The halls were filled with the merry voices of Knights.
Laughter rolled against the high stone walls and climbed toward the arched ceiling, where banners of Astarous hung heavy and proud. Red, Gold, Black. Each one stitched with the sigil of conquest and blood.
Armor clinked. Cups struck against each other. Boots scraped against polished marble.
Victory had a sound. And that night, it had a name:
Benjamin Salim, the wielder of the God Hand.
The great doors opened. Cold air slipped in first. Then he stepped through.
Benjamin Salim, the Golden Knight. Commander of the Astarous army. Wielder of the God Hand.
For a moment, the hall froze. Then it erupted.
“Benjamin Salim!”
“Benjamin Salim!”
“The Golden Knight!”
“God Hand!’
His name rose like thunder. Men stood. Some climbed benches. Others raised their swords high into the air.
Benjamin stopped just inside the doorway. He let it wash over him. He let himself feel it.
Pride.
It filled his chest until it almost hurt.
He walked forward slowly, his golden cloak dragging behind him like sunlight spilled across the floor.
His armor gleamed. Not a scratch. Not a dent. Proof of what he was. Proof of what he had achieved.
Knights reached out to touch him as he passed. Some clasped his shoulders. Others bowed their heads.
He nodded to them. These were his brothers. These were his army. He would die for them. And they would die for him.
At the center of the hall, upon the raised platform, stood Prince Estavio Salim. His half brother.
Estavio smiled. It was wide, warm, and perfect.
“Welcome, brother,” Estavio said.
Benjamin climbed the steps toward him. “I made this banquet for you.”
Benjamin studied his face. The same blood. The same eyes that once hated him. Yet different. Now filled with love and admiration for him.
Benjamin nodded once. “What is the occasion, brother?” Estavio did not answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward.
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He wrapped his arms around Benjamin and pulled him close. The embrace lingered. Longer than expected.
Estavio kissed his forehead. Benjamin stiffened. A strange feeling crawled up his spine.
Then it was gone. “You are my brother,” Estavio said softly. “The wielder of the God Hand. We do not need an occasion to celebrate you.”
He pulled back, his hands still resting on Benjamin’s shoulders. “Today we would swear an oath of brotherhood.”
Benjamin frowned slightly. “You will not take my throne,” Estavio continued, “and I will not take anything that belongs to you.”
Benjamin’s mind drifted. He saw her face. Cynthia. Her laughter. Her touch. Her betrayal.
Her body beneath Estavio. He pushed the thought away. Buried it. Just like he always did.
Benjamin forced a smile. “I told you before now,” he said. “I will never challenge your claim to the throne.”
Estavio’s smile widened. He clapped his hands once. Then he kissed Benjamin’s forehead again.
“Then swear it.”
Estavio turned and took two cups of wine from the table. He held one out. “Seal your promise with an oath,” he said, “and I will forever be grateful to you.”
Benjamin stared at the cup. The red liquid inside rippled gently. His left hand tingled. The God Hand pulsed. Light flickered beneath his skin.
Soft, and uneasy. As if it was warning him of the danger ahead.
Benjamin ignored it. He took the cup. He stepped forward.
Then he did something no man had seen him do before. He knelt. Before his brother.
The hall grew silent.
Benjamin lowered his head. “By the name of Aramu,” he said, his voice steady, “whose hand I wield.”
The God Hand glowed brighter, warning him further.
“I will never challenge your throne.” His throat tightened. “or take anything that genuinely belongs to you.”
He lifted the cup.
Estavio stared at him.
For a moment, something flickered behind his eyes. Something dark. Then Estavio knelt too.
“By the gods,” Estavio said, “I swear never to take anything that belongs to you.”
His lips curled. “nor go against you unjustly.”
They drank.
The wine burned as it slid down Benjamin’s throat.
Then,they stood, and embraced.
The hall exploded again. Music returned. Louder, and faster.
Benjamin sat beside Estavio. Food was placed before them. Meat, bread, and wine.
Benjamin drank. He laughed. He listened to stories. He let himself forget. Then he saw her.
Cynthia stood among the nobles. Her eyes found his. She smiled, soft, and beautiful, yet cruel. Her lips moved.
Benjamin looked away. His chest tightened. He reached for his cup again. He drank. He ate. He laughed.
“Fool,” Cynthia whispered. “Even with the God Hand, he still couldn't sense danger.”
Then Benjamin began to cough. Just once.
He paused, and cleared his throat. He reached for his food again.
He coughed again, this time, it was harder.
His chest burned. He swallowed. The burning spread. His hand trembled. He coughed again. This time violently that he spat blood.
The cup slipped from his fingers. It shattered on the floor.
The music faltered. Benjamin grabbed the table. His lungs spasmed. He could not breathe. He looked up.
Estavio was watching him. Smiling, amused. He didn't look surprised.
The music stopped. The hall fell silent. Everyone was staring. No one moved. No one helped.
Benjamin’s heart thundered. Fear flooded him. Cold, sharp, and clear.
Realization dawn on him
“You…”
His voice cracked.
“You poison me?”
Estavio did not deny it. He stood slowly.
“Yes,” Estavio said. The word landed like a blade.
“What do you think?” Estavio continued. “I will allow a bastard to dominate me in my kingdom?”
Laughter erupted. All around him. Benjamin stared. Faces he trusted. Faces he loved. Laughing, and mocking at him.
Benjamin’s vision blurred. “I showed you love,” he whispered.
More laughter erupted.
Cynthia stepped forward. She reached out, and held his cheeks gently.
Her touch was warm. Familiar, yet deadly. “You are a fool,” she said softly.
Her eyes held nothing. “You have always been.” She leaned closer. “You yawn for love.”
Her lips brushed his ear. “but no one truly loved you.”
She stepped back. Estavio pulled her to him, and kissed her. Possessed her. “ She was yours,” Estavio said.
His grip tightened around Cynthia’s waist. “But now she is mine.” Benjamin’s stomach twisted.
“And now,” Estavio continued, “the God Hand which you wield now will be mine too.” He grabbed Benjamin’s left arm.
The God Hand flared. Blinding. Estavio pulled. Nothing happened. He pulled harder.
The light burned brighter. Estavio’s smile faded. Benjamin gritted his teeth. Pain tore through him.
But rage burned hotter. He shoved Estavio away. “You will never wield the God Hand.”
Benjamin turned. He ran. His legs stumbled beneath him. Voices shouted behind him.
Boots thundered. They chased him. He ran through the halls. Through doors. Down stairs. Into the night.
The cold air hit him like knives. His lungs screamed. His heart stuttered. He ran. He fell. He forced himself up.
He ran again. The river appeared ahead. Alabama river. Dark. Endless. Final. Benjamin collapsed at its edge.
His strength was gone. The God Hand burned. Hot, alive.
Waiting.
Behind him, they were coming. Benjamin looked at his hand. His greatest gift. His greatest curse.
Slowly.
With shaking fingers. He gripped it. Pain exploded. He screamed. He pulled. The God Hand tore free.
Blood followed. Light followed. Power followed. He held it. Free, and alive.
“Remain there,” Benjamin whispered. His voice barely existed. “till I return and find you once again.”
The God Hand hummed. It understood. Benjamin threw it. It fell into the river.
Light vanished beneath dark water. Gone.
Benjamin smiled. Behind him, Estavio arrived.
“No!”
Estavio rushed forward. He searched. He screamed. He cursed. Benjamin lay on the ground.
Cold. Empty. Peaceful.
His chest rose once, twice. Then stopped.
Benjamin Salim was dead. Estavio searched the river. For hours. For days. For years.
He never found it. The God Hand was gone. Lost. But never forgotten.
