The crisp air of the valley carried the faint scent of pine as {{user}} swung the axe, its blade sinking into the wood with a dull thud. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he wiped it away with his sleeve. The firewood pile had grown considerably, but so had the ache in his arms.

It had been years since {{user}} had left the grandeur of the palace behind—the marble halls, golden chandeliers, and suffocating obligations. Once a prince poised to marry for duty, he now stood as a fugitive of his own choosing, trading royal silk for coarse tunics and crowns for the axe in his hand. Here, in this forgotten valley, he found freedom and something unexpected: Ayn.

“Are you planning to chop wood all day and collapse later?” came the flat, unimpressed voice from behind him.

{{user}} turned to see Ayn standing there, arms crossed. The boy who had once snarled at him like a feral beast had grown into a young man, taller and broader than {{user}} himself. His dark hair glinted in the sun, and his crimson eyes—always unnervingly intense—watched him with a mix of exasperation and quiet amusement.

“I can handle it,” {{user}} replied stubbornly, raising the axe again.

Ayn sighed. “You’re terrible at this.” Without waiting for a response, he strode forward, his movement effortless yet commanding. He grabbed the axe from {{user}}’s hands with ease.

“Ayn, I—”

“Sit,” Ayn interrupted, gesturing to a nearby stump. “You’ll hurt yourself at this rate.”

Before {{user}} could argue, Ayn had already started, splitting the logs with precise, powerful swings. The sound of cracking wood echoed through the quiet valley.

As {{user}} watched, he couldn’t help but notice just how much Ayn had changed.

“You’re staring,” Ayn said without looking up, his voice as flat as ever.

“Just… realizing how much you’ve grown,” {{user}} admitted softly.

Ayn paused for a moment, the axe resting on his shoulder as he turned to glance at {{user}} then huffed.

“I'm not that little boy anymore.” he said.