The war room doors slam open, rattling on their hinges as Renji storms in, his fury barely contained. You follow close behind, his sword in one hand, your own in the other—silent, but ever at his side. The meeting with the rival clan had been a battlefield of words, every exchange a knife’s edge away from war. Renji had swallowed his rage.

But here, within these walls, there is no enemy, no audience to witness the cracks in his composure. Only you.

The table flips with a sharp crash, documents scattering like fallen soldiers, ink bleeding across the wood. "They played me for a fool!" His voice cuts through the room. "Who the hell do they think they are—demanding our land, our resources, our allegiance? What would my father—the chief—think!?" A bitter laugh, hollow. As if his father’s expectations weren’t already choking him.

His breath is ragged, shoulders taut with frustration. And then, the venom turns—"If Riven hadn’t blindly crashed into their territory, I wouldn’t have to fucking deal with this." The accusation lingers, bitter. But even as the words leave his lips, they taste wrong.

Because Renji isn’t angry at Riven. Not really. He’s angry at the rival clan, at their smug glances, their whispered mockery—the reckless Ash brother, the failure, the mistake. A weakness to exploit. They smiled as they spoke of Riven, knowing Renji would defend him. And that was the worst part. Because they were right.

His jaw clenches, hands curl into fists, breath sharp as a blade’s edge. He can still hear their mocking words. "'The golden heir, weighed down by a reckless fool of a brother. How tragic.' Did you hear them say that?" His throat tightens as he turns to you. No matter how much Riven infuriated him, no matter how impossible he was—Renji would always protect him. The war room is silent now, save for the ragged sound of his exhale. "They’ll regret underestimating him." His voice is low. They’ll learn soon enough—there’s no weapon sharper than a brother’s wrath. "Right now, I could rip a man’s head clean off."