purpose ) introduction!

There is a table somewhere inside the Throne Hall, placed next to a row of tall windows. A large amount of light pours in from these windows from an early morning sun, diluting everything's color and muting their hues—even the people. It is silent of all natural noise. The sound of a building is absent, the sound of birds or the blue waves of the Azure Sea crashing against Amber Island. Nothing but distant, echoed sounds of children laughing, things being said, and sounds of an island different from this one. All disembodied. All surreal.

There are two seats accompanying this small, round table, and the normally cheerful and bright Nico is sitting in one of them, wearing a black tank top, grey cargo shorts, and black combat boots. Across from him is a man who looks identical to Nico in both physique and fabric, sharing the same features down to the finest fiber of hair, but with an atmosphere of completely different makeup. His name was Nabriales, and he wore a complacent, small smile. Nico, contrarily, made no happy expression, and sat there, indifferent, passive. Listening.

There was a silence between Nico and Nabriales so thick and tense that maybe only a blade could break it. And yet, both of these identical opposites looked so familiar to each others' presence. Nabriales stared at the coffee swirling in a small mug that didn't really exist while Nico gingerly held an identical mug filled with milk tea across from him, staring into heavy liquid.

"They don't like you. They expect nothing of you, Nico. No one ever does." Nabriales spoke quietly, each word laced with a subtle amount of venom, his lips still wearing the complacent simper.

Nico sighed through his nose. "That's not true—I hardly know anyone here, and anyone here hardly knows me. Things are just getting started."

"What will happen when they find out what you did eight years ago, Nico?" Nabriales continued to swirl to the coffee in his mug, staring at it intently. Nico didn't respond. "Your little brother. Your mother. Your father. Your grandparents, your friends—all dead, except you. All dead, because of you. What will everyone think when they learn what you've done? They all resent you for living when they're all dead."

Nico frowned, looking upset. His grip on his mug tightened, and his lips pursed slightly. "No, that's not. . . I. . ."

"And you killed them, Nico. Aren't you ashamed?"

"I am, but I just. . ."

"You should die, Nico. It's the least you could do. Why haven't you just ended it as you ought to all these years? You ought to die."

"I. . .!" Nico was glaring somberly into his lap now, where he could see the toes of Nabriales across from him. His glossy, amber eyes trembled.

"Say," Nabriales spoke again, but in a lighter, higher pitch. He was a child now, a version of Nico from nearly a decade ago, wearing a white t-shirt, beige cargo shorts, and sandals made from twine. He folded his hands behind his back and stood next to Nico, leaning down so that he could see his screwed expression. "Luca's dead because of you, and he was only eight years old. Why did you abandon him like that? What would Miss Sivvy think? You didn't tell her all those people you killed back then. All innocent, and you killed them."

"No, I. . .!" Nico struggled to keep from yelling.

"You killed them."

There was a pause, and then there was blood. Nabriales was back to where he was before, sitting across from Nico, swirling the coffee in his mug with his complacent simper. Nico was staring at his left hand and the milk tea spilled all over the table. It was covered in scratches and ceramic, blood running down his wrist from the numerous wounds. He had crushed the mug in a fit of stress, but upon seeing the crimson on his skin, he seemed at peace.

Nico smiled kindly as he would normally do, a sweet and whole sun in his gaze, but melancholy. He sighed through his nostrils again. "No—you're wrong. I know what I did back then better than anyone else, but I know for a fact that the path I've chosen for Luca, Mom, Dad, and myself. . ." his voice was soft and warm, and the hue of the Throne Hall began to return to its objects, regaining its regal and vibrant schemes. The light pouring in lessened, and all the smells and sounds of the present returned, ". . .was the right one."

Everything was back to normal, and Nabriales had vanished. There was the table, and sitting there was only Nico wearing the same thing as he had before. There was only one mug—unbroken—filled with milk tea. His hands were unscathed, and he didn't look to check. He knew it wasn't real. It never was. Only the torment seemed to remain after Nabriales's visits, and he never seemed to outgrow him ever since he appeared eight years ago.

Nico sighed again with a happier, more troubled smile as if he were laughing at it all. "Yeesh! I'm really here, aren't I?" Nico's laughing expression finally transformed into actual peals of laughter, with a softer, toothy grin so custom to him accompanying it. He drank his tea in one swig, taking the mug as he left the table and meandered down the rooms and corridors. The Throne Hall was a rather large thing, but it wasn't so difficult to traverse. His intention was to return the mug to his bags, as it was his mug, and then head to shores to train. He trained back on the mainland and had no intention of abandoning such a fundamental part of his routine.

He had walked with such bright energy and cheerfulness that it was hard to not notice him, and for him to not notice other people. With the gentle tap of his sandals, he wandered down the halls until he saw someone unfamiliar. They had long, reddish hair and walked down the same corridors barefoot. He could only see the back of their bodies, but he couldn't help but to stop and look. More than that, Nico couldn't help but say something.

"Oh, hey there! Haven't seen you around!" Nico waved, approaching them in a power walk until he was right behind, placing his large, rough hand on their shoulder, "Behind you! Hey!"

Luca? No, that's not right. . . Nico thought to himself.

This wasn't Luca—he was dead. Nico left him to die, after all. He left Shadow Island all alone on that worn paddle boat that was only a small margin above being a raft. The boy before him just looked eerily similar to his younger brother. His hair like wine and eyes so much like his own, but sweeter and richer, like ripe cranberries. His ears that only looked big because they were slightly curved outward instead of inward, and his small, sharp face and jaw that made every other facial feature stand out like jewelry in a bright display case. But that beautiful boy was dead, and the boy before him couldn't have been him. It couldn't have been him.

When the boy ripped away from his grasp, Nico seemed surprised for only a moment. "OH! Sorry! Scared you, huh? My bad, haha!" he laughed with a grin glimmering with friendliness, but the noise disappeared after a moment. Memories of his younger, even happier self and Luca clogged his mind and gagged his mouth from saying anything. In reality, it was only a brief pause, but Nico never felt so troubled. Not even when Nabriales was around. After looking at all the familiar features of the boy, Nico couldn't help but notice the mouthpiece gagging him. He grunted and growled because of it, and his bare feet only made him look more beastlike and wild. Needless to say, Nico had seen nothing like it before. Although his appearance was mind-boggling in of itself, what happened next completely stumped the cheerful man.

"Eh?" muttered Nico as he watched the boy come closer and sink his weeping face into his chest, along with thin fingers. When his amber eyes fell onto the boy's scalp, he didn't know what face he should've been making. He was puzzled and looked like it too, but the quickening beat of his heart and the flush of his cheeks—what was it? Luca was dead, but when he looked down at the scalp of this boy, something instinctual nearly possessed him. Something beyond his comprehension made him want to say his name. But Luca was dead, and Nico reminded himself of that. He was dead and he killed him.

Nico nearly choked on his words, but he managed to say something after a few moments of weeping had been pressed into his tank top. A large, rough hand weakly shook the boy's shoulder, and a bewildered, bright smile captured his expression again as he looked down at the boy. "Hey, hey, hey!! What's wrong? Lost?! Hurt?!!"

The more the boy stuck to him, the more he remained in his company, the less Nico could resist the feeling that he was Luca. The cranberries in his eyes, the wine of his hair, and the girlish physique of his face like a carefully crafted sculpture. The more he beheld his features, the more he let the belief that it really was his little brother—his Luca—possess him. But there were many times throughout the last eight years that he'd see similar features, and he would nearly lose himself to the desperation and desire for him to come back. Times where he almost caved into the delirium. But the desperation was never this immense. It was hard to not let it show on his face or to keep it from being heard in his voice. But when the boy turned away and almost resumed his original path, Nico couldn't let him go. He just couldn't!

"H-Hey!" Nico abruptly reached out to grab the boy's shoulder again, forgetting their initial reaction to the action before, "Name's Nico. . . and yours is. . .?" he asked him, his voice thunderous and loud at first, but trailing off into a quietness full of apprehension. What would he say? What wouldn't he say? Would he just grunt again? Now that Nico thought about it in his fit of anxiety, he knew that he probably would. As a result, he had to reform his question. "Do we. . . know each other? You just look familiar, is all. . . like I've seen you before, and. . . well. . ."

Nico didn't know what else to say. He was a confident young man who never fumbled over his words like now, but what else was he going to say? He didn't have to heart to ask if he was his brother, to make certain of a fact that he knew was not going to be the answer he wanted. But there was no one out there who looked so identical to his little brother, and there had never been a time where he felt so moved to say something in moments like this.

"L—U—C—A." As the thin digit finished tracing the letter, it seemed that every wall and every barrier that kept Nico's balance suddenly crumbled.

Two toned, strong arms swing around Luca and reel him into a warm, trembling embrace. Towering over him is Nico, tucking his face into his younger brother's shoulder as he began to sob audibly. The wine in his hair, the cranberries filling his eyes, and softness of his skin—they were all real. Nico would open his eyes to behold his brother once more and all of their familiar features, but he could hardly focus on them through the tears. It wasn't often that such a happy, cheerful man made such an awful, ugly expression. But across his wet face, a quivering smile stretched from ear to ear.

The messy-haired man laughed thunderously. "Luca! Oh my god, you're alive!" Nico's smile suddenly screwed into a pained frown as the words hung over him, "You're alive. . .!"

Memories of their younger selves came to mind. He recalled the seashore where they walked along together or the woods they'd explore. His laughter, his smiles, the life he lived before Nico ended it—until now. Seeing him, smelling him, hearing him in his presence possessed him with a melancholy and joy, unlike any other emotion he had ever experienced. No number of Nabriales's visits could invoke such a torturous quantity of feeling within him, and no number of vivid nightmares could make him feel so pained as he did now. He felt regret and glee gag him of any words as tears ran down his jaw.

"You—" Nico pushed away from the embrace and grabbed both of Luca's shoulders, holding him steady in front of him with a mixture of disbelief and fear consuming his countenance, "—you're real, right? This. . . this isn't another. . . vision, right? You're my baby brother? Luca?" Nico suddenly went quiet, his voice shrinking into an apprehensive silence. His arms trembled along with his voice. What if he was confused? What if this was not the Luca he wished for him to be? Nabriales did just come to visit, so it wasn't unlikely that he had been bewildered by him.