It was common to misunderstand the different facets of a personality. Where one side derived; where another ended. Jin was always told by the matrons at his service that there was no intrinsic good or evil. Everyone was a grayscale, and that included Cardien, Novas, and his father and mother.

But after years of listening to the same obscure consolation, he decided that there was no grayscale in Vita. There was no in-between when it came to his family. At least to him, there wasn't, and that notion still stood as he sat with the queen drinking tea at a table.

It was a fine tea, bitter and fresh. Superior when cold, but the queen preferred it warm. Fine by Jin, though; the conversation would be over soon.

The queen was rambling about Lux because she had visited not long ago and couldn't help but take amazement in its industrialized state. It was a nation filled with merchants and markets domineering in trade, while Vita and Sapientia idly sat by and watched with their primitive traditionalism.

That, however, was far from the truth. Sapientia excelled in advancement, already adopting some Remian traditions after studying the culture for decades, whereas Vita was the same as ever. Each kingdom had its flaws and strengths. Jin had come to respect that, unlike the queen, who trailed off the previous topic about Clarica's beauty and moved on to Lux's political affairs as if Vita had already dealt with its own.

To say the least, Jin was bored. Even looking out the window at the migrating sparrows in the sky did nothing to ease his boredom. Since Novas and the king were absent, the queen thought it was ingenious to spend her daily cup of tea with Jin, so he was trapped in a chair for however long the queen decided to talk. Rumors once claimed she could fill the silence with nonsense for weeks, even months.

Jin was reminded why.

"Did you hear about the scandal with King Aethyrias and his brother? I heard the late King Titus showed a hint of favoritism between the boys. Didn't you ever wonder why the younger son claimed the throne?" the queen mused, laughing and chuckling in high-pitched huffs as she sipped her tea.

"No. I never had any interest in other kingdom affairs." A wry smile curled on Jin's lips. "I don't believe it is kind to play a hypocrite when favoritism is far from a scandal, especially in Vita."

It was a discrete jab, but the queen, unfortunately, didn't notice—too enthralled by the gossip. "King Titus remarried when Lord Aegus was a young boy. Oh, all the Luxians whisper about it. If Lord Aegus wasn't such a gentleman, King Aethyrias's Lux would've been King Aegus's Lux." The queen clapped her hands, tangible joy bouncing off each impact. As if there was anything joyful in that story. "Such wonderful stories I heard! If only Vita were as lively as Lux."

Jin couldn't express in words how much he didn't care, so he gave a curt nod as he sipped his tea. "You should've stayed in Lux longer if you enjoyed the visit so much. It's a shame the serene halls are now filled with your boisterous gibberish."

Perhaps that was too outright, and Jin's thoughts were proven correct when the queen's laughter died into a scoff. Her teacup hit the tabletop with a crack. "Learn respect, you impertinent child! You should be grateful that you lead such an elegant life!"

Now, this chased Jin's boredom away. The end of the conversation was here. "If only you acknowledge your flaws as well as you disregard me, perhaps then I wouldn't have turned out as your impertinent child, My Queen."

Jin expected it, but the slap came hard and fast, leaving his cheek stinging with heat. The queen was on her feet, jabbing a finger in his face and saying something that slipped his ears. For a second, he thought she was going to slap him again, but she found her composure and sat back down, changing her scowl to a smile.

"I forgive you," she muttered breathlessly, sipping tea out of her cracked cup with a shaky hold. "You are ill, so I will forgive your insolence."

Jin's brows creased. Ill?

A figment of the past whispered another phrase in Jin's ears, bringing along a tidal wave of resentment and fury.

You are pathetic. A pathetic human.

The cup in Jin's hands shattered under the pressure of his vice-like grip. Bracing his bloody palm on the table, he loomed over the queen, his tone deadly low as he murmured, "I wonder why you even took the time to visit Lux, to chase Madam Amys's child all the way south to that forsaken kingdom. Was it something she said that garnered her execution? Or was it, as you claim, an attempted poisoning? If it is the former, I wonder how far you will go, how much you will dirty your hands to silence the secrets that threaten you. Do not dare call me ill when the one clearly diseased is you, Queen Evier."

The queen was silent as Jin vacated the room, leaving without another word and storming down the empty halls.

"How dare she call me ill," Jin gritted under his breath. "How dare she treat me like scum when she, too, is human."

It was in his rage that he didn't see what was right before his eyes until it was too late. The halls were oddly dim although the sun was high in the sky, and at the time, the absence of guards did not come as a suspicion. Birds in the courtyards were scattering in flocks, blurring the blue heavens with black clouds and fleeing with cracked croaks. Their soot-like feathers swiveled towards the earth, surfing along with the tides of the wind.

Jin was too distracted with his own emotions, too occupied with past insults and current deceptions, to see the darkness encompassing the castle. Blood from his injured hand left trails of uneven dots in his wake, slithering like a serpent veering at each turn. It was only when his foot stumbled over what felt like a sack that he sensed the shift in the air.

Barely catching his balance, he glanced behind him, cursing the servants for their clumsiness, but behind him lay not a sack.

Lying there was the upper half of a dead body.

In a heartbeat, his fear overtook his fury. Jin tripped over his feet, landing on his rear, and the moment his eyes met one void of color, he scooted back with desperate pushes of his aching hands. When his back hit the end of the halls, he finally stopped, panting and looking anywhere but what rested ahead.

The guards, he thought. Guards! Where were the guards!?

He searched the halls, ready to scream for help when his gasp stifled his cries. A whimper died in his throat as he covered his mouth with both hands, the taste of iron melting over his tongue. More dead littered the ground—mutilated, beheaded. Guards and servants and healers alike.

He should've retraced his steps back to the queen, escort her to a safe location, but his body moved with a mind of its own. Rising to his feet, he followed the trail of death.

The kills were fresh, so Jin couldn't help but gag, whether because of the smell or the situation, he couldn't tell. Even with his addled mind and nausea, he had enough sense to grab a candlestick he glimpsed. It was slim and tall but heavy and made of pure gold. If he put enough effort into the swing, the impact would surely kill the murderer.

Or murderers.

It was an unsettling possibility, but Jin continued tracking the dead bodies, each turn leading closer and closer to the final destination. Based on the path, he presumed it was the princes' chambers. Every step he took sealed his actions in stone, unable to undo whatever the consequences.

The halls were long, decorated with paintings of hunters and healers, adorned with tattered bows and axes, courtesy of the great Vitan warriors throughout history. It would've been apt for Jin to take a bow, but what use would come of that if the bowstring snapped? Or if his injured hand held him back? So he resolved to keep his candlestick, praying it would suffice.

At the end of the trail, he found himself exactly where he expected: the princes' chambers. Novas's room in the far right was already ransacked from what Jin could see through the crack of the open door. His own room was untouched. But Cardien's. . .

The first sound Jin heard was a faint sob. Light and fragile, echoing in the helpless silence. With the candlestick raised on his right, Jin pushed the door to Cardien's room open with two fingers only to find his brother lying in a pool of blood, crying for help with his weakened voice.

It was a horrendous sight, and Cardien's crushed legs were the main attraction. Papers and tattered silks were spread everywhere—the desks, tables, and walls. And based on the amount of blood staining the ground, it was a miracle Cardien was even alive. The drawers were plundered, sticking out at odd angles, while the bed was torn and shredded in shapes that could only form under the slash of an animal's claws.

What did this, Jin thought, was not human.

As Cardien continued to cry to nothing, a cold shiver traced Jin's spine, coaxing him to turn around. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention, his eyes straining with how wide they were open. Dread coursed through him, adrenaline flowing, readying his legs to bolt. But his mind was unprepared.

The creature was a beast never seen before. It lacked eyes and a nose, and its excuse for a mouth was a thin line that stretched from ear to ear. Its skin was gray, its body deformed and hunched, human but not. In place of fingers, it had sharp claws that extended to its knees.

Jin couldn't move, his candlestick now lowered. Only when the creature opened its mouth—the back of its head tilting back—to reveal multiple layers of thorn-like teeth did Jin regain his senses. Mustering all the strength he could manage, he smacked the creature's head with his candlestick, and a loud crack resonated, marking the beginning of Jin's runaway.

Dropping the candlestick, Jin sprinted down the halls, weaving through the waves of bodies, hanging onto the corner to make a sharp turn. His legs were jumping over limbs as the creature chased him from behind like a rabid beast, pouncing towards him on all fours. A wolf chasing a rabbit.

He couldn't keep his lead—every second it closed—so he whisked some arrows out of a fallen guard's quiver and yanked a random bow off of the walls, his blood curling around it.

Behind, the creature lunged, and at that moment, Jin wheeled around, knocked three arrows, and shot them straight through the creature's head. A bull's eye. Just like practice.

Black liquid splattered over his face and onto the weapons hanging on the walls. The arrows pierced through the creature's open mouth and the back of its skull. From the sheer strength of the attack, it almost split the head in two.

It seemed to die like any mortal, and that would've been the case if its body did not melt into a pile of ebony ash. The only evidence it had existed were the three now-black arrows, the bodies in the halls, and Cardien, who—to Jin's dismay—was dying. He left the bow in his haste, sprinting to Cardien's room, where his brother laid silent—the rise and fall of his chest faint.

Taking off his coat, Jin wrapped it around Cardien's bleeding legs and added pressure to block what he could. Living in Vita his entire life, he never thought he would say this, but there were no healers. If this stayed true, Cardien would die, and as wicked as it sounded, Jin couldn't stop the word "well-deserved" from ringing in his ears.

"Help!" he screamed, and the desperation under his voice belied the hatred consuming his heart, the sickness in his stomach. "Anyone! Help!"

It was not long before guards and servants showed up. Screams echoed in Jin's ears, as did the impact of knees meeting hardwood. The guards stared at Cardien's dying form in frightful confusion as healers rushed in, tearing Jin away. He didn't know it then, but he was crying, fighting his way towards Cardien—a brother he never loved, a brother who never loved him back.

Jin was situated far away, next to a sobbing servant. Tears were streaming down her cheeks in rivulets that turned pink when colliding with her hands—crimson when dripping to the floor. There was no reason to cry—at least for Jin there wasn't—not until his ears caught the weak whisper of a "my queen" and "my prince."

It was right then the truth clicked. From the very moment Jin saw the first dead body, the idea had laid dormant in the back of his mind, tapping at his conscience. But he decided to dismiss it—to follow the dead instead of attending to the queen.

That awful realization blazed in his chest as the ceramic shards nestled in his hand throbbed. He couldn't believe it. His head was light, the room twisting and turning as sick contentment curled in his stomach. It was all too vivid. A dream—a nightmare—he had always imagined had come to fruition.

"Your Highness," a guard said somewhere near or far. Jin couldn't tell. The heat in the room was smothering, sweat running down his back, blood dripping between his clenched fist. He shook his head.

"The queen—"

He didn't even hear the end of the sentence before his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fainted, a sickening joy chilling his heart.