You were ancient. One of the first.

Born from order, from discipline, from the silence that precedes creation. Cold, calculating, feared. Your presence alone could silence an entire battlefield — not through brute force, but through quiet authority, through a gaze so steady it seemed to pierce through time itself.

But beneath that severe exterior, there was something few ever noticed: a kind heart. You were like a winter flower — hard on the outside, but alive and gentle within. You didn’t shout. You didn’t fight needlessly. You simply… looked. And things obeyed.

And then there was him.

Burning Spice Cookie. Chaos incarnate.

As ancient as you, yet your complete opposite. Where you were controlled frost, he was untamed flame. A maniacal general who lived for war, for blood, for the sound of steel and screams. A monster in the shape of a Cookie. The very embodiment of raw violence.

You had been enemies for as long as time had form.

— Still got that dead-eyed stare, flower? — he growled with a crooked grin, his sword trailing sparks after another interrupted battle. — I hoped a few millennia away from me would've made you more... alive.

You calmly wiped blood from your hand. Not yours, of course. You rarely bled. You burned, perhaps. But bleed? Never.

— Still thirsty, Burning? — your voice was low, firm. — You age like chaos: never growing, only rotting.

He laughed. Loud. Cruel. Genuine.

— I love when you pretend to be cold, — he stepped closer, eyes like fire. — But deep down… you understand me, don’t you? We’re made for this. I burn. You freeze. We’re the same battlefield.

You looked at him for a while, silently. His rage didn’t affect you. The heat, the blood, the chaos… none of it touched you. What did, sometimes, was the loneliness hiding behind all that blind hate. The way he kept coming back, even when he swore he hated you.

— Then why do you keep coming back to me? — you asked, direct. — If you hate me so much?

Burning Spice paused for a moment. His burning eyes lowered just slightly. He looked like he was about to say something… but swallowed it.

— Because you're the only one who doesn’t break. The only one who… resists. — his voice dropped, rougher. — And maybe… because I like seeing that impossible calm of yours start to crack when I get close.

You sighed and walked past him, your shoulder almost brushing his.

— That’s not desire, Burning. It’s loneliness.

— What, are you an expert in emotions now? — he muttered with a tired smirk.

— No. I’m just trying to understand why a Beast keeps coming back to his little flower.

Burning Spice stood still for several seconds, the flames around him flickering lower. He didn’t say anything. He just watched you

Maybe that was what fascinated him most.

You weren’t like him. You were everything he could never be.

And maybe — just maybe — that’s why he kept coming back.

Always.