History repeats itself. Maybe even people do too—those same faces etched into old tales and dusty history books, or perhaps ones who’ve lived once before. We just haven’t met them yet to know who they truly are.

  I was one of them. Someone who came back. This time, with a calculated plan... and a touch of darkness. I returned to fulfill the purpose I was born for.

  Since the moment I was born, no one dared to speak my real name aloud. My parents refused to reveal my identity to others . They were afraid—afraid that one day I’d have too many enemies, or worse, that my life would be taken before I even learned to walk.

  But my true name is Rubius.

  My face hadn’t changed much—at least not until the day the truth became blindingly clear and the illness that would drain my life crept into my bones.

  I was just a little boy, with hair the color of fire and a heart too innocent to grasp what fate had in store for him.

  My twin brother, Rufus, was born wild and hungry for power. His name meant "Heart of Flame"—and it fit him perfectly.

  Our younger sister, Fleria, had a heart as fragile as glass, but skin like steel. It held her upright, made her appear strong, unbreakable.

  The three of us were of House Branwen... the house of crimson. A color that wrapped around us from the moment we opened our eyes to this world—crimson robes, crimson banners, crimson blood that defined who we were. It was how people knew us. Feared us.

  We lived in a land few now remember by name—the ancient and mysterious kingdom of Araghas. Once, it was the heart of empires, a cradle of noble bloodlines.

  Dynasties rose and fell, crowns shattered like glass... but from that cycle, our house was born. Six siblings—founders of a royal legacy. And we… we were their heirs.

  The Aldarios, the royal blue-clad family, were the ones who ruled our land by heritage. Every prince from their house, upon reaching the age of 25, would be crowned king in place of their father. If there was a color that symbolized true noble blood and real royalty in those days, it was blue.

  The Aldarios had almost identical appearances, so much so that even an ordinary eye could easily distinguish them from the other houses. Their bright, shining blue eyes, filled with the light of pride and dark wisdom in their hearts, dark hair, pale skin, slender frames, and bony figures.

  The creators of the blue lineage, and the first king from their bloodline, was a man named Aldario, who had these same traits and a determined expression that adorned every painting throughout their Blue Palace.

  Aldario was one of the older brothers of the original and founding family, a son of the king chosen by the people to rule the land. His family’s legacy had been firmly established for 153 years in the kingdom.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  But Aldario’s twin brother, Osawa, who was cast out of the throne by deceit from the very beginning, had his lineage hidden deep within the land. No one knows about them. The only ones recognized from this house, whose names are barely mentioned in the ancient books of our ancestors, were Osawa himself and his daughter, calithia. According to the history books, calithia was the only daughter of Osawa, and along with her twin brother, whose name has never been recorded, she became infamous for seeking revenge on the death of her father, Osawa, by targeting the young princess of the Aldario family.

  The Osawas were erased from the pages of our royal history. But if their bloodline still endures, they are considered one of the oldest and most powerful families in this land. They were never even given the chance to choose a color for their house.

  The Aderins, or the Green-clad family, make up parts of the aristocracy and royal lineage of our land. All of them are descendants of the younger sister of Aldario, Aderin, who had a deep love for the color green, passing this color down as a legacy to the generations that followed. From that moment, green became the symbol of this family.

  The Green-clads have diverse and varied appearances, but they are commonly recognized for their penetrating eyes, strong moral values, and their deep connection to nature. These traits, which are deeply embedded in their behavior and conduct, make the Aderins stand out among other families.

  The Adalias, on the other hand, are descendants of the rays of the sun, a lineage so ancient that even their family crest, which resembles a golden sun, symbolizes this connection. They are known for their wheat-colored skin, dark eyes and hair, and calm, kind faces, along with a simple and unpretentious character. Their simplicity and authenticity are what make them well-known among other families. It seems as though these traits flow through their veins, passed down from generation to generation.

  Adalia, the founder of this family, was Aderien’s twin sister. Both hold special places in the history of the great families.

  Lastly, the Alvens and Branwens—the primary families to which I belong—were created by two twin brothers who were younger than the rest of their siblings, but due to their unique personalities, they carved a special place in the history and royalty of this land.

  Alven chose the royal and mysterious shade of purple to carry forward his legacy. Their features bore a striking resemblance to the Aldarios, yet something in the details of their faces always betrayed their true origin. Despite the similarities, there was always a subtle, undeniable distinction between an Alven and a Aldario—one that even a child at a family gathering could spot without effort.

  Beyond the signature colors of their garments, perhaps it was the way they carried themselves. The Alvens spoke softer, moved gentler, and their words flowed with a calmness that contrasted the sharp precision of a Aldario’s tone. Their expressions were simpler, more grounded, untouched by the calculated weight that often colored the royal speech of their cousins.

  The Alvens had long been tied to the Aldario dynasty through generations of marriage—a tradition rooted in a pact made long ago between Alven himself and Aldario. For as long as history remembers, the Aldarios never allowed just any bloodline to mingle with theirs. Only the Alvens and the Branwens were ever deemed worthy. The rest of the world? Barely worth a passing glance.

  And then there was my own bloodline—the house I was born into and whose customs I knew more intimately than any other: House Branwen, the crimson-cloaked. To us, red was more than just a color. It was a symbol of courage, strength, and transformation. Warriors, revolutionaries, and history-makers had all risen from our blood. Their fearlessness was a source of pride—especially for someone like me, born under their banner.

  The Branwens were unmistakably different in appearance from the rest. Unlike the darker-haired nobles of other houses, we were known for our bright tones—blonde or fiery red hair, pale skin, and piercing turquoise eyes. The very image of Branwen himself, the founder of our line, and his sons—faces I’d seen a thousand times in the painted halls of our palace and the pages of ancestral tomes.

  Up until now, I had never met an Osawa in person. But tonight, that is about to change. For the first time in my life, I will stand face to face with one of them—and the thought alone fills me with a strange mix of curiosity and anticipation.

  The books say little, and even those few lines carry the dust of caution and fear. What’s written about Osawa and his daughter, calithia, is brief yet vivid: dark skin, deep brown to bronze, sharp black eyes framed by strong brows, towering builds with strength carved into every limb—bodies made for battle, not ballroom dances.

  To me, their appearance sounds more like the Adalias than any other house. But their power? That is something entirely different. Far greater. Far more feared. Especially in the eyes of the Aldarios—those who inked our histories and banished the Osawas from their rightful place among us.

  One of the oldest and most sacred customs passed down in Osawa bloodline is this: they are only allowed to bear children once. Just once. Whether it be a single heir or a set of twins, that child—or those children—are to inherit every shred of power, every drop of strength, every ancient whisper of their ancestry in full.

  No division. No dilution.

  Their lineage is passed on like a domino of raw might—falling into the hands of one, never many. That’s why I believe they must be fewer in number than any other noble house. Fewer, but truer. Stronger. Purer. And perhaps more royal than any of us ever dared to admit.