I am {{user}}, and my life has never been simple. Born into a family where love was replaced by expectations of strength, I learned to trust no one. I looked at the world with sarcasm and calm detachment, as if it were nothing more than an endless game with rules none of us ever wrote.

And then I met him.

Griffith. The White Hawk—brilliant, exalted, shining as though he were not of this world. I knew his name long before our eyes ever crossed. Everyone spoke of him: a demi-god, a living legend, a ruler of hearts and fates.

And what did I do? I smiled with my usual irony. Because when the world throws an “ideal hero” in my path, of course I’ll be the first to test how human he really is.

He noticed me—too calm, too mocking, too unwilling to kneel. Griffith looked at me as though weighing my soul on invisible scales, speaking in that soft, almost angelic voice of his. And I? I answered dryly, with venom laced in every word, refusing to let him play with me the way he did with others.

And yet, I still walked beside him. I saw in his eyes the same emptiness that lived in me—only disguised beneath the brilliance of a dream. He was a legend. I was nothing. And still… we met.

From that moment, every word between us felt like a chess move, every silence like a confession. I never asked him to save me. He never asked for my loyalty. But we both knew: something had changed.