The knight-crystal at my throat flickered weakly, pressing against my skin like an annoying weight.
I hid behind the old bookshelf in our small home—the same place where Arthur and I had spent many nights studying combat strategies.
Five people wearing cloaks stood in the middle of our home. Their dark crystals shook with a strange energy—black energy leaking from them like poison.
Arthur stood calmly in the middle of the them—he's my twin and my closest companion.
He got into the elite knight program, but I could barely manage as a regular recruit.
His blue crystal shone brightly at his throat, proof of his prodigy status. But today, even his usual steady gaze had an unsettling edge, as if he sensed something awful was on the horizon.
He'd been acting weird all morning.
"Stay alert today, Cal," he said over breakfast while absentmindedly tracing his crystal.
"Something feels off in the aether." I should've pressed him more about it,
noticed how he kept positioning himself between me and the door.
The assassins' crystals pulsed with that gross dark energy—nothing like the pure magic we learned to handle in training.
These guys weren't just regular killers; they were warped knights, and their presence made my stomach twist.
"The golden boy," one of them mocked, the distortion in his voice making it sound even creepier. "Seventeen and already causing so much trouble. Your talent ends here, kid."
Arthur gave that cocky half-smile he always had during training duels. "Five of you against one recruit? I'm flattered."
He sounded calm, but I could feel the tension in his magic, a frequency only a twin could pick up.
Before I knew it, Arthur shot forward. Gone was the textbook-perfect form our instructors praised.
This was raw, untamed power. His storm magic crackled through the air, with blue lightning dancing from his crystal in massive waves. The familiar smell of ozone—Arthur's signature—filled the room as thunder crashed in our tiny quarters.
The first two attackers collapsed from his onslaught. One's dark cloak smoldered as Arthur's lightning tore through their magical shields; the other staggered back, their messed-up crystal shattering from the force of his power.
For a brief moment, I saw the Arthur our instructors loved—the once-in-a-generation prodigy who could wield storm magic at seventeen perfectly.
But then the atmosphere shifted.
A curse slithered through the room, ancient and wrong. The remaining three moved in perfect sync—their blade-crystals glowing with that sickly black energy.
Arthur's storm was pushing back, but their corrupted magic coiled around his defenses like tight vines.
He took a hit along his side and another across his shoulder, blood staining his recruit uniform—the same one I wore, the matching set our parents had been so proud to buy.
But when his eyes met mine, there was no fear—just that fierce protective love he'd always shown, ever since we were kids and he'd stood up to bullies who picked on me for my weaker magic.
Run.
I was paralyzed, my own crystal pulsing uselessly against my skin. A scream was building in my throat, but no sound came out. Arthur's power surged—not the controlled bursts we practiced but pure desperation.
His crystal flared so brightly that it hurt to look at, his storm magic unleashed for the first time in all its glory.
"Cal, RUN!"
The urgency in his voice snapped me out of it.
His power exploded outward, creating a dome of pure lightning that pushed the assassins back just enough.
Just enough for me to get away.
I ran, the thunder of his magic resonating in my bones, the taste of ozone sharp in my mouth. Behind me, I heard a magic crystal shatter—
It was Arthur's last breath echoed with a thunderclap, and from that day on, nothing will ever be the same.
Smoke was in the air where our recruit quarters used to stand tall. The training grounds—where just this morning, Arthur had helped me work on basic lightning forms—were now just a mess of debris.
The foul smell of burnt magic was in the air, totally different from the regular storm scent of Arthur's storms.
Other recruits rushed by, their crystals glowing as they tried to put out the magical fires. No one gave me a second glance—just another stunned seventeen-year-old in a scorched uniform.
I found Arthur exactly where I expected—back in our quarters, right amid the chaos left by his last storm.
His crystal, still faintly glowing blue, rested next to his outstretched hand.
Five bodies lay around him, their corrupted crystals now dull and lifeless.
"You idiot," I murmured, kneeling close.
"You didn't have to be the hero." But that's just who he was—always had been.
Even when we were kids, he'd done extra combat drills just to help me catch up later.
A memory popped into my mind: us at twelve, sneaking in some practice behind the dorms.
"Come on, Cal," Arthur said, adjusting my stance. "The lightning's in our blood. You just need to find your spark." He believed in me more than I believed in myself.
Now his blood stained the floor, and his spark was gone.
I reached for his crystal with shaky fingers. The moment I touched it, I felt that familiar connection—our twin bond that allowed us to sense each other's magic.
But where Arthur's power was a full-blown storm, mine felt more like a static zap.
Suddenly, everything clicked in my mind like a cold frost on glass.
I carefully slipped Arthur's crystal from around his neck, the chain still warm.
Our instructors had always said magical twins were rare—that our crystals could recognize each other's essence.
Would it work to fool everyone?
"I'm sorry," I whispered, taking off my weaker crystal and putting on his instead.
The surge of power almost knocked me off my feet—
Arthur's crystal felt me recognizing a part of him in me but also knew I was different. It was going to take everything I had to channel even a hint of his power.
I changed quickly into his spare uniform. Being identical helped—same height, same build, same face.
But Arthur always carried himself differently: shoulders back, chin up, the confident vibe of a prodigy.
I practiced in the broken mirror of our room, straightening up, trying to channel his energy.
"The storm flows through you," I mimicked his voice, recalling the words he often used during training.
"Control it, don't let it control you." The crystal at my neck flickered nervously, reacting to my attempt to tap into storm magic.
Then, a sudden ruckus outside froze me. Voices were coming—probably other recruits looking for survivors.
I heard Marcus, Arthur's best friend from the senior recruits, giving orders.
"Arthur! Callien! Report in!"
My heart raced. This was it—the big moment. I took a deep breath, recalling how Arthur would handle authority: confident but not cocky, strong but not over-the-top.
I stepped out of our wrecked quarters, Arthur's crystal warm against my skin. "Here," I called out, trying to match his authoritative tone. "Callien... Callien didn't make it."
The words felt heavy in my mouth. Marcus turned around, relief washing over his face. "Arthur! Thank the gods. We felt that burst of storm magic..."
He paused, really focusing on me. "Are you alright? Your magic feels..."
"Different?" I jumped in, forcing myself to hold his gaze. "My twin is gone. Nothing feels right."
At least that wasn't a lie.
The crystal pulsed against my throat, a constant reminder of the impossible challenge ahead.
I had to master storm magic in just a few days, not years. I had to become the prodigy everyone expected Arthur to be.
But most of it all, I had to track down his killers before they figured out they'd targeted the wrong twin.
I just had to get through it all while missing a part of myself.