CHAPTER 163: RACIST FATHER

Keith’s body trembled with rage.

Everything Elius had just said — the cold logic, the way he broke down his friends into tools, the way he reduced their bond into political liabilities — it burned in his chest like molten iron. His fists clenched. His breathing turned sharp. His heart screamed to act.

And then he moved.

Keith surged forward with a roar, his foot cutting through the air in a high, spiraling kick aimed directly at Elius’s temple. But Elius didn’t even flinch. He tilted his head slightly — barely — and the kick passed just shy of contact, brushing the edges of his collar.

Keith landed, pivoted on his foot, and launched into a volley of punches — wild, furious jabs that carved the air in jagged lines. His fists blurred. Left, right, uppercut, hook. Each strike packed enough power to crack concrete. Each one was fueled by frustration, guilt, anger, sorrow — and most of all, helplessness.

But Elius dodged them all.

Casually. Effortlessly. Like a dancer tracing invisible patterns in the wind.

He didn’t fight back. He didn’t counter. He simply stepped, leaned, shifted just enough that every blow missed him by a breath. And the entire time, his eyes stayed soft, patient — infuriatingly calm.

"I told you," Elius said, ducking under a fierce hook. "I’m not going to hurt you."

Keith growled. "Liar!"

Elius stepped back, hands behind his back, as Keith lashed out again. "I won’t hurt you. Not Shania. Not Fraven. Not Zhark. And especially not mother."

Keith’s knee came up. Elius turned his body. The blow missed again.

"But you’ll ruin them," Keith spat, sweat dripping down his brow. "You’ll destroy them. You’ll turn them into criminals, make the world hate them — and for what?"

"To keep your mother safe," Elius answered gently, as if the words were meant to soothe a tantruming child.

The answer hit Keith harder than any punch he’d thrown. His fury boiled over, and he charged — shoulder forward, a full-body tackle meant to bring Elius down. But again, Elius spun aside with a whisper of cloth and wind, letting Keith crash into the air behind him.

Keith stumbled, spun, and whipped around, fists raised.

"You expect me to thank you?" he hissed. "You want me to smile while I betray everything I care about?"

"I expect you to be of my use, little brother," Elius said.

Keith bared his teeth. "You don’t get to make that call."

"No," Elius agreed. "But someone has to. And you’ve been trying to be a hero while clinging to sentiment. That’s not how it works."

"I hate you," Keith snarled, lunging again.

Elius sidestepped, and Keith staggered past him, breathing ragged. His rage had exhausted itself, but his despair still raged inside him like a hurricane. The idea of sacrificing his friends... to protect his mother... it tore at every fiber of who he thought he was. How could one protect one thing by destroying another?

Finally, they stopped moving.

The brothers stood on opposite sides of the rooftop now, facing each other in the deep stillness of the night. Their breath came in misty clouds. The city below whispered on, unaware of the storm above.

"You don’t have a choice," Elius said again. "You knew it the moment you agreed. But... before any of that begins — we need to change one thing first."

Keith’s shoulders tensed. "What?"

Elius smiled faintly, stepping forward. "Your hair."

Keith blinked. "What?"

"I’m going to change your hair color," Elius said, as if it were the most casual request in the world.

Keith looked at him, incredulous. "You want to change the color of my hair? Now? After all that—that drama?"

"It matters more than you think," Elius replied.

Keith didn’t respond. He just stared at him.

Elius sighed, brushing his fingers through his own golden locks. The strands shimmered faintly under the moonlight.

"You know Radiant Man, right? Our so-called father. The icon. The beacon of hope. The blond god in tights."

Keith’s face darkened.

Elius continued. "He’s a racist."

"What?"

"Not in the way you’re thinking," Elius said. "No — not about skin. He hated color in bloodlines. Hair color. Eye color. Anything that wasn’t him. His perfect, golden image. He wanted to craft his own legacy — carbon copies of himself."

Keith’s breath caught.

"He hated that your mother gave you a black hair just like hers. He hated that you inherited it. And that’s why he never looked at you. Never acknowledged you. Why did he leave her behind?"

Keith’s voice broke. "He never even visited her..."

Elius nodded, eyes sorrowful. "And yet he said he would check in on me every month. Train me. Gave me access. Because I had blonde hair. Because I looked like him."

Keith’s jaw tightened. A thousand memories surfaced — the birthdays his father missed, the holidays spent with empty chairs, the way his mother always smiled sadly when Keith would ask why Radiant Man wasn’t coming home this time.

"All this time..." Keith whispered.

Elius stepped closer. "You were good. Better than I ever was. But he couldn’t stand looking at you. Because your hair reminded him of the woman he abandoned."

The rooftop fell silent again.

Elius gently raised a hand. "Close your eyes."

Keith hesitated.

"I won’t hurt you," Elius said softly. "This is just... an adjustment. A cosmetic realignment for the persona you’re about to become."

Still trembling, Keith finally obeyed. His eyelids fluttered shut.

And then, he felt it.

Not heat. Not cold.

But a tingle. A light touch at the roots of his hair, like a gentle wind threading through every strand. The sensation rippled across his scalp — soothing, strange, and then shifting. He could feel something... draining. Something deep and dark being peeled away.

Elius was drawing out the black.

It wasn’t just pigment. It was memory, history, resentment, pain — pulled like ink from the threads of his soul. And then, in their place, a light — warm, radiant — weaving golden threads through each follicle. Slowly, strand by strand, the black disappeared.

Minutes passed.

Neither of them spoke.

And then... it stopped.

Keith felt Elius step back.

The rooftop wind returned. The night resumed its whisper.

Keith opened his eyes, confused.

"Turn around," Elius said. "There’s a mirror behind you."

Keith turned — slowly.

A cracked mirror stood propped against a pile of bricks, catching the moonlight.

He stared.

And the face that stared back had blonde hair. Pale, sunlit, golden-blonde hair. Just like Radiant Man’s. Just like Elius’s.

Keith stepped closer, almost in disbelief. He ran his fingers through it. The color shimmered naturally — no dye, no illusion. It was real. A new face.

A new legacy.

Elius stood behind him, arms crossed.

"Now," he said, softly. "Now you’re ready to become who father want you to be."