The banners fluttered high.
Drums thundered across the capital's southern gate as the Hero's party rode out—seven warriors hailed as legends.
Behind them trailed thousands: knights, mages, archers, all sworn to justice.
But only one among them questioned it.
---
Cracks in the Hero
He rode at the front, sunlight gleaming off his white-gold armor.
Yet, his eyes were distant.
> "Serian…"
That name haunted him.
Each step of his horse echoed a memory he didn't live, a promise he never made.
At night, when no one watched, he dreamed of three voices clashing in the dark.
And always… he saw himself watching.
Bleeding.
Laughing.
Dying.
---
Within the Party
Beside him rode Lyselle—the holy knight, devout and sharp-tongued.
She caught his gaze.
> "Still thinking of the heretic?"
> "I'm thinking of who he really is."
> "He's your enemy."
> "And yet I feel like I'm the fake."
She scoffed but didn't answer.
Because deep down, even she wasn't sure anymore.
---
Back in the Forest
Serian stood atop the cliffs, watching as smoke trailed from the nearby village.
Another hunt party.
Another warning ignored.
Behind him, the children trained harder.
The Demon Lord clone—now called Mother Crimson by her followers—led them in brutal drills.
> "When they come, they'll expect monsters."
> "Then give them nightmares," she grinned.
Serian turned away.
The ground trembled beneath his feet.
A familiar presence approached—the Third Soul, Lira.
> "You're drawing attention," she said.
> "Good. Let them look at me."
> "Why?"
> "So they don't see what you're about to do."
She smiled faintly.
> "I do like your mind."
---
Final Scene: Two Camps
Far apart, under different skies, the Hero clone and Serian looked up at the same moon.
They didn't know why.
But both whispered the same thing:
> "Something's coming."
And it was.
The war for identity was about to begin.
---