Kingdom of Scars (Vicious Dynasties #3)

Prologue – Cyril

Four Years Ago

I stand still, a statue carved from resilience. My fists are clenched at my sides, and I haven't moved in what feels like hours. Every scream that echoes from the room behind me tightens the noose around my neck. The walls seem to close in with each one, reducing the world to a single door. The one that separates me from her.

Sora.

My wife.

We were married for power, because our families needed an alliance. A Tsukasa and a Carfano: a union forged in territory, money, and shared goals, not differences. We were never meant to be anything more than symbols, strategic pieces on a board of blood and legacy. And yet, despite Sora’s reluctance to marry me, her love for her father forced her hand into mine, and over time, we built a quiet life that resembled peace. There wasn’t much passion or chaos, just understanding. She was steady. I respected her, and she respected me.

Now, she’s screaming in agony. And I can do nothing.

The hallway is empty. The floors, lights, and walls are all white, bleached and hollow. But blood has a way of staining even the cleanest of places. The scent of antiseptic clings to everything in the hospital, but it can't drown out the coppery stench of blood. It feels like it’s living in the walls, thick and metallic, tainting every breath I take. Like that isn’t enough, storm winds howl beyond the tall windows, making the glass tremble in their frames.

Another cry rips through the wall. I exhale through gritted teeth, forcing my body not to move. They told me to wait out here. That it was safer, calmer. But the stillness is worse than any battlefield I’ve walked into. Out there, I know how to fight. In here, I’m powerless.

Another scream—this one sharper and broken.

I clench and unclench my fists to keep myself together as I stare at the door, willing it to open. Willing someone to come out and tell me she’s fine. That my child is fine. That the worst is over.

But I know better. In this world, the worst is never over.

When the door opens, it's not with relief; it’s with dread.

A nurse steps into the corridor. She’s pale and trembling, her eyes wide and full of dread she can't voice. Her scrubs are soaked down the front, crimson and clinging to her like a second skin.

“She’s hemorrhaging,” she says with a slight tremor in her voice. “We’re doing everything we can....”

Without waiting for her to finish, I move.

“Sir, you can’t go inside!”

The door slams behind me as I step into the chaos.

The room is hot. Wet. Red. Linens torn and machines beeping frantically. A doctor is barking orders, voice sharp with panic. Nurses move in frantic patterns, pressing gauze, injecting syringes, switching out IV bags. Metal glints under the bright light, tools of desperate precision.

And there, in the center of the storm, is Sora.

Her face is drenched in sweat. Her skin is nearly devoid of color, appearing almost gray. Her hair clings to her cheeks and neck, tangled and damp. Her eyes flutter open as I approach, unfocused at first, but then she sees me.

She lifts her hand, slow and trembling.

I’m at her side in two strides, dropping to my knees beside the bed. I catch her hand before it falls.

Her fingers are ice.

“Cyril....” Her lips barely move. Her voice is dust.

“I’m here.”

She tries to speak again. Her chest heaves. Blood slips from the corner of her mouth.

“No. Don’t,” I say, shaking my head, my eyes widening with panic. “Save your strength. They’re going to fix this.”

Her eyes find mine again.

“If I don’t…” she murmurs.

“No. You will.”

“Promise me…you’ll protect him.”

I nod. It’s all I can do. “I'll protect you both.”

She tries to smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Her fingers twitch, then in an instant, they go still.

The monitor screams, and chaos erupts. I hear the flatline and the panic in the room shift into urgency, into failure. The doctor curses. Another nurse sobs. Someone begins CPR.

I’m feeling like I’m in a stranger’s body.

“No pulse.”

“Push another twenty!”

They work on her. I watch, frozen. Rage and grief coil inside me like a serpent, twisting tighter with every beat that doesn’t come.

Time of death: 12:09 a.m.

I just sit there, on the floor, with an empty and hollow chest. If I were a better man, I would’ve cried. Mourned my wife’s life. But being the bastard I am, I never learned how to cry.

The door to the ER slams open.

Daiki Tsukasa barrels in like a storm made of flesh. Two of his men flank him, their suits soaked from the unrelenting rain outside. His eyes lock onto the baby first, a tiny and squirming bundle in a nurse’s arms. Then, he sees me.

Then he sees her.

His eyes widen, a storm gathering behind them.

“You killed her!” he shouts.

“I didn’t do anything.” The words leave me before I can stop myself.

His hand lashes out across my face, a crack echoing even in the hospital’s chaos.

It barely moves me. Just a slight turn of my head. That’s all.

But the room goes still.

The nurse holding the baby gasps. Another clutches the counter.

“That child has Tsukasa blood,” Daiki snaps. “He comes with me.”

My voice is low, deadly. “He’s my son.”

“You think I’ll let you raise him in that cesspool of violence? That empire of blood? You Carfanos don't know how to care for anything but power.”

I step closer, teeth bared. “He is mine. You will not touch him."

Daiki’s face darkens. “You let her die.”

“I lost her, too,” I reply.

“You don’t get to claim that.” He takes a step forward. “She was my daughter before she was your wife.”

“And she was my responsibility. Mine to protect. Mine to bury.”

His men tense. I see hands inching toward holsters, but I move first. My gun’s in my hand before anyone can blink.

The nurse holding the child retreats behind a gurney, whispering a prayer.

Daiki stares at me like he’s trying to burn me out of existence with pure hatred.

“You will not raise that child.”

“He stays with me.”

“You’re a killer.”

“And you're a hypocrite.”

The room is a heartbeat away from war.

Then, a sound. A soft, broken cry.

The baby.

I turn.

His face is red, twisted with the effort of his tears. The nurse tries to soothe him, but he only cries louder. My heart, the blackened, calloused thing in my chest, twitches.

I holster my weapon slowly—walk to the nurse and hold out my arms.

I meet her eyes. "That’s my son."

She looks around in confusion, but after a minute, hands him over.

He's so small. So warm. So fucking alive.

His eyes open, gray and stormy. Just like mine.

Daiki watches, stone-faced.

“Your mother died to give you life,” I whisper. “And I’ll make sure no one ever touches you again. Not even him."

As I turn back toward Daiki, he knows he’s lost this battle. He turns without another word, and his men follow.

I stay in that room until the sun threatens the horizon, holding my son and listening to the storm inside me rage.

I’m reborn that night, not in blood but in the vow I make.

I’ll protect my son at all costs.