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My blade slices across his arm and it might be a shallow wound. But it’s enough.

This time, he’s the one bleeding.

Zeran's expression shifts into a flicker of something I have never seen in his face before.

Not disappointment. Not contempt.

Something close to fear.

He's aware that I am not that trembling boy anymore.

I am not a puppet on his strings.

I am not his curse-ridden heir, clawing at survival.

I am his end.

He lunges again.

I let him, then, I sidestep.

I pivot.

I drive my sword into his stomach.

He chokes and staggers.

His fingers twitch, reaching for something—anything.

But there is nothing left.

No power. No control.

I didn’t knowit will be this easy to kill him. I should have known I have it in me. Even as my body break apart because of the curse, I don’t feel it anymore.

There’s only the rage and the anguish of losing Naira prevailing. The pain of the curse doesn’t matter anymore as it doesn’t compare to the pain of Naira dyingg on the cold, wet floor.

Right now, I’m just a dark elf regretting his choices. A man who is losing the only thing that makes his dark world blend with colors.

Right now, I’m a son, holding the blade that will end my father.

I twist the sword.

Zeran’s body jerks, and then he falls.

His breath is shallow.

His blood is everywhere.

Yet, he still tries to speak.

I crouch beside him.

Watching. Listening.

His lips part into a weak, rasping whisper,"You… were my… greatest mistake."

I smile.