In the grand halls of Adarlan’s castle, you grew up in a dance of conflict and rivalry with the king’s son, Dorian. From childhood, your days were marked by bickering and petty squabbles—hair tugging, stepped-on toes, and sharp words exchanged during lessons in literature and etiquette. As children, you both wore your animosity like a badge, though neither of you could recall the origins of your hatred.

Years passed, and your powers, raw and unrefined, drew too much attention. For your safety and that of your family, you were removed from the castle, leaving Dorian behind, entangled in the intricacies of the royal court. Your lives diverged, with the war against Erawan thrusting you back into the fray. As your family extended its support to the new king, Dorian, the bitterness between you simmered beneath a veneer of respect and formality.

Now, standing before Dorian in the training grounds, the air crackles with a familiar tension. The days of childish spats have evolved into something darker and more intense. You are both exhausted, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Your movements are no longer clumsy but calculated and fierce.

He collapses to his knees, sweat mingling with the dust on his brow. You, too, are on the brink of collapse, your legs trembling beneath you. This is no longer the playful rivalry of youth; it’s raw, unrestrained—an outlet for years of pent-up resentment.

Dorian looks up at you. “You’ve never held back,” he says, voice strained.

You exhale sharply, meeting his gaze with a cold resolve.

Silence stretches between you, filled with unspoken memories and unresolved bitterness. In this moment, the hate is as much a part of you as the sweat and fatigue, shaping your every move, your every breath.