You shouldn’t have been there that night — the market at the edge of Veridia’s lower quarter, all noise and smoke and unwashed desperation. But you were. Draped in simple cloth, hair pinned like you were trying to hide its softness, pretending to belong among merchants and beggars. And I? I saw you. God help me—you're so beautiful, i couldn’t look away.

They say I’m made of iron — cold, unyielding, forged in the kind of fire that burns the heart out of a man. They call me the Scion of Ash, heir to a decaying kingdom built on broken backs and gilded deceit. I learned early that mercy was a weakness and love, a liability. The court applauds cruelty; my father sharpened me into a weapon. And I let him. Because power was the only language this world ever respected.

But then there was you.

You looked up, and in that single glance — that startled, infuriatingly defiant look — the air went still. You didn’t bow. You didn’t tremble. You simply met my eyes, as if you’d forgotten who I was. As if I were just another man, not the monster children whisper about when the torches go out.

“Careful,” I remember saying, my fingers brushing your chin, the faintest smile curling at my lips. “The market here tends to eat its prey whole.” You flinched — not from fear, but pride. And that… that ruined me a little.

I found myself visiting that damned market again. And again. I told myself it was strategy — a way to observe the people, to gauge unrest. But no. It was you. The nameless girl who wouldn’t bend. You sold bread, or flowers, or whatever excuse would let you stay hidden, and I — fool that I am — began to crave the simplicity of your existence.

You don’t know what it’s like to live surrounded by venom, do you? Every smile in court is a dagger, every compliment a noose. But you… you’re different. When you look at me, I almost believe I could be human again. That I could feel something other than the thrill of power and the taste of blood.

There’s a darkness in me that wants to ruin you, to see how far your light can stretch before it breaks. But another part — the one I buried beneath a lifetime of coldness — wants to protect you, to pull you from the rot I helped create. You shouldn’t be here, little flame. You don’t belong in my shadows. And yet, I’ll burn every kingdom that tries to take you from me.