With his head resting on one hand, the man took another gulp of the bitter liquid. It burned down his throat.
"Another," he muttered. There was no response.
Clash went the mug, crumbling into thousands of sharp pieces as it hit the floor, shimmering under the cold light. The man let out a roar. A sound of rage, regret and pain. It echoed through the empty apartment.
All was taken. Nothing left. His honor, his power, his status. Everything.
But these didn't matter. What was truly important to him is gone forever.
The one thing he tried with all might and power to protect. The one thing he loved with all his heart and spirit. The sole reason of his existence, the true purpose of his life that he came to realize.
Only had it been earlier.
His efforts were now in vain. All was done by the same pair of hands, the create and destroy. His very own hands.
A tear rolled down his cheek, more followed. His expression was perfectly hidden under his golden bangs, only his rapidly shaking shoulders could be seen.
"Brother…" his voice was cracked. The sobs slowly turned into an audible cry, and he knew there will be no one to comfort him, no one will even hear him.
I am sorry, brother. I truly am.
Raindrops fell and tinkled. Nearby, a streetlamp fluttered. A tall, lean figure stood by the window, eyes fixed at one dimly lit room, gazing at the back of a blond man. For a long while he stood and watched, until the man turned off the lights and left the room, the figure finally turned away from the window, his eyes of emerald clouded with moist.