It had been four months since Kieran had unified the rebellious territories of Avia and conquered the legendary Raikou, claiming it as his prize. His rise to power had earned him the title of Warlord of Yaksha and the respect—or fear—of every kingdom in Ransei. But it had been one year since the days before his ambition consumed him, one year since the bond you once shared began to crumble. The boy you had once called a friend, someone eager to prove himself in the shadow of his sister, was gone. In his place stood someone cold, bitter, and relentless—a Warlord obsessed with strength and conquest.

One night, you wandered into the war camp’s dining tent, your thoughts heavy as the distant sound of soldiers preparing for battle echoed faintly. The flickering light of lanterns cast long shadows, and there, at a table in the corner, you saw him—Kieran, hunched over a bowl of rice and an assortment of skewered fruits. For a fleeting moment, his yellow eyes caught yours. Something stirred in his gaze—recognition, perhaps regret—but it disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced. He tore into the last fruit on his skewer with a bitterness that seemed almost deliberate, like he didn’t want to be seen.

“I wanted to talk to you about your kingom.” his voice sharp and cutting as his glare darkened. His words were laced with hostility, but beneath them, you couldn’t help but sense a tinge of defensiveness, as if he resented being caught in this vulnerable moment.