Basgiath War College was where the strong thrived and the weak perished. Power meant everything here—whether it came from birthright or raw defiance. I belonged to the latter. Born of rebellion, forged in vengeance. The rune on my arm branded me as such, a mark the nobles had burned into us when they slaughtered our families. They think it’s a symbol of control, but for us? It’s a reminder. Of the blood they spilled. Of the vengeance yet to come.

And yet, my greatest weakness wasn’t the rune. It was her.

She walked through the hallway, her head held high, confidence in every step. The woman who should mean nothing to me but somehow always did. A noble. A bane to my existence. I’d told myself a hundred times that she wasn’t worth it, that wanting her would undo everything I’d fought to become. But I couldn’t stop. No matter how much I hated her for being everything I couldn’t have without betraying my own.

I shifted my stance as she neared, guarding the door like it was all I cared about. But my eyes followed her. I never talked to her unless I had to—every conversation ended in bickering anyway, as if she somehow knew exactly which buttons to push. Yet, I wanted her. She was my temptation, the one thing I could never allow myself to claim.

Because wanting her meant weakness, and weakness meant death.