“For you, my beloved sister, I would shatter the world and reforge it anew. If it would only put a smile on your face I would shatter all that binds me to morality and become a monster. Only if it meant you lived a little more happily.”
Several months passed since Nia was officially adopted into the Mercer family.
In those intervening weeks, the Mercer estate brimmed with subtle but palpable changes. Whether it was the staff who welcomed a new, tiny pair of footsteps bounding along the corridors, or the guards at the gates who smiled at the gentle wave of her small hand each morning, an unspoken sense of warmth pervaded the ancient halls. Even the formidable, rune-etched walls—rumored to resonate with the echoes of the apocalyptic battles that once raged—seemed softer beneath the child’s presence.
Everyone was excited about a new member of the main branch, especially those close to the main family. Maids whispered tidbits of gossip, cooks tried out new recipes to see what kind of sweets might make the girl smile. She took to the routine with surprising ease: studying at the estate’s private library, receiving lessons in etiquette alongside budding glimpses of the Mercer’s defensive arts, and—when her tutors allowed her a break—spending hours exploring the manor’s sprawling gardens. Most found her refreshing, a bright spark in a place typically marked by rigorous discipline and hushed urgency.
However, some trouble still stirred within the mercy guild as many thought it unfair that a girl with no qualifications would easily rise to the very top of the hierarchy through sheer luck.
To the outsiders peering in, there was a simmering sense of injustice. For many who aligned themselves with the Mercers in hopes of securing a coveted place in the extended family—perhaps through years of loyal service—Nia represented an unexpected shortcut. These guild members, known to travel dangerous roads and battle monstrous remnants of the apocalypse, felt a tinge of resentment. Their whispered discontent festered in shadowy corners of the city’s underbelly, sprouting rumors that the Mercer clan had broken its own unspoken rules.
Many others worked for years with the sole purpose of becoming a part of the extended family and taking on the name Mercer. Yet here she was, a little girl that had been coincidentally picked up by the children, so easily accepted into the most inner circle of the Mercers. It was a narrative that spread like wildfire—fueled not just by envy, but also the visceral realization that change had come to an otherwise unyielding institution. Long-standing members of the guild questioned what this might mean for their own futures: if a child could be thrust into the center of power, how stable was the system they had so faithfully upheld?
While the Mercers were at their core a family, to others they were so much more. A hope they could cling to in the darkness. Stories had long circulated about how the Mercers, bolstered by ancient contracts and formidable powers, had saved countless lives from the relentless onslaught of monstrous hordes and demons alike. They were synonymous with resilience, forging alliances among scattered survivor enclaves. Where once a devastated world had only fear, the Mercers offered a glimmer of stability—a grand promise that, under their guidance, civilization might one day thrive again.
After the apocalypse, the people yearned to cling to something greater than themselves. The Mercers were one of such groups, those who were prepared to take charge within the chaos of unknown.
To the common folk, the Mercer family’s crest stood for protection. Their outposts provided shelter, their caravans carried vital rations across treacherous terrain, and their name alone could deter roaming threats. Newly reconstructed cities, each struggling with fragile supply lines and countless orphans left in the apocalypse’s wake, looked to the Mercers as pillars of leadership.
Yet a thick wall had always been erected around them, never giving way, never being pushed aside. And for the first time in over twenty years, a crack was formed within that unmovable wall. It was a subtle crack, perhaps imperceptible to an untrained eye, but profound enough to unnerve those who had grown comfortable in the old power structures. Nia’s presence—her open curiosity, her bright laughter echoing off the manor’s corridors—became the living symbol of that breach. Those loyal to the family saw in her a chance for renewed empathy, a reason to usher in reforms that might heal longstanding rifts between the Mercers and the rest of the guild. Others whispered that this very vulnerability could be exploited: if the Mercers were not invulnerable, could they be toppled?
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Against this backdrop of mingled hope and anxiety, Nia went about her day, often unaware of the waves her simple existence stirred. She trailed after Jonathan through the training halls, where swirling illusions clashed with lethal weaponry. She listened raptly whenever Michael demonstrated new arcane boundaries he was testing. She tried shyly to help Vince tighten his near-invisible steel wires, earning a rare, approving smile. And if ever darkness weighed on her mind—memories of her old life, of shattered ships and savage beasts—she found comfort in gentle words from the matriarch or in the patriarch’s gruff but honest presence.
Alex too changed for the better. The fight he had with Michael made him see the boy in a new light. He was finally able to admit to himself that all of the factors that led to their crumbling relationship were his own fault. It was that deep-seated envy he felt towards the attention his brothers received that made him subconsciously dislike them.
He always saw Jonathan as a smug brat who had everything handed to him. It was that talent, that effortless knack for excelling, which made Jonathan stronger than Alex, and the privilege that made him more liked. And Michael, he viewed as nothing more than an attention-seeking cripple—a waste of air, melodramatic, and self-centered. But in the end, it was all in his head.
His brothers turned out to be completely different from what he expected. Jonathan was incredibly caring, diligent, and hardworking. Shortly after the incident, Alex humbled himself and asked Jonathan to train with him. They spent the next couple of weeks together, pushing their bodies until they bled and sweated, sometimes collapsing in the sparring ring at day’s end. Whenever Alex was ready to give up, it was Jonathan who pushed him forward, pulling him back from the brink, offering pointers that made him improve even faster. Suddenly, their relationship resembled the days when they were kids—no worries, no hatred, only genuine, carefree time spent as brothers.
Afterward, Alex went to apologize to Michael. Michael, of course, waved it off; he was too busy coming up with strategies for monster raids. Alex offered to help, and Michael reluctantly obliged. For the next week, they worked side by side. Alex was tasked with filing documents, organizing map data, and collating intelligence—jobs he would have once dismissed as boring grunt work. But, to his surprise, each completed chart or catalog felt strangely validating. He witnessed firsthand how Michael toiled late into the night, pouring over every scrap of intel, every territory map, every supply route. Driven by an unexpected sense of kinship, Alex matched Michael’s hours until his own body gave out and he dozed off on a nearby couch.
When he opened his eyes, Michael was slumped at his desk, asleep from sheer exhaustion. With careful steps, Alex approached and draped a blanket over his younger brother. Tugging him in gently, he realized in that quiet moment just how vital Michael’s work truly was. Those meticulous plans and carefully orchestrated strategies saved countless lives each time squads ventured out to confront threats or rescue stranded survivors. Their success, with minimal losses, hinged on the routines Michael perfected nightly.
With this, Alex finally understood his two brothers. And now only one was left. Yet that was a much more complicated ordeal, as Robert was currently serving as a member of the knights and was not easy to reach.
After the fight, because Alex’s regenerative abilities were briefly halted, he was left with a scar running across the ridge of his nose, making him look more like his father. It wasn’t a grievous wound, but it bore a significance Alex couldn’t ignore. Each time he glanced in a mirror, he was reminded of how envy had gnawed away at him, only to be cleansed by humbling defeat. And though the Mercer household continued forward—maintaining guild operations, refining defenses, and holding onto its tenuous alliances—Alex found that even within the daily grind, a subtle warmth had seeped into the corners of his life. The scar served as testament to his old resentments and the new bonds he was forging.
In the weeks that followed, small changes in Alex’s demeanor rippled across the estate. He greeted staff with unexpected kindness, even apologizing for his earlier aloofness. He sought out Michael and Jonathan not only for counsel in martial arts or strategic questions, but to share a quiet meal, to sit in silence under the estate’s ancient oak trees, or simply to exchange a few jokes that only siblings might find funny. The scar on his nose might never fully fade, but neither would the sense of unity that had taken root within their once-fractured family. And for Alex, that was more than enough reason to keep moving forward—stronger, wiser, and surprisingly at peace.
