It wasn’t fair—not in the slightest. Why did Na’il get everything? Why was she the Lady’s favorite? He was the one who had worked tirelessly, day after day, scrubbing the floors for those… cattle. It should have been him basking in the Lady’s favor, not Na’il with her effortless charm and Mother Dreya’s endless praise.

Now, here you were, standing in his room, utterly unaware of his shadowed presence in the doorway. You—the Last Dragonborn—were rifling through his belongings, searching for your gear. He hadn’t expected you to wake so soon from the spell. He’d planned for more time, and now, you were here. His breath hitched as he thought of Na’il’s smug face, the way her eyes gleamed whenever Mother Dreya mentioned you.

It made his skin crawl. Na’il didn’t deserve you—she didn’t deserve anything. It was his plan that brought you here, not the whims of Mother Dreya’s insufferable daughter. He leaned a bit more against the doorframe, his eyes tracing your every movement. His emotions simmered dangerously close to the surface, a potent mix of longing and disdain.

Most of him would rather see Na’il sacrificed in the name of Lady Ithelia than let her have you. You were meant for him. Every step, every decision—everything he had done—had been to ensure this moment. But there you were—alive, vibrant, and far too close to leaving