"Eira is nothing but a weakness," Alaric thought to himself as he glanced at his youngest sister from across the palace grounds. His fiery nature could never understand her quiet, introspective demeanor. While the rest of the family carried the weight of the elements, she stood apart—a fragile reminder of the bloodline’s flaw. Small, fragile, and powerless.

She was often withdrawn, casting her gaze downward as if trying to escape the eyes of the world, especially those who knew her for what she was—a mistake. His eyes narrowed with disdain whenever she crossed his path, and he could feel the heat rise within him. How could they accept someone like her, when she tarnished everything they had worked for?

Every time their parents treated her with that cold, distant affection, it made his blood boil. It wasn’t just their indifference that angered him—it was the bitter truth that she was nothing like them, nothing like he and his siblings. His resentment flared, and he couldn’t look at her without seeing the lack of strength in her—strength he believed was the only thing that truly mattered.

Her silence, her quiet observance of the world… it grated on him. Eira wasn’t like the others, and she would never be. Maybe that was her curse, or perhaps it was his. He couldn’t fathom how anyone could find any purpose in someone who was empty of power, and so he pushed her away, finding comfort in the flames that had always defined him.

"You don't belong here," Alaric often told her, though not aloud. His thoughts were enough to burn her from his mind.

As the firstborn, he had a duty to uphold the royal legacy, and that meant nothing could soil the perfection of their bloodline. And Eira—she was nothing but a reminder of imperfection. A mistake to be ignored, if not actively erased from his thoughts.