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The freezing cold caught many off guard, and illness flew in the House of Gautier. Only a few were still up on their feet wandering about, but the rest were praying to the Goddess for a quick recovery for the bedridden soldiers. With such a mood looming within the walls of their home, everyone expected the morale to be at an all-time low.
However, there was one healthy boy running from room to room with newly baked pastries from his mother, beaming and brightening up everyone’s mood. A beloved red-head that everyone gushed on, as he was told to be next heir of Gautier due to the Crest he bore. He delivered the goods and got little head pats from even the most stern warrior the household had.
The boy had always been a contrast to every other Gautier, who bore glares and frowns rather than smiles and laughs. Usually he got scolded for not being more serious, but as of now, it was desperately needed by everyone.
The eldest son had been infected by the nasty illness and was stuck in his room. As he was trying to get some sleep after coughing up what felt like a lung, he was hoping that the little Crest bearer would be in the same shape as himself, if not even worse .
He almost smiled as he closed his eyes, his dreams came to a halt when the door was suddenly kicked open. The darned sun trapped in the body of a child let out a happy ‘big brother’ as he dashed to his bedside.
Miklan would rather perish from this illness than to interact with that shitty Crest child.
“Don’t call me that, you Crest baby .” He grumbled with a hoarse groan as he pulled his blanket over his head, as if that would shield him from the pest.
“Understood, Mikky! ” Sylvain saluted and got up on the bed. The older brother let out a loud groan. If Miklan could, he would’ve strangled that boy on the spot for invading his personal space like this.
.. .then again, maybe he would get sick this way.
“Mom made some pastries! You want some, Mikky?” Sylvain tilted his head in the most innocent manner possible, very well aware that he would get denied anyway.
“I’ll kill you if you as much as dare to call me that again, or breathe, or any--” his threats were interrupted by a harsh roll of coughs. It didn’t help that the stupid Crest baby was still atop of him during his time of weakness, so he felt that extra weight bounce up and down.
“You’ll kill me no matter what, so I’ll call you whatever I want.” Sylvain winked and placed the pastry atop Miklan’s head before bouncing off his brother. The moment his feet landed on the floor, he gave a salute.
“Get well soon, Mikky ! Mom’ll be sad if you die from this!” Hearing those words followed by that bubbly laugh made Miklan wish even more that their roles were swapped. That kid didn’t even take his future seriously. He was just being a cute baby boy, who had no awareness of the power given to him the moment he was born.
Terrible.
Gruesome.
Horrible.
The rain was pouring down outside the camp they had set up for the night. The others from the Gautier were already discussing whenever to approach the enemy during this weather or wait it out, considering both advantages and disadvantages. Sylvain knew pretty well that he could tell his opinion on the matter if he wished for it and they would listen. However, if he was wrong, there would be too much pressure on his shoulders to bear.
Instead, he quietly left the main tent and tried to sneak into his own to escape the talk from the adults. The weather made what should have been an easy task to quite the challenge; the winds made it difficult for him to see the right tent…
...which, of course, lead him into the wrong one.
This was easy to figure out the moment he stepped inside, as an apple was tossed straight at him with every intent of bruising him.
“Get out of here, you damn crest baby .” Miklan hissed, grabbing another apple right away.
The boy only let out a sigh while closing up the front of the tent.
“DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME?! I SAID TO GET OUT-”
“We don’t have much provisions left, Miklan. You’ll get grounded again if you toss that apple too.” He picked up the one already on the ground and took a bite out of it. Just yesterday, they passed yet another group of orphans, and he could not forget that image easily. To waste food like this would feel even worse.
“Also, I can’t go out right now, and if I do, you’ll get blamed for my disappearance.” He despised using threats like these against his brother, but he really did not want to go out and get into the wrong tent again.
“...Tch.” Miklan sent a glare towards his younger brother, but he was tired of house arrest. He could not get rid of that terrible pest if he continued to be locked up in his room, so he had to swallow his hatred for the time being.
“Then be of use you annoying pest.” He turned around to find something.
“!” Sylvain’s eyes lightened up the moment he heard a familiar rattle and he sat down in front of his brother, ensuring that there was enough space for what was about to be placed between the two. Sure enough, the board for ‘Knights and Soldiers’, a board game used for practicing war strategies, was slammed down, and the pieces followed one after the other. The wooden board still had that fresh scent to it: it was new!
“Where did you get this one, Miklan?” Sylvain was already placing the pieces in the right spots. Of course the boy knew his father only played this with him to teach him strategizing, but it was still much more fun when they did a game or two together. And now, he and Miklan would do it too…!
“...You’ll not believe me if I told you, shitty Crest baby.” Miklan mumbled. He wasn’t here to get along and be friends, this was for the sake of strategizing. After all, it was only a matter of time until the kid would be dead and gone, and all his problems would be solved.
“So you were the one who saved the townsfolk from that group of bandits?” Sylvain peeked up and caught how his older brothers eyebrows scrunched up in annoyance.
Jackpot.
“You’ll start, you disgusting Crest baby.” Miklan poked Sylvain’s forehead to get him to start. Everyone knew starting was always a disadvantage when playing ‘Knights and Soldiers’, but that did little to curb his excitement; this was the first time the two of them would play this game together…!
Mean words spat at him mattered little during the battle, but now it was just friendly banter between the two of them, not words that were tossed at him to hurt him. They were at war after all, and this battle was one neither would want to lose!
Sylvain thought to himself, if he were to lose this battle, would he be able to see Miklan smile honestly for once?
With his hands on his back, he observed the weapon kept in the family. The Lance of Ruin was not exactly a friendly name for a Heroic Relic, and to even call it a Heroic Relic felt wrong to Sylvain. What was so Heroic about a weapon that only one selected person per generation could wield?
There were so many tales of what could occur if it was in the wrong hands floating around in the nearby town. Some spoke of how the House of Gautier would forever be cursed, others about how the Goddess would punish any sinners if the Lance of Ruin were to be held by the wrong hands.
After all, parts of it was always moving slightly, like claws trying to grasp whoever were nearby and pull them towards their death.
Sylvain only knew one thing for sure: One day, it would be his burden to bear.
“They have no proof of those rumors.” Sylvain’s eyes widened as Miklan was suddenly by his side, scoffing at the sight before them.
“That was mine until you were born and ruined my whole life.”
“...” Sylvain tried to keep his attention on the weapon, as his mood was more somber than usual from observing the Ruin before him. It wasn’t like this didn’t affect him either. The moment he took his first breath, his name was destined to be spoken by people for centuries, his achievements would be written in history books and his whole future was decided because of that dreaded Crest. He bit his bottom lip in annoyance; it would’ve been so much better for everyone if Miklan did get that Crest in the first place…
“What in the heavens are you looking so depressed for?! You have no reason to frown! You got it all, and yet-” Miklan grasped Sylvain’s collar and raised him up in the air. Immediately, Sylvain gasped for air - he could feel those sharp fingernails digging into his neck already.
“And yet you’re standing here, whining ?! You ungrateful dung beetle!” He spat right in his face and let go off his hold around him, which caused the boy to fall straight onto the floor. He was already in enough trouble as it was due to leaving the boy alone in the mountains only a few days ago. Letting out a big grunt, the older brother marched away, leaving the younger one without making sure if he broke a leg or two. He didn’t care anyway.
“...” Sylvain didn’t feel like moving. The guilt now was as strong as the first time his older brother showed disgust for his existence. He wasn’t one to fall for his own emotions, after all, as Miklan said, he had absolutely no right to feel depressed. He got served everything he could ever want…
...if he wanted it, that is. Because who would want--
No, he had no choice.
The boy curled up and held around his legs, sniffling and hiccuping. He did not care for the scent of blood from the scratches on his hands and knees, for they were few compared to the feelings his older brother bore every single day.
If only you could get my Crest, Miklan, then maybe we could’ve gotten along...
Faerghus was becoming less and less controlled, and it was up to the Gautier household to clean up yet another mess. Not that it was unnatural for them to do; it was their duty to protect the kingdom and ensure that leftovers would not be lingering about. This time it was a group of bandits who was up to no good. They only managed to get halfway to the castle before they were noticed, however the guards failed to catch any of them in time.
Sylvain would rather stay at home and play with his friends than being a part of this mission. He was not afraid nor nervous; it was simply that he had to stay behind to not get harmed, as he wasn’t old enough to ride on his own yet according to his father.
The young teen let out a sigh as he leaned against a tree, out of sight from the enemy. They weren’t afraid of pushing his older brother into the fray as usual, he was already way ahead of the rest of the group with some of the other members of the Gautier household. Sylvain rolled his eyes. Maybe he could take a nap or something while waiting for them to finish the task? He didn’t bring any books with him, so there was nothing to really do. Unless the enemy was weak, his father would never let him actually fight and be useful either.
The silence was soon interrupted when he heard a familiar neigh approach them ina rapid pace. The beloved black steed of his brother was coming towards them without its rider safe and sound in its saddle. Sylvain gasped, turning towards the rest of the men-
However, they shrugged. Good riddance , one said. He had to fall to his death sometime , the other said.
Sylvain, however, would not allow that to slide. Quickly, before anyone could hold him back, he hoisted himself atop the horse and held the reins tightly. The horse was already galloping the moment the rider was atop of him securely so there was no doubt where they were going. He could already hear his father use his full name to try to call him back, but the boy was determined where he needed to be.
He knew, however, that the receiving end of the rescue would disagree.
Soon enough he spotted a familiar figure dressed up in black and red armor curled up on the ground, gripping his face. A bandit was just about to swing their axe at Miklan’s neck, but Sylvain came just in time and blocked it with his lance. The axe flew out of the bandit’s grip, and he let out a frustrated hiss before running away.
“Don’t forget about our deal, Miklan!” The bandit yelled as he left the two brothers alone. Of course those words didn’t sound right to Sylvain, especially considering how the older of the two were hunched over in pain, but he decided to dwell on that later. The younger crouched down next to him and tried to get a better look…
...but before he could, he felt something cold and hard strike his nose. He tumbled backwards and landed on his bottom, holding onto his face in surprise.
“...Don’t...you...dare…” Miklan was wheezing, while trying to get up. There was blood gushing down from a long, open cut on Miklan’s face; it was nothing Sylvain had ever witnessed before, especially not on an ally. He felt himself tense up at the sight, his whole body felt as if it was frozen to the ground.
However, when his brother began to fall forward again in his hopeless attempt to get up, something in Sylvain awoke and he hurried forward to support him. He did not care about how his own nose was bleeding and that blood was dripping onto his armor. Only thing he cared about was to get his older brother to safety. It wouldn’t make up for all the pain he caused him daily, but it was at least something.
As they began to ride back to camp, he heard a bitter laugh from Miklan.
“Of course...it’s you who bother to pick me up…” he heard him whisper, while leaning his head onto his back.
“It’s… always you… Sylvain … if only you actually… tried to hurt me back. ..” his voice died out.
Hearing Miklan speak his name for the first time in 13 years made his whole body shiver.
For the first time, he was seen for who he was, not for the Crest he was born with.
It was really only a matter of time until it would happen. Miklan knew this the moment his younger brother was born to the world with that Crest of his that someday, he would no longer be welcome in the family. That was why he dared to do all the horrible things to the younger member of the family, because there was no way he would remain as heir.
To think they even waited for this long to disown him and toss him out of the family he was never a part of. He assumed that his father truly were waiting for something like the Tragedy of Duscur to be on everybody’s lips so he would not be seen as cold and heartless. How disgusting, Miklan thought, to be using an event like that to hide how horrible this family was.
Then again, this whole world was unfair , so he supposed it was fitting.
He had a new place now. The bandits wanted someone like Miklan to guide them, so it was the perfect home for him. It was the perfect way to get back at his family who did not respect his abilities. One day, there would no longer be anyone left in the House of Gautier.
The Lance of Ruin had told him so. He just had to continue this new path, and someday, they would meet again. Their destiny was to be side by side, it told him, and someday they would eradicate the new heir.
...new heir. Miklan scoffed to himself. It felt like that Crest was announced as heir the moment he was born, with how he was praised.
Meanwhile, Sylvain could not bring himself to smile. Not only had the Tragedy of Duscur caused him to lose close friends and allies, now his older brother was tossed out of the house as well. It was disgusting, really, that his father used this chance to kick out Miklan unnoticed.
Not that he had ever been found of his family. He had not once seen Miklan be treated with respect by any of them…
...was it any wonder why he turned out the way he did? He could sense that his brother had good qualities to him: he was unbeatable during those rare times where they played board games, and he certainly knew how to wield a lance with perfection. He was just misunderstood and mistreated.
Sylvain bit his bottom lip, looking down. This cursed Crest of his, it only caused trouble, even to his own family.
Each day, its weight felt heavier and heavier to bear.
Their eyes widened as the lance suddenly began to consume the red-head. The eager smirk they had just seen of a warrior faded away and were replaced by horrified screams from both the Bandit leader and his fellow men. Dimitri pulled away Felix from the front as the eerie sludge continued to consume Miklan. One of the bandits were eaten alive: Mercedes gasped and covered her face in fear.
Gilbert did his best to push back the students and protect them from the inhuman sight before them. None of them had ever seen anything like this; a full-on beast who bore no sense of humanity. It roared, echoes of pain rang across the whole tower.
Sylvain had already told everyone that he wasn’t affected by this. Of course he wasn’t, the fact that his brother was a bandit only bothered him due to all the innocent people getting hurt from selfish gains.
But this…
For some weird reason, their Professor knew exactly how to approach this situation. They were now ordered to weaken the beast and attack it with all they got once its weaknesses was exposed. Now, Sylvain remained composed, but hearing how they were ordered to slay a beast in such an inhuman way…
...his brother was that beast.
This was the very same being he grew up with under the roof of the Gautier Residence.
The battle was rough, and things looked dim for the group. Sylvain took a deep breath, focusing. This was not the moment to feel doubt. If he for a second longer doubted anything that was happening, he would fail to protect them all.
Their Professor had yet to give any orders to him, but Sylvain knew very well where his brother’s weak spot was. This beast, this demonic, inhuman being - it was still Miklan. It was still that brother of his who spat at him, despised him for existing, and most of all, was constantly suffering due to the lack of a Crest.
It was still the Miklan he grew up with, under the same roof in the House of Gautier for over a decade.
He let out a roar as his lance went for the beast’s chest. The heart . His weakness was always his heart. How emotional he was, how he cared about Gautier more than anyone else, how he so desperately wanted to be the one to make their family better than ever. How he had ambitions to change traditions and allow anyone who were capable to lead, instead of whoever got the Crest.
A critical hit.
The beast slumped towards the ground. Felix ran to his side to give a rare pat on the shoulder for comfort after the kill. Sylvain did not notice, as could only think about one thing:
How his own birth killed the Miklan that would’ve led the Gautier to glory.