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The Rosequartz estate was still too large.
Lévis had always hated how the marble corridor echoed. Every step bounced back at him like an accusation. Too loud, too weak, too late. Even after months away at Walkis, the ghost of the place clung to him like static.
But today, the corridors were quiet. No storm crackled in his palms. His wands hung at his side, untouched. Today was supposed to be different.
Because today, Lovie was home.
Back from the hospital wing of the central magical medicine institute. Back from the quiet rooms where healers whispered words like "prognosis" and "slow recovery" while Lévis pretended not to shake.
A soft knock came from behind him.
“You’re early.”
Lévis turned, and froze.
Lovie stood at the end of the hall, sunlight falling behind him like a warm halo. His hair was tied loosely, the way he used to wear it years ago. His face was healthy again, no longer drained. His eyes, soft, golden, gentle, found Lévis immediately.
For a moment, Lévis forgot how to breathe.
“You…” he managed, voice cracking, “you shouldn’t be walking this much. I told the staff-”
“I’m fine,” Lovie said with a small smile. “I’m finally fine, Lévis.”
Lévis’s throat tightened. He wanted to say "I’m glad", or "I missed you", or "I nearly broke myself trying to be strong without you (or for you)", but all that came out was a choked, “You shouldn’t push yourself.”
Lovie stepped closer.
“You’re crying.”
“I’m... I’m not,” Lévis snapped, turning away.
But Lovie was already beside him. “You always did cry hardest when you were relieved.”
“I said I’m not-”
Warm arms wrapped around him. And Lévis broke.
He collapsed into his brother’s embrace, clutching the back of Lovie’s shirt as if he’d disappear all over again. He hated how small he felt. How much he relied on Lovie’s warmth. But the moment Lovie squeezed back - gentle, steady, unafraid, the months of carrying everything alone cracked open.
Lovie stroked his hair with the same careful tenderness he’d had when they were children. “I’m here now.”
“You weren’t,” Lévis whispered, voice raw. “I... I couldn’t protect you. I wasn’t strong enough. You almost-”
“Stop.” Lovie pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “You saved me.”
Lévis shook his head.
“No. I just fought harder. I always fought harder. But I never won the right battles.”
Lovie smiled softly. “Then maybe it’s time for us to fight together.”
Recovery didn’t happen in one day.
Lovie spent mornings strengthening his magic, afternoons reading the books he missed, and evenings talking with Lévis, slowly, painfully rebuilding the part of their bond that had rusted under fear and silence.
One night, they sat on the roof of the estate where they always used to hide from their father’s strict lessons.
“You know,” Lovie began, kicking his feet lightly against the tiles, “I remembered something when I was sick.”
Lévis crossed his arms. “If you say you remembered how terrible brother I was-”
“You were afraid of thunder.”
Lévis stiffened. He hated that Lovie could still do that -read him, disarm him, make him honest.
“That was a long time ago.”
“Mm,” Lovie hummed. “But I remember… you used to sleep next to me whenever it stormed. Even when you tried to act tough, you always ended up holding onto my sleeve.”
“That... That was just because the window leaked and the sound was loud,” Lévis muttered.
Lovie laughed. “Yeah, sure.”
Silence settled between them, warm instead of heavy.
Then Lovie spoke again, quieter.
“I realized something else. You weren’t afraid of thunder. You were afraid of lightning.”
Lévis’s breath caught.
“You were afraid of my magic... of your own magic,” Lovie whispered. “Because you thought you’d hurt me with it.”
Lévis stared at the night sky, jaw tight. “It’s not a thought. I did hurt you.”
“You didn’t. The illness was never your doing.”
“I still used magic around you without thinking.”
Lovie shook his head and gently nudged his shoulder. “And I still stood beside you without fear.”
Lévis turned to him, voice low. “Why? After everything? I was… selfish. I wanted power. I wanted recognition. I wanted-"
“You wanted to survive,” Lovie interrupted softly. “And you wanted me to survive.”
Lévis clenched his fists. “You always make excuses for me.”
“No,” Lovie said firmly. “I tell the truth you can’t see.”
Their eyes held, gold against gold.
“Lévis,” Lovie murmured, “you’re not the storm that hurt me.”
His hand reached out, hesitant, then sure.
“You’re the lightning that kept me warm.”
Lévis didn’t realize he was shaking until Lovie took his hand.
It was ridiculous how easy it was for Lovie to make him feel like a child again - small, scared, desperate to be better. But now, for the first time in years, Lévis didn’t pull away.
“I’m… not good at this,” he whispered.
“At being honest?” Lovie teased lightly.
“At being… me.”
Lovie’s expression softened. “Then let me help you.”
Lévis swallowed hard. “Why?”
“Because I’m your brother.” He squeezed Lévis’s hand. “And because I choose you.”
The words didn’t heal him. They didn’t fix the years of guilt or erase the things he’d done. But they reached him. Slowly, painfully, beautifully.
Lévis let their fingers intertwine fully, openly, something he never would have dared before.
“When I thought I’d lost you,” he said quietly, “I realized… I didn’t care about being the strongest. Or the best. Or the most feared." He looked at Lovie with raw, trembling sincerity. “I just wanted my brother back... I wanted you back, alive and well.”
Lovie leaned his head against Lévis’s shoulder, the way he used to when they were younger.
“Well, you have me now,” he murmured. “Completely.”
Lévis closed his eyes. And for the first time, he believed it.
They stayed like that until the stars faded, until the first morning light painted the sky with soft gold.
When they finally climbed down from the roof, Lovie looked healthier than he had in years, cheeks warm, steps steady.
And Lévis… Lévis felt something he hadn’t felt since childhood. Peace. Not because the storm had ended. But because he finally realized - Lovie had always been his light, and he had finally found his way back to it.
__________________________________________________________
The Rosequartz estate was too quiet nowadays. Normally, silence was a mercy; today it was a threat.
Lévis felt it instantly, like an old bruise pressed too hard. His coat hung loosely around him, concealing the tremor in his arms. The servants’ eyes followed him with nervous, darting glances.
Something was different. No, someone was different.
At the end of the corridor, a door stood open that was never open. Their father’s study, a place lined with trophies, tomes, and expectations carved into marble, a place Lévis and Lovie used to be summoned to when they “failed".
He wanted to turn away, leave, pretend nothing had changed. But Lovie walked toward it - steady steps, calm breath, no fear.
“Come on, Lévis.” Lovie’s voice was soft, but firm. “He asked for us both.”
Lévis bristled. “I don’t care what he wants.”
Lovie glanced back, smiling faintly. “You care more than anyone.”
“I don’t.”
“You do,” Lovie said gently. “Or you wouldn’t be shaking.”
Lévis cursed under his breath and followed.
Their father still looked like a statue carved from cold stone. Tall, impeccably dressed, wand aligned perfectly on the desk. Age had not softened him. If anything, it had sharpened the angles.
He didn’t rise when they entered. He didn’t smile. He only watched them with eyes that had judged every misstep they’d ever made.
“You have returned." His voice was calm. Too calm. A warning, not a greeting.
Lévis felt that old familiar tightening of his lungs - the instinct to straighten his posture, to suppress the tremble in his fingers, to hide his failure. But Lovie walked ahead of him.
Their father’s gaze flicked to Lovie. “You were instructed to rest. Your condition is not yet fully stable.”
“I’m stable enough to speak for myself,” Lovie replied.
A faint crease appeared in their father’s brow. Annoyance. Surprise. Interest. Hard to tell with him.
“I see recovery has given you confidence,” he murmured.
“No,” Lovie said. “It gave me clarity.”
Lévis swallowed. Careful, Lovie…
Their father folded his hands. “You two were summoned today for a reason.”
Lévis tensed. “If this is about resuming the heir training-”
“It is not. It is about what comes after.”
The air grew colder.
“What comes after what?” Lovie asked.
Their father’s gaze sharpened. “What comes after I step down.”
Silence broke like glass.
Lévis stared at him. “You’re… retiring?”
Their father didn’t flinch. “My magic is reaching its natural limit. An heir must be appointed before the estate weakens.”
Lévis felt the old panic rise. The old terror. The trap. “I won’t do it,” he snapped immediately. “I won’t compete with him again. I won’t-”
“No one asked you to compete,” their father said.
Lévis froze.
“What?”
He turned his eyes to Lovie.
“Lovie Rosequartz,” he said, voice steady, “you are my firstborn. It is your birthright.”
Lovie blinked. “You’re… choosing me?”
“Of course. You always were the more stable one.”
Lévis felt something inside him twist violently. Jealousy? Relief? Fear? He didn’t know. But Lovie shook his head. “No.”
Their father’s expression cracked, just slightly.
“No?” he repeated. As if the word had never been spoken to him in his life.
“I don’t want the title,” Lovie said. “And even if I did… I wouldn’t take it unless you say what you should say a long time ago, but you have never.”
Their father went still. “And what is that?”
“That you were wrong.”
The room seemed to shrink. Lévis sucked in a breath, unable to believe Lovie’s audacity.
“What,” their father said coldly, “do you claim I was wrong about?”
“About Lévis.”
The lightning in Lévis’s veins sparked dangerously.
“Lovie...”
“No,” Lovie said softly, squeezing Lévis’s hand. “This is what held us hostage for years. It ends today.”
Their father’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
“You pushed him beyond his breaking point. You made him believe that being strong was the only way you’d acknowledge him. You punished him for anything less. You punished us both. And when I fell ill, you blamed him.”
His voice trembled, but not from fear. From anger.
Lévis felt his breath stutter. Because Lovie never raised his voice. Never fought back. Never confronted.
Their father remained motionless. “I did what was necessary to produce excellence. And the results speak for themselves.”
“No,” Lovie said sharply, “they scream.”
The room went silent.
“Lévis hurt himself trying to meet your standards. I destroyed myself trying to protect him. And neither of us were happy. Neither of us felt loved. And neither of us knew what it meant to be children.” Lovie stepped forward, jaw tight. “So if you want your precious heir… you’ll say the words.”
Their father’s voice dropped to an icy whisper. “What words do you expect from me?”
Lovie looked him dead in the eyes. “I've already told you: 'I was wrong.' And ‘I’m sorry.’ To both of us.”
Lévis’s chest tightened. His hands shook. The walls felt too close.
This was impossible. Unthinkable. Unheard of. Their father - apologizing?
But Lovie stood with straight shoulders and calm eyes, a quiet defiance that radiated years of love and patience and strength.
For the first time in their lives, Lévis saw someone confront their father not with fear, but with hope.
Their father stared at them for a long, unbearable moment. Then, softly: “…I was wrong.”
Lévis’s breath caught.
The man continued, voice strained, stiff, almost painful. “I was wrong,” he repeated. “In my methods. In my… treatment of you both.” His eyes flickered, the faintest tremble in his usually steady gaze. “And I am… sorry.”
The apology hung in the air, fragile as glass.
Lovie exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping.
Lévis felt something hot sting his eyes. He did not cry. Not this time. He stepped forward, voice raw but steady. “Why now?”
Their father met his gaze. “At first, I believed Lovie’s illness was a consequence of weakness. But when you stopped visiting home… when your performance at Walkis became reckless and uncontrolled… I realized I had broken the very things I was trying to strengthen.”
His eyes softened the slightest fraction. “You are both… my sons. I cannot change the past. But I will not repeat it.”
Lovie stepped beside Lévis.
And for the first time, their father did something neither of them expected. He bowed his head. A small gesture. A monumental one. “Forgive me. If you choose.”
The room filled with a silence that wasn’t painful. Not anymore.
Later, after leaving their father’s study, the twins stood in the courtyard, sunlight warming their faces.
Lévis exhaled shakily. “I still don’t know what to feel.”
“You don’t have to decide today,” Lovie said gently.
Lévis leaned against him, letting himself rest against the one anchor he’d always had.
“Do you think he meant it?” he asked.
Lovie didn’t hesitate. “Yes. He did.”
Lévis swallowed. “Are you going to take the heir position?”
Lovie shook his head with a soft smile. “No. I never wanted to. I want a life outside these walls.”
Lévis looked at him, heart squeezing. “Then, who will take it?”
Lovie nudged him playfully. “You, if you want it.”
Lévis sputtered. “Why me?!”
“Because you’re strong,” Lovie said simply. “And because now… you won’t be carrying it alone.”
Lévis stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed. Not the bitter, sharp laugh he used to wield like a weapon. But a real one. “I’ll think about it,” he murmured.
Lovie slung an arm over his shoulder. “Good. Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“No matter what path you choose… I walk it with you.”
Lévis’s chest tightened in a way that was no longer painful.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “You always do.”