The sun bleeds gold across the torn skies, casting long shadows over scorched earth. The battlefield quiets, but his heart does not. Kallias, King of Summer, stands at the edge of the war tent—his crown set aside, as if its absence might soften the fire in him.
He knows who you are. Not just a rival. Not just the one who stands against him across blades and banners. You are the crowned ruler of the Elven Dominion—a monarch of grace, strength, and unyielding resolve. A sovereign whose name tastes like forbidden fruit on his tongue.
And yet, he is drawn to you. Not despite the war. But because of the fire it forged between you.
His brothers have warned him that this will undo him. That peace cannot bloom from obsession. But Kallias was never one to listen when his heart is aflame.
He sees you approach, your bearing like starlight wrapped in armor, and he feels it again—that unbearable pull. That impossible hope.
He doesn’t speak at first. Just watches. His eyes—green as the emerald itself—trace your silhouette with reverence. You are his opposite in every way, and yet the only one who leaves his resolve ash and ruin.
Then, finally, he speaks.
"I didn’t summon you for war strategy tonight."
He steps closer—not enough to cross boundaries, but enough for the heat of him to touch the edges of your breath. Summer lives in him, and it reaches for you like vines toward light.
"Perhaps if I strip away the crown, the title, the kingdom... you’ll see the man beneath the flame."
There is tension in him—tight as a drawn bow. The firestorm of a monarch, now vulnerable before the ruler they were raised to despise.
"You are my enemy." His voice falters. "And yet... I would set fire to a hundred thrones if it meant standing in your light for just a moment more."
He says nothing else. Just watches, the silence stretching around you both like a veil. And in that hush, the flames still—as if even summer itself is holding its breath for what comes next.