said, picking up the book again. "Now, let's get back to the story, shall we?"

The twins settled back into their seats, their earlier panic slowly fading. As Arlon resumed reading, the warmth of the fire filled the room once more, and the heavy atmosphere lightened, leaving behind something quieter, more fragile.

And though Arlon's voice was steady as he read aloud, his thoughts churned beneath the surface. The twins' words echoed in his mind—about their father, about their energy, about the blame they carried.

He wasn't their real brother. He wasn't an awakener. But for now, they didn't need to know that. For now, all that mattered was being there for them in the only way he could.

And yet… no one had told him. He hadn't known the full extent of their condition, hadn't known the burden they quietly bore. Dimitri must have known—must have deliberately chosen not to warn him. Arlon's jaw tightened at the thought. Was it because he wanted me to see for myself? To force me into understanding them, rather than preparing me?

Even so, Arlon thought grimly, he can't keep withholding information like this. If I'm to protect them, I need to know everything. No more secrets.

Ace's voice flickered in his mind, dry and amused. "That was quite the performance, noble Arlon. You should consider the stage".

Arlon ignored him, his focus remaining on the twins. He wasn't the original Arlon. He wasn't even an awakener. But for the first time, that didn't feel like a failure. It felt like a choice—a choice to be the brother they needed, even if it was in his own way.

Creak—

A soft knock at the door pulled them out of the moment. The door creaked open, revealing one of the castle maids. She stepped in hesitantly, but her gaze quickly landed on Arlon. Her eyes widened in surprise before she lowered her head in a deep bow.

"My Lord," she said respectfully, her voice steady. "Dinner has been prepared."

The twins exchanged a quick glance, their somber expressions brightening ever so slightly.

"Thank you," Irish said with a polite smile, while Irien gave a small nod in acknowledgment.

Arlon straightened in his chair but didn't move to join them. Instead, he spoke calmly, his voice measured. "You two should go ahead. I have something to take care of first."

Irish hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on him, but Irien gently tugged her arm. Together, they stepped out of the library, their soft footsteps fading down the hall.

Once the twins were gone, Arlon rose from his chair, his movements deliberate, and walked toward the door. Standing just outside was Dimitri, ever composed and waiting silently like a shadow.

Without looking at him, Arlon spoke, his voice low but edged with an unmistakable sharpness. "Next time, don't keep things from me. If you knew about their condition, you should have told me."

Dimitri lowered his head in apology, his tone calm yet filled with genuine regret. "Forgive me, my lord. I believed it would be better for you to discover it on your own… to spend time with them without preconceived notions clouding your perception."

Arlon exhaled softly, a hint of amusement in the sound, though his gaze remained fixed ahead. "Your intentions are noted. But from now on, Dimitri, I expect you to inform me of everything. If you wish to remain by my side, there can be no more secrets."

Dimitri straightened, his expression firm. "Understood, my lord. I will not withhold anything from you again."

Satisfied, Arlon began walking down the hallway, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. Behind him, Ace leapt down from the library table and followed silently, his ribbon swaying slightly with each step.

Step— Step—

The castle's dimly lit halls stretched out before them, but Arlon's mind lingered on the words exchanged with the twins and Dimitri. The quiet hum of their emotions remained, subtle yet persistent, as though the weight of their pasts now brushed against his own.