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The two former brothers then charged towards each other and began their fight. Falco hurled punches with the skill of a trained boxer, every attack carrying the energy of a sledgehammer at full swing and relying on blocking with water for defense. Viktor replied with animal-like slashes, each finger capable of burning right through armor like it was cotton, and banking on his agility to avoid harm.

She heard her dad rummage around the kitchen, cutlery clanked together, and the microwave hummed for a minute or so before he collapsed onto the couch with the bowl of leftover lasagne steaming in his hands. Like muscle memory, he quickly switched on the TV and started wolfing down the food like a starving man. Only after demolishing half the bowl of pasta, barely paying attention to the random game show playing softly in the background did he turn to his daughter and notice the look on her face.

“She figured it out on her own. Or rather, she simply didn’t believe Cyrilo’s story. She’s keeping quiet because she doesn’t want me and Cyrilo to get in trouble. It’s not fair to her, to have to bear this sin with us. Honestly, I’m no different. I’m grateful to Cyrilo for everything she’s done for Alexis and me, and without her, our literature program has no future. Our dream is to change the world by granting everyone the gift of knowledge, but is noble sentiment enough to make up for what we did? Is it wrong for me to protect her? To protect myself? To escape punishment under the excuse that we’re trying to make a better world?”