The Sons of Elara

Seventeen years later.

Present day.

The bathhouse groaned with heat and silence.

A place tucked behind Ayodale's glittering skyline. Forgotten by maps. Remembered only by bodies that ached. Men who had nowhere else to go.

`. Smelled like wet wood. Mildew. Cheap soap. Burnt herbal oils. Everything stale. Everything tired.

Somewhere inside... a laugh echoed.

“Hahahaha—!”

A boy. Seventeen. On all fours. Tank top stuck to his ribs. Shorts damp with sweat and mop water. Scrubbing a floor that never really got clean.

Karlyle Navarro.

The name sounded... expensive.

Like it should’ve belonged to a star. A senator. A man with suits and screens and signatures.

But here he was. On his knees. Grinning into a bucket. Breathing in steam and mold and memory.

Beside him, a man slipped. Skin slapped tile. Soap bucket rattled.

“What’s that?!” the man shouted, startled. “Karlyle—are you going insane from study now?!”

Daniel Wu. Mid-forties. Half-bald. Whole-wet. Owner of the bathhouse. Mentor. Surrogate brother. Master of grime.

Sat there on his butt, soaked and scowling.

“That’s why I told you to just work here till I die! Inherit this damn place! Why study so hard, huh? That gonna change your bloodline?”

Karlyle didn’t look up.

“Master… why do you always link study and madness like they’re cousins?” he said, voice light, smile sharper. “Could be this scrubbing that’s breaking my brain. You give me rice scraps and a mattress full of ants. What do you call that—charity?”

Daniel snorted. “Be grateful, brat. In this city? Who else gives you that much?”

They both paused.

The silence crept in.

Both had spoken truths. Ugly, undeniable truths.

It’s poverty… that binds us…

A bond neither of them had chosen. But one they'd never escaped.

Karlyle’s mother—Elara—used to say…

Be kind when you’re poor… and remember people when you’re rich. That’s how you’ll find someone near your deathbed…

Karlyle laughed again.

Louder this time.

Dry and wild. As if trying to bleach sorrow off his bones.

Daniel didn’t flinch.

He was used to it now. The boy’s laughter. Too loud. Too long.

Not joy. Never joy.

Mad genius, Daniel thought.

Karlyle could memorize a book after one read. Could scrub tile like it owed him money. Excelled in pain and pages both.

But he was cracked. Just a little.

Daniel asked, voice low, “What is it this time?”

Karlyle tilted his head back. Breath ragged. Eyes unfocused.

“My mother…” he said. “Was kind to everyone. Helped whoever knocked. Gave what little she had…”

He laughed harder.

“…and still died alone. On a roadside. No hand to hold. Just dirt. Just sky.”

Daniel said nothing.

Karlyle's laughter echoed down the tiled hallway. Like it didn’t belong to this world.

She deserved more…

But the world never cared.

Karlyle collapsed on his back, staring at the mildew ceiling.

He laughed until he couldn't breathe. Until it wasn’t laughter anymore. Just… sound.

Daniel scrubbed.

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even look.

Just moved his hand. In rhythm. Over and over.

Until the tile showed his face.

Not smiling.

Not crying.

Just… there. Dry. Oily. Worn.

“Karlyle…” he said. “Work. And work. And work. Until you forget, and fall asleep.”

“That’s how you wake up again.”

Karlyle’s breathing slowed. Laughter drained from his ribs.

He wiped his face with the back of his arm.

Sat up.

Picked up the brush again.

Back to his knees.

Back to Daniel’s rhythm.

This was home now.

After mother died… I had no one. Until Daniel called me here…

Daniel. Another orphan.

Raised by Elara too.

Just like Karlyle.

Worked since he was a teen. Scrubbed floors until they bled. Inherited the bathhouse from a lonely old man who had no heirs.

Elara raised him with sweat and soft words… just like she did with me…

But none of us could escape the monster…

Poverty devours everything. Even dreams.

Karlyle chuckled again.

“Mother worked herself to death. And we… inherited her poverty. Her exhaustion. Hahaha…”

Daniel grinned this time.

“At least you’re smart,” he said. “Scholarship boy. Somehow getting into the most high-class school in Ayodale. You’re a freak.”

Karlyle shrugged. “Even freaks need rice to survive.”

Daniel’s smile faded.

“Will you be alright there, Karlyle? With them?”

His eyes narrowed. Jaw tense.

“I fear the worst for you… and my fear’s never wrong.”

Karlyle paused. He dipped his brush in the bucket.

Let water run down his wrist.

Then looked up.

“Let them come.”

“If they try to take what’s mine…”

A slow grin.

“I’ll bite. And I won’t stop…”

“…until I get my pound of flesh.”

They both burst into laughter.

Again.

Like the world hadn’t broken them just yesterday.

Like steam could melt away pasts.

Laughter echoed off tile. Heat danced in the air.

But Karlyle’s eyes…

Still sharp.

Still cold.

Tomorrow…

He would step through the gates of Ayodale Royal Academy.

The place of princes. Of gold-plated surnames.

Of clean shoes and invisible knives.

Tomorrow…

I’ll walk in like I belong…

And they’ll try to drag me out like I don’t.

But I won’t let them.

I’ve scrubbed floors with bleeding hands.

I’ve buried my mother with no coffin.

If they want war…

They’ll get it.

Karlyle Navarro… son of no one.

He planned to rise.

And this time…

He wouldn’t stop.