Eternal Malediction

Kieran stood, stretching his arms with a tired groan. “I’m going in,” he said, his voice softer now that the adrenaline had faded. “Rin, come on. You need sleep.”

Rin nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Okay… I think I’m tired now.”

Kieran placed a hand on the boy’s back, guiding him toward the cabin door. Rin walked with small, slow steps, the kind kids take when they’re half‑asleep but still thinking about everything they said. Before he went inside, he looked back at Roy.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly.

Roy smiled. “Night, kid.”

The door closed behind them, leaving Roy alone on the steps.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy like the barnyard’s silence. It wasn’t suffocating or tense. It was… gentle. Soft. The kind of silence that only exists when the world is finally allowed to breathe again.

Roy sat there for a long moment, elbows resting on his knees, staring out at the outskirts of London. The grass shimmered with morning dew, each droplet catching the rising sunlight like tiny crystals. The trees swayed softly, their branches stretching as if waking from sleep. The sky was turning gold, then orange, then a pale blue that felt almost fragile.

He inhaled deeply.

The air was cold but clean. Still, it's comforting.

And then the realisation hit him, not like a sudden shock, but like a slow, warm wave rolling over his chest.

When was the last time he sat alone?

He couldn’t remember.

He had been surrounded by people, danger, responsibility, and noise — always noise — for so long that the quiet felt foreign. Strange. Almost unreal.

He leaned back slightly, letting the cold wood press against his spine. His breath fogged in the air. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee. His eyes softened as he watched the sun rise over the trees.

For the first time in years, Roy felt like a person.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. Minutes. Maybe an hour. Time didn’t matter.

The world was quiet. The air was free.

Footsteps approached.

Soft ones. Measured. Not hurried. Not cautious.

Adult footsteps, but they were light, almost gentle.

Roy opened his eyes.

Two figures stood a few feet away: a young man and a young woman, both around twenty. Twins, unmistakably. Same posture. Same eyes. Same way of standing; it was kind of a sight to see something so similar.

The girl had long dark hair tied in a loose ponytail, strands falling around her face. The boy had short medium hair, messy and windswept, like he’d run through a field or slept in a car. Both wore simple clothes — nothing strange, nothing flashy, just normal.

But their eyes…

Their eyes were warm. Soft. Curious.

And familiar in a way Roy couldn’t place. They didn’t speak at first. They just looked at him, then at the bench beside him, then back at him. The girl tilted her head slightly. The boy gestured toward the bench with a small, polite motion.

Roy blinked. “…You want to sit?”

They both nodded.

Roy shifted forward, giving them space. The twins sat down beside him — the girl on his left, the boy on his right. They didn’t crowd him. They didn’t cling. They just sat, legs relaxed, hands resting on their laps, watching the sunrise with him.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Roy shifted forward, giving them space. The twins sat down beside him — the girl on his left, the boy on his right. They didn’t crowd him. They didn’t cling. They just sat, legs relaxed, hands resting on their laps, watching the sunrise with him.

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For a moment, none of them spoke.

Then the girl said softly, “You picked a good morning to be alone.”

Roy let out a small breath. “Did I?”

She nodded. “Some mornings are meant for quiet.”

The boy leaned back slightly. “You look like someone who doesn’t get many of those.”

Roy smirked. “Is it that obvious?”

The girl studied his face for a moment. “Your eyes give it away.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “My eyes?”

“They’re tired,” she said simply. “Not the kind of tired sleep fixes.”

Roy’s chest tightened slightly. “You get all that from one look?”

She shrugged. “You learn to notice things.”

The boy added, “Especially in people who carry too much.”

Roy stared at them, something warm and strange blooming in his chest. He didn’t know these two. He had never seen them before. But something about them — their presence, their voices, their calmness — felt familiar in a way he couldn’t explain.

The girl glanced at him again. “You’re not waiting for anyone, are you?”

Roy shook his head. “Nope. Just… sitting.”

The boy smiled faintly. “Then we’ll sit with you.”

Roy felt his throat tighten slightly. “Yeah, um… sure.”

They sat together quietly, watching the sun rise higher. The sky turned brighter, the dew sparkled more, and the world felt gentle in a way Roy wasn’t used to.

Roy sat with the twins in the soft morning light, the dew shimmering across the grass like scattered glass. The sky was opening slowly, peeling from deep blue into pale gold. The world felt gentle, almost fragile, as if the night’s violence had been swallowed whole by the sunrise.

The girl twin watched the horizon with a calm, steady gaze. The boy rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. They didn’t fidget. They didn’t shift. They sat with the kind of stillness that came from people who had lived through things — real things — and learned how to be quiet afterward.

After a long moment, the girl asked again, “What’s the date today?”

Roy frowned, thinking. He hadn’t kept track. Days blurred together. Nights stretched too long. But he remembered Mira mentioning something earlier in the week. He remembered the calendar pinned crookedly inside the cabin.

He exhaled slowly.

“…It’s the 30th of October.”

The boy’s head lifted slightly. The girl’s eyes softened, almost knowingly.

Roy blinked.

And then it hit him.

Not like a shock but more like a slow, warm wave rolling over his chest.

He whispered it before he even meant to.

“…It’s my birthday.”

The words hung in the air, fragile and strange. Roy stared at the ground as if the dirt itself might confirm it. He hadn’t said those words in years. Maybe a decade. Birthdays were not celebrated in orphanages due to lack of funding.

The boy smiled gently. “Then… happy birthday.” Then he pulls out his arm to shake his arm. Roy looks at him and nods and returns the handshake back.

The girl added, “Really. Happy birthday.”

Roy swallowed, his throat tightening. “I… didn’t even remember.”

“That’s alright,” the girl said. “Some people forget the things that belong to them.”

Roy looked at her. “Do you remember?”

She shrugged lightly. “Always, because even when they are not with me, I will always remember.”

The boy reached into his coat pocket. “We actually have something.”

Roy blinked. “Something?”

“A gift,” the girl said. “We were going to give it to someone else, but… they’re ill. And you look like someone who could use a small kindness today.”

Roy stared at them, unsure how to react. “You don’t even know me.”

The girl’s lips curved slightly. “We know you enough.”

The boy handed him a small black one.

Roy hesitated, then opened it.

Inside was a pair of earrings; they were silver, polished and shaped with a symbol he knew too well.

It was a lowercase cursive 'l'. The Nova in the Veil emblem.

His emblem. His cloak’s emblem. The symbol he copied from an old newspaper photo from this very time period.

Roy’s heart skipped.

He forced a casual smile. “Ah… this symbol. It’s from around here.”

The twins exchanged a glance; it was subtle, unreadable.

The girl said, “Oh? Do you know this symbol?”

Roy nodded, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yeah. I’ve seen it before.”

The boy leaned back slightly. “Funny. Most people haven’t.”

Roy swallowed. “Well… I guess I’m not like most people.”

The girl studied him for a moment. Her gaze wasn’t intrusive, just observant and quietly analytical. “You remind me of someone, a person my mum always talked about," she said.

Roy raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

She didn’t answer immediately. She looked at his face, at the way he held himself, at the way his shoulders stayed tense even when he tried to relax.

“a great man who carried too much,” she said finally. “Someone who didn’t know how to put it down”

Roy’s face fell. “That’s… oddly specific.”

She shrugged. “Some people wear their exhaustion like a coat. You’re one of them.”

The boy added, “But you’re also someone who keeps going. That’s rare.”

Roy looked between them, unsure whether to feel comforted or exposed. “You two talk like you’re forty.”

The boy laughed softly. “We’ve lived fast.”

The girl smirked. “And we listen well.”

Roy closed the box gently, fingers lingering on the symbol. “Thank you. Really.”

The girl nodded. “It’s yours now.”

The boy added, “Maybe it’ll mean something later.”

Roy frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The twins exchanged another glance – that same quiet, uncanny look that made Roy’s skin prickle.

The girl stood first. “We should go.”

The boy rose beside her. “Thank you for sitting with us.”

Roy blinked. “I… didn’t do anything.”

The girl smiled softly. “You did more than you think.”

Roy opened his mouth to ask something, anything, but the twins were already stepping away, walking down the path toward the trees. Their silhouettes blended with the morning light, fading into the gold and green of the outskirts.

Before they disappeared completely, the boy turned back.

“Happy birthday, Roy.”

And then they were gone.

Roy sat there, earrings in hand, the morning sun warming his face, the world quiet and gentle around him.

He whispered to himself, barely audible—"…Who were they?”

But the wind didn’t answer.

Only the sunrise did with its soft, warm, and strangely hopeful rays.