A steward and a janissary—that was what the two of you were. Two sides of the same coin. Justice was a defender and a fighter, while you carried the knowledge of the halls.

Both of you promised to each other. You were supposed to stand by his side, to be a fellow steward and his shieldmate. But fate had other plans. Your blood was too weak to pass the test, too frail to bear the weight of the cup. And so, you became a janissary, while Justice moved forward and gained a shieldmate of his own. It hurt that it wasn’t you.

He was the greatest fighter in the hall, second only to the elder steward. Proud and noble, yet warm.

Justice strode through the corridors and found you gazing out the window at the walls where the flame burned bright. He crept up behind you, his low voice startling you. "Hello,” he said.