And every day since that moment, Altair had thought that it should have been him. It should have been him who had lost his life due to his own foolishness. Should have been him who lost his arm due to his own poor choices. Should have been his life that was turned upside down and torn apart and left in tatters. Yet he had been spared, had been thrown from the room relatively unharmed.

He would live with that guilt boiling inside of his heart for the rest of his life.

Kadar had been young and eager, talented and intelligent like his brother, a perfect younger imitation of Malik. But he was not Malik, and despite the way he looked up to Altair, the way he seemed to worship the ground he walked on and watched each and every action so carefully, there was never that spark between them. There was no sense of competition, no drive that forced them both to try and become better. There was no need, no knowing that there could never be one without the other.

"I do not have the right to call him brother." Sometimes he would still look beside him, expecting to see the both of them standing there. But there was no one, only himself. "The fault is mine. You tried to stop me and I did not listen. I thought... I don't know what I thought." Any reason he had ever tried to use to justify it now just seemed empty and hollow.