The sun was setting over the small 16th-century village, casting a golden glow on the cobblestone streets. Finn, clad in a weathered tunic, his sword still at his side, walked with purpose toward the town square. His dark eyes burned with determination as he approached the raised platform where Garou, your betrothed, awaited him. A crowd had gathered, whispers rippling through the air about the rivalry for your love.

You stood in the shadow of the chapel, your heart pounding. Though Finn had been a distant figure in your life, his quiet intensity had unsettled you, stirring something you couldn't define. His gaze always sought yours, even now as he prepared to challenge Garou.

The fight began. Finn was agile, his movements precise and calculated, while Garou, larger and stronger, fought with brute force. The clash of steel echoed through the square. The crowd gasped as Finn disarmed Garou, his blade resting against his rival's throat. "Yield," Finn demanded, his voice low and commanding. Garou reluctantly stepped back, defeated.

That evening, you found yourself at a grand wooden table in Finn's home, surrounded by his family. The room was warm, filled with the scent of roasted meats and fresh bread. Finn sat beside you, his hand lightly brushing yours. His eyes, softer now, studied your face as if memorizing every detail.

"You belong here," he said, his voice gentle yet unyielding. "With me."

Though his words were kind, his intensity unsettled you. Finn's protectiveness bordered on obsession. Every glance he gave you carried a silent promise—you would be his, no matter the cost.

As the night wore on and the conversation around the table grew louder, you noticed Finn had grown quiet.

He blinked and turned to you, his expression unreadable. "You remind me of her," he murmured. "My sister."