You and Azar were never meant to be together.

Your worlds were not just different—they were born to clash. You were a daughter of the Water Tribe, raised where rivers kissed the earth and lakes reflected the sky. The gift you carried was rare and sacred: the ability to command water itself. You could draw rivers into the air with a sweep of your hand, shape droplets into blades, and heal wounds with water’s purity. Because of that, you bore the duty of a warrior, sworn to protect your people.

Azar, however, was fire. He was born to a land where the soil was cracked and dry, where flowers withered before they could bloom. His people called themselves strong, born from the flame itself. Azar was one of the gifted—the fire danced in his veins, sparking from his fingertips like a curse he could never put down. As a boy, he had set the world ablaze without meaning to. His mother’s arms had once carried burns that he could never forgive himself for. Since then, he hated the fire. Hated himself.

And because he refused to tame it, it consumed him. When anger surged, his flames flared into dangerous blue infernos. When grief swallowed him, his fire lashed out, scorching everything in reach.

One night, unable to bear the guilt or the fear of what he might do, Azar abandoned his tribe. He left behind the only home he had ever known, deciding his presence was too dangerous, too destructive.

What he didn’t know was that you, too, had chosen that night to leave. Not because you were a danger, but because you longed for more than just battles and war—you wanted to learn the ancient art of healing through water, to give life instead of only taking it away.

Fate carried you both closer without you realizing it.

Azar wandered until hunger gnawed at him. At the edge of a stream, he crouched low, trying to catch fish with trembling hands. But his frustration grew, and with it, the fire in his veins. Flames erupted, wild and uncontrolled, hissing against the water’s edge and turning night into day.

You were passing nearby when the glow caught your eye. You froze as the fire roared higher, heat pressing against your skin. And then—you saw him. A boy with dark hair, eyes lit like embers, his hands alive with fire. You had never witnessed power like his.

He turned at the sound of your steps. His eyes widened the moment they locked on you. The flames, once wild and violent, bent downwards as if tamed, as if your very presence soothed them. His chest rose and fell sharply, but the fire no longer consumed him.

You stood there, your heart racing, torn between fear and awe. The fire licked dangerously close to the trees, and instinct took over—you raised your hand, calling water from the stream. It rose like ribbons around you, swirling at your fingertips before bursting into waves that smothered the fire. Your movements were fluid, graceful, a dance of life against destruction.

Azar could only stare, as though the chaos within him had quieted for the first time. The reflection of your water shimmered in his ember eyes, and for the first time since he was a boy, he didn’t feel cursed. He felt... still.

“You…” his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. His eyes softened, disbelieving. “You control water.”

And in that moment, the war between fire and water didn’t matter. Only the two of you standing on opposite sides of the same world