Your End Is My Beginning

“Now kill me, little Carl” “As long as it is you, i will feel free” “As my last wish, kill me Carl” the king said looking at his little brother. “You really are idiot, brother” Carlos looked down at the king, unblinking yet his voice filled with pain, his tears falling down. And Carlos laughs bitterly and sounds broken. And he lifted the blade higher, tip aimed for the heart to finish quickly. For his brother to not feel the pain and be free from those strings that control him immediately. “Brother, you never changed” And Carlos drove the sword downward to meet his brother’s heart… The throne room’s doors that have been closed for eternity had opened and thousands of swords had just been thrown to him in an instant. Also with a terrifying speed. His eyes widened. Something massive passed between him and his brother, faster than thought and attacking him. He didn’t have time to lift his blade. And a shadow come in front of him and then— Nothing. The world is titled as he falls to the ground and his last breath is caught in his throat. And only darkness was there. _______________________ There is always had a man named Carlos. Carlos had always been a shadow beside the throne, a prince without a crown, born second to a brother forged for power. The kingdom whispered of his gentleness, of the way he spoke to birds and danced with sword and song alike. But in the end, he died with steel in his hand and grief in his eyes—fighting the very brother he once loved more than his own life. The battlefield was drenched in twilight when it happened—an hour where the sun mourned its descent and the wind carried the weight of betrayal. His brother, the crowned king, stood draped in gold and fury, a tyrant made not by desire but by fear. Carlos, the rebel prince, was a fire that refused to be snuffed, and in his final breath, he cried out—not in pain, but in hope. And then, the world blinked. Carlos awoke in a bed of the silence room filled with only darkness and a light coming through from the only one window that had been opened and beneath a sky too blue to be real, the floor is too clean to feel safe, his pain disappeared, his chest unscarred,his body shrunk and his hands which wore the sword as his companion, the hands which was rough and hard, they become small. His reflection in the nearby mirror in front of his bed showed the face he hadn’t seen for a long time, the face that had not feel anything and the body of a boy who through puberty just now is right in front him--- 15 year old of body, he freckled, wide-eyed, innocent yet laced with memory. He had died a man. He returned a boy. The world was new, no wars, no pain, no betrayal and time—for reasons unknown—had gifted him a second chance. But what would he do with it?