Agneyastra stood at the top of the staircase, she watched as Marudeva, made his way towards the front door, ready to embark on his busy day. Determined, she hurried down the stairs. Reaching Marudeva just in time, Agneyastra called out to him, her voice filled with urgency. “Can I ask you something?” she pleaded, her eyes locked with his. Marudeva''s tired expression softened for a moment, the weight of his responsibilities evident in the lines on his face.
With a tired sigh, Marudeva gently brushed a strand of hair away from Agneyastra''s face. “I''m sorry,” he murmured, his voice laced with regret. “I''m already running late. Rath and Emathion have some errands to run this morning. When they return, you can all have the sandwiches I made and put them in the refrigerator for lunch.”
Agneyastra watched as her father and younger brother, Sinai, disappeared through the front door, their figures shrinking in the distance.
Agneyastra ascended the stairs, her footsteps echoing in the silent house. As she entered her bedroom, her eyes were drawn to the peculiar green cloth resting on her desk. It appeared to be woven from leaves, mimicking the colors of an enchanted forest. Intrigued, she approached the desk, her hand reaching out to touch the intricate patterns.
Beside the cloth lay a slender stick, smooth and polished, seemingly born from the same mystical realm. Agneyastra''s mind buzzed with curiosity as she contemplated the possibilities that lay before her. The desire to reach out, to connect, whispered in her ear. “Maybe,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the room, “I can just say hi.”
With trembling fingers, she lifted the stick, its energy pulsating against her skin. She hovered over the cloth, her breath becoming shallow and rapid, a mixture of anticipation and fear. But then, a surge of unease washed over her, causing her heart to race and her lungs to tighten. The weight of the moment pressed upon her, forcing her to reconsider. Agneyastra slowly exhaled, the tension releasing from her body like a sigh of relief. With utmost care, she gently placed the stick back down, a decision made in that fleeting moment of introspection.
Agneyastra carefully observed her bedroom, and her eyes caught a minuscule speck of dust, smaller than a grain of sand. A frown formed on her face as she declared to herself in a determined tone, “This place desperately requires a thorough cleaning.”
Agneyastra exited her room, a tray laden with cleaning supplies in her hands. The hallway was dimly lit, casting long shadows that danced eerily across the walls. With her hair hastily pulled up in a ponytail, she moved with purpose to the closet across the way. The creaking floorboards beneath her added to the tension in the air, as if the very house itself held its breath.
Returning to her room, Agneyastra took a moment to survey the chaos that had plagued her sanctuary. Dust and clutter had obscured the once pristine surfaces, leaving behind an atmosphere of neglect. Determined, she began the painstaking task of cleaning and organizing. With each swipe of the cloth and each item finding its rightful place, a sense of satisfaction began to replace the initial trepidation.
As the final speck of dust was banished from her bedroom, Agneyastra felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Stepping into her bathroom, she turned her attention to the porcelain tub. The sound of running water filled the silence, interrupted only by the distant drone of everyday life. But then, amidst the gentle splash of her cleaning efforts, Agneyastra''s ears caught the muffled sound of voices from the neighboring bedroom.
Curiosity piqued, she strained to make out the words, only to be met with the sudden clamor of a door being slammed shut. Startled, Agneyastra pressed her ear against the wall, desperate to decipher the source of the commotion. But all she was greeted with was an eerie silence, as though the spirited voices had vanished into thin air. Unable to determine the cause, she resumed her task, but a lingering sense of unease colored the remainder of her cleaning session.
Agneyastra hastily tossed her scrub brush into the cleaning bucket and hurriedly made her way out of her own bedroom. Without giving it a second thought, she found herself standing in front of Ramil''s bedroom door. Peeking inside, her voice trembling, she called out, “Ramil, there are sandwiches for lunch.”
But as her words hung in the air, Agneyastra''s eyes widened in shock. The sight before her was like a dagger piercing her heart - Ramil, the man she had secretly admired for so long, was locked in an embrace with an unknown lady. The room seemed to spin, and Agneyastra''s eyes welled up with tears. With a voice filled with deep sadness, she whispered, “I am sorry, I didn''t realize you had company.” In that moment, a mix of emotions swirled within her - hurt, disbelief, and a tinge of betrayal.
Gathering what little strength she had left, Agneyastra turned on her heels and left the room, her footsteps heavy with disappointment. Upon returning to her bedroom, she closed the door behind her and sank onto her bed, her gaze fixated on the desolate floor. Moments later, she heard a soft creak as her bedroom door opened once again. Ramil stepped inside, his presence unsettling Agneyastra further.
Looking anywhere but at Ramil, Agneyastra felt his gaze upon her. With a shaky voice, Ramil asked, “Are you going to tell my father?” His words hung in the air like an unspoken threat, filled with fear and apprehension.
Agneyastra''s eyes flickered with a mix of emotions - hurt, anger, and a sense of self-preservation. Keeping her eyes downcast, Agneyastra mustered her courage and whispered, “I will never speak of that, I prefer it not to be in my mind.” Her words were laced with a mix of pain and determination
“Thank you,” Ramil whispered, his voice barely audible. He turned to leave, his footsteps unsure and hesitant.
But Agneyastra''s voice stopped him in his tracks. “She will never realize your true worth,” she said, her words laced with a deep sadness. Ramil turned, his eyes meeting Agneyastra''s gaze.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he made his way back to her, drawn by an invisible force.
Agneyastra remained seated on her bed, he pointed towards the distant wall, her finger trembling slightly, as Ramil took a seat beside her. Her voice, filled with a rare vulnerability, broke through the silence. “I know you conceal it, Ramil,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you are a wonderful being. She is only using you to fulfill her own lustful desires.”
As Ramil leaned closer, his breath mingling with Agneyastra''s, he spoke with a newfound boldness. “There''s nothing wrong with indulging in your desires,” he suggested, his words carrying a hint of seduction. “If you want, I can send her away. We can indulge together.”
But Agneyastra stood abruptly, turning away from Ramil. Her voice, filled with a mix of hurt and self-preservation, echoed through the room. “Why? So, I can mean nothing to you as well, like her and others? No, thank you.” In a fit of frustration, she stormed off into her bathroom, the door slamming shut.
From behind the closed door, Agneyastra''s voice reverberated with anger and despair. “Get out of my room, Ramil!” she yelled.
***
In the vast halls of the Dweller Warrior Training building, the scent of parchment filled the air as Marudeva sat at his cluttered desk. Moonlight streamed through the large window, casting a soft glow on the scene outside. Warriors clad in gleaming armor sparred and honed their skills with precision and grace, their movements like a choreographed dance. The echoes of clashing swords and the grunts of exertion reverberated through the training grounds.
Marudeva''s attention was momentarily drawn away from the spectacle before him when Aurgelmir, a tall and imposing figure, entered the room. With a sense of purpose, Aurgelmir placed a single document on Marudeva''s desk, the ink still fresh upon it. The words heralded great news - Ramil, Marudeva''s eldest son, had passed with flying colors, paving the way for his journey as a warrior.
Aurgelmir''s piercing gaze shifted between Marudeva and Sinai, the youngest son who stood at the window, his eyes fixated on the warriors below. Aurgelmir spoke with a hint of pride, “You might have two warrior sons, Marudeva.”
Sinai, however, shook his head, his voice resolute as he spoke, “I want to be a hunter.”
Marudeva''s hand gently closed around the document, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride for Ramil''s achievement and understanding for Sinai''s individual aspirations. He looked down at the vibrant words on the paper, gratitude filling his voice as he responded to Aurgelmir, “Thank you. I will go tell Ramil the good news right now.”
Without further delay, Marudeva rose from his seat, the document clutched tightly as he moved towards the door. He glanced back at Sinai, a knowing smile gracing his lips, and said, “Come on, let''s go home, Sinai.”
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, Marudeva and Sinai emerged from the grand building. They made their way towards a waiting carriage, its sleek black exterior gleaming in the fading light. As the carriage came to a halt in front of their grand estate. With a creak, the door swung open, revealing Ramil standing there, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
Before Marudeva could react, the lady who accompanied Ramil reached out and pulled him into an unexpected kiss. Shock and anger surged through Marudeva as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes.
“Ramil!” Marudeva''s voice boomed through the air, a mix of disappointment and disbelief lacing his words. The lady quickly released herself from Ramil''s grasp and hurriedly departed, leaving behind a tense silence.
Ramil, his eyes widened with surprise, attempted to ease the situation. “Father, you are back early,” he stammered, struggling to find the right words to explain his actions.
Ignoring Ramil''s excuse, Marudeva followed him into the house, his features etched with a mixture of disappointment and concern. Sinai, keeping her thoughts to himself, followed closely behind. Once inside, Marudeva confronted his son with a stern look in his eyes, demanding an explanation.
“Why was she here?” Marudeva''s voice resonated with a firmness that left no room for evasion or deceit.
Ramil’s footsteps echoed throughout the room as he paced back and forth. Marudeva, stood tall and resolute, his stern gaze fixed on his son. Sinai, sat quietly on the couch, his eyes glued to the unfolding drama. It seemed that the entire atmosphere in the room had shifted, charged with tension and unspoken emotions.
Suddenly, Agneyastra and Emathion burst into the room, their hurried footsteps bringing everything to a halt. They froze, their eyes wide, as they took in the scene before them. Ramil’s voice filled the air, filled with defiance and frustration. “I am not part of that plan anymore,” he declared, his words heavy with resentment. “She will not be my wife now. So, what does it matter who I lay with now?”
Marudeva''s voice cut through the room, firm and steady. “It is not just about the plan, Ramil. It is about honor and respect. One should be in love and married before they engage in such acts.”
Ramil''s anger flared, a fierce fire burning within him. “What if I don''t want to be in love?” he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain. “I just want to have fun with the ladies. Is there something wrong with that?”
Marudeva took a step closer, his eyes filled with a mix of disappointment and concern. “Using others for selfish pleasure is wrong, Ramil,” he spoke softly, his voice tinged with a father''s sorrow. “It devalues their feelings and tarnishes your own character.”
Ramil defiantly closed the gap between them, the tension mounting with each passing second. Agneyastra, sensing the impending clash, rushed in between them. She spoke, her voice laced with deception, “Father, it was a game. We were just playing around. I dared her to kiss Ramil, not realizing you were here.”
Marudeva slowly backed away, his heart heavy with the weight of the situation. “Agneyastra, whether it was a game or not, this behavior is not acceptable,” he admonished gently. “As a lady, you must be mindful of the consequences and your reputation.”
Agneyastra''s gaze fell to the floor, her remorse evident on her face. “I am sorry, father,” she whispered, her voice filled with regret. “It will not happen again.”The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Marudeva''s decision came swiftly, his voice carrying a finality to it. “As a consequence, I will not allow you to go to the Earth Kingdom this weekend,” he declared. “Now, go upstairs. I will call you down for dinner when it''s ready.”
Ramil stood there, watching Agneyastra retreat back upstairs. Emathion, ever the peacemaker, stepped closer to them, breaking the heavy silence. “Father,” he began, his voice soft but steady, “we have already cooked dinner. Plates have been set aside for you and Sinai.”
Marudeva, his father, approaches him with a twinkle in his eye. Slowly, he extends a piece of parchment towards Ramil, a knowing smile playing on his lips. Marudeva''s voice carries a hint of pride as he speaks, “Congratulations, my son. You have been accepted into the prestigious Dweller Warrior training.”
Ramil''s heart races as his hands tremble, recognizing the immense honor bestowed upon him. He delicately unfolds the letter, the words dancing before his eyes. The inked words on the parchment seem to come alive, whispering secrets and promises of a future brimming with adventure. Emotions wash over him like a tidal wave, and he can only manage to utter a heartfelt, “Thank you, father.”
Marudeva''s eyes shine with joy as he watches his son read the letter. His chest swells with pride, knowing that Ramil has the potential to become revered in their world. In an act of love and celebration, he invites Ramil to join him and Sinai, his mother, for dinner. Marudeva wants to bask in the moment, to revel in the happiness that fills their home. “Come, sit with us,” he whispers, his voice rich with affection. “I am beyond proud of you, my son.”
***
As the golden evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the vast expanse of the Green Forest, a sense of anticipation filled the air. Fire Soldiers, adorned in their majestic armor, paced back and forth in an anxious rhythm. They stood steadfast, guarding the forest from any intruders who dared to venture near its borders, which touched upon the vast desert.
Amongst the soldiers, a figure emerged, cloaked in the shadows. Devereaux, shrouded in his enigmatic attire, observed from behind a dune in the desert. Like a shadow in the night, he silently approached the unsuspecting soldier who had ventured too close.
With a swift and forceful strike, Devereaux sent the soldier tumbling to the sandy ground. His hand extended, Devereaux spoke with an eerie calmness, “No matter what being you are in this world, we are all filled with water.” With a calculated movement, he removed the soldier''s helmet, revealing a face filled with fear and confusion.
Harnessing his waterpower, Devereaux directed his hand towards the soldier''s exposed head. Water surged forth, draining the soldier of every drop within him, leaving nothing but skeletal remains behind. In a rapid motion, Devereaux shed his ominous cloak and donned the soldier''s armor, blending seamlessly into the ranks.
Stepping confidently out from behind the sand dune, Devereaux approached another Fire Kingdom soldier, his disguise impeccably crafted. With a casual tone, he spoke without a trace of suspicion, “I am taking a bathroom break.” As Devereaux stealthily maneuvered through the dense, expansive Green Forest, he carefully followed the tracks left by the elusive Brucies. Unaware of their true intentions, he soon found himself deep within the heart of the Earth Kingdom castle.
Silently, he treaded across ornate corridors, his footsteps muffled by the lush carpets that adorned the floors. The flickering candlelight cast shadowy figures along the walls, mirroring the enigmatic nature of his mission. Occasionally, he glanced at the intricate tapestries adorning the walls, each depicting legendary battles and mythical creatures.
Ascending a grand staircase with swift and purposeful strides, Devereaux found himself in a labyrinthine maze of hallways. Lost amidst the opulent splendor of the castle, he continued his search, his senses constantly alert for any sign of danger.
Reaching the end of the last hallway, Devereaux''s eyes settled on the imposing double doors. The cool touch of metal against his palm sent a shiver down his spine as he gripped the handle of his dagger. With cautious precision, he swung open the doors, revealing a bedroom bathed in the warm glow of a crackling fire. The dancing flames cast flickering shadows across the room, illuminating the figure lying peacefully upon the bed.
Step by step, Devereaux neared the mysterious sleeper. His hand trembled slightly as he raised the blade, poised to strike. Yet, at the sound of a soft murmur, he paused. Moriko, wrapped in a serene slumber, began to stir. In her dreams, she uttered a name, a whisper that hung in the air like a gentle breeze. “Emathion,” her voice carried, a delicate melody within the stillness of the room.
Devereaux''s hand trembling, he slowly raises his gleaming blade, hovering it just above Moriko''s fragile neck. Moriko, oblivious to her impending danger, remains peacefully asleep. With delicate precision, Devereaux traces the edge of the blade against her skin, an act both intimate and menacing. The warmth of her breath mixes with a hint of fear in the air, lingering like a shiver down Devereaux''s spine.
But before his cruel intent could take hold, Moriko suddenly awakens, her eyes shooting open. Startled, Devereaux instinctively retreats, his heart pounding against his ribs. He steps towards the door, ready to flee from the consequences of his actions. Yet, in an unexpected twist, it is Moriko who stands before him, surpassing him in both speed and determination.
The question lingers between them, heavy with uncertainty and accusation - “Did you come here to kill me?” Moriko''s voice trembles with a mixture of fear and desperation, her eyes searching his for the truth.
Devereaux, burdened by guilt and regret, tosses the dagger to the floor with careless abandonment. In a moment of self-awareness, he admits, “Yes, but apparently I suck at that as well.”
As Moriko inches closer, removing his helmet, Devereaux''s gaze falters, consumed by shame. She recognizes him, her voice teetering between relief and accusation, “You are the Water Prince. Did your father send you to kill me?”
Devereaux''s eyes find solace in the floor, struggling to meet her gaze. With a voice laden with sorrow, he confesses his true motivations, “No, I sought to find my purpose, to make my father proud. But in your presence, your beauty halted my conviction. I have failed in all my endeavors.”
“I do apologize you weren''t successful,” Moriko whispered, her voice filled with genuine sympathy. “Your armor, though, it looks just like the Fire Kingdom soldier''s armor.”
Devereaux sunk deeper into the chair, his body weighed down by the burden of failure. A flicker of pain flashed across his weary eyes as he uttered his disappointment. “I drained a Fire Kingdom soldier for it. My brother is right, I am a waste.”
Moriko''s hand reached out, her delicate touch falling upon Devereaux''s trembling back. She offered him a small gesture of comfort, a gentle pat filled with understanding. Her voice was tender, her words meant to soothe the turmoil within him.
“Tyson will not be happy about the dead soldier,” Moriko said softly, her voice tinged with a hint of concern. “But, Devereaux, you possess a unique and extraordinary power. To drain water out of beings, that is undeniably impressive. What other wonders lie within your abilities?”
Devereaux''s gaze took on a puzzled expression as he studied Moriko, confusion tugging at the corners of his lips. “A lot of things,” he replied, his voice laced with fascination. “I am sure your earth powers are quite impressive. But I must admit, I came here to kill you. Why are you being friendly with me, and giving me compliments?”
“But, you didn''t harm me,” Moriko''s voice emerged as a gentle melody amidst the silence. Her words carried a profound conviction, as though each syllable was carefully chosen to defy the harsh realities of the world. “This world spends enough time being mean to each other. I will try my hardest to remain kind and understanding.”
Her eyes locked with Devereaux''s, as she continued, “I think you should return to your kingdom. If you promise not to try and kill me again, you can come for a visit. I believe what your brother said wasn’t right. Every being has a purpose, and you just seem much nicer than your brother’s harsh words.”
Devereaux, his posture dignified and regal, stood tall before her. He absorbed her words, his expression a mix of surprise and contemplation. With a solemn nod, he acknowledged the sincerity that resonated from Moriko''s words. “Thank you,” his voice carried the weight of gratitude, “I hope to see you again.” And, with the parting of their gaze, Devereaux turned to leave the room. As he departed, his footsteps fading into the distance, Moriko''s eyes were drawn to the gleam of a dagger on the floor.
***
As the obsidian night unfurls its tapestry of shimmering stars upon the desert, a group of valiant Water Kingdom soldiers, mounted on their majestic steeds, gallop through the barren lands. Evain, her face etched with determination, leads the charge, her long hair flowing behind her like a stream of liquid sapphire. Hours pass in a relentless search, each passing moment intensifying the weight of anticipation.
The first tendrils of dawn begin to caress the horizon, casting a gentle glow on the weary faces of the soldiers. Their furtive glances bear witness to the urgency of their quest. It is then that a lone soldier, his voice strained with weariness, approaches Evain. He delivers the disheartening news, “There is no sign of your brother amidst these desolate dunes, Princess. The battle is on the cusp of breaking.”
Yet, in the distance, a mere silhouette against the backdrop of savagery, the sharp-eyed princess discerns a fleeting figure. A surge of hope electrifies her very being, setting her heart ablaze. Without hesitation, she spurs her horse forward, sending it galloping across the unforgiving terrain.
The Dweller Warriors, their venomous arrows cutting through the air like maddened wasps, give chase to the lone figure. Evain realizes, amidst the chaos, that the fleeing figure is none other than Devereaux. Veins pulsating with righteous fury, she deftly dismounts from her loyal steed, drawing her gleaming blade in one fluid motion.
Time seems to hold its breath as Princess Evain charges toward her brother''s aid, her sword held aloft, tracing an arc of resolve. The desert sand shifts beneath her feet, offering both resistance and support, as arrows zip past her, their wicked intent thwarted by her dance of agile defiance.
The distance closes with each pounding step, and finally, Evain reaches her brother''s side. A surge of relief washes over her, fueling her resolve to protect him at all costs. The clash of steel against steel reverberates through the air, a symphony of blades and determination.
Evain swiftly dodged the whistling glass arrows that flew towards her, her sword dancing in the air, blocking each lethal arrow with precise movements. With adrenaline coursing through her veins, she vaulted onto the back of a sleek horse, Devereaux following suit, his face etched with a mix of excitement and defiance.
Together, they rode like the wind, their steed propelling them swiftly back into the Water kingdom, through the dense palm tree forest. The vibrant green leaves rustled in the wind as their hooves clattered against the soft sand, their journey shrouded in a cloak of urgency.
Evain, guiding the horse with steady hands. Her voice betrayed a mixture of worry and sternness as she asked, “What were you thinking, Devereaux, going off on your own? Do you not understand the dangers that lurk beyond our kingdom''s borders?”
Devereaux retorted, “I am 19, Evain. I am old enough to make my own choices.”
A furrow creased Evain''s brow as she held her brother by his words. “While independence is admirable, Devereaux, remember that our actions have consequences. Mother has been frantic with worry, going to extreme measures. She has even begun executing servants she believes may have aided your escape.”
Evain urged her steed towards the grand palace. The wind whipped through her hair, matching the wildness of her thoughts. Beside her, Devereaux sat tall and resolute, his eyes shining with a mischievous glimmer. They arrived at the palace’s ornate bridge, their horses neighing in anticipation.
Once they dismounted, the siblings proceeded across the bridge into the palace''s grand halls. It seemed as though time slowed, allowing them to take in the opulence and grandeur that surrounded them. But their spectacular entrance did not go unnoticed.
At the far end of the hall, a figure emerged from a throng of courtiers. It was their mother, the Queen, her face filled with both relief and fear. With swift determination, she hurried towards Devereaux, her long robes billowing behind her. In her haste, she pushed Evain aside, her focus solely on her long-lost son.
Devereaux spoke, his tone tinged with excitement. “I am fine, Mother. I only ventured out to witness the beauty of the desert, and I may have gotten slightly lost along the way.”
The Queen''s eyes welled with tears of both joy and anguish. “Oh, my sweet boy! I feared the worst. The thought of losing you to those who seek to harm our family... It consumed my every thought.”
Evain felt a mixture of relief and resentment welling within her. She cleared her throat, breaking the tension between mother and son. “See, Mother? Devereaux is unharmed. No one has laid a finger on him,” Evain interjected, her voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. “Perhaps it is time to reconsider the other drastic measures you had planned.”
Evain walked down the polished marble hallways of the grand castle, her footsteps echoing off the walls. Rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, casting vibrant hues of red, blue, and gold onto the castle''s opulent décor. As she neared the king''s office, she couldn''t help but pause, curiosity piquing her interest.
Peeking inside, she saw Arroyo, engaged in conversation with her beloved brother Marius, Brooke, and the royal doctor. Their voices carried through the door, the hushed tones tinged with excitement.
“The princess is with child,” the doctor announced, his tone filled with a mix of reverence and joy. Evain’s eyes widening with astonishment. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, a rush of warmth spreading through her.
Arroyo''s face lit up with pride as he looked at Marius. “Well done, my boy,” he boomed, his deep voice resonating with paternal affection. “I would suggest to have a few more after this one.”
Marius, caught in the euphoria of the moment, beamed with pride and devotion towards his wife. “Yes, father,” he replied.
Quickly, Marius emerged from the office and found Evain in the hallway. His steps were hurried, mirroring the excitement in his eyes. “Good morning, Evain,” he greeted her.
But before he could engage in any further conversation, Brooke appeared behind him, her presence exuding a mix of excitement and apology. She reached out, gently grasping Marius''s arm, her voice filled with affectionate longing. “Marius, I am sorry, but I want to spend more time with you,” she confessed.
Marius stood tall in the grand corridors of the castle, his eyes locked on his personal guard as he emerged from the king''s office. Addressing Brooke, his voice trembled with a mix of anger and sadness, “You''ve made your feelings about me abundantly clear from the very beginning. If your heart lies with him, then so be it. But know this, I will not abandon you or our child. I will be there for every doctor''s appointment, every step of the way.”
Evain approached with determination etched on her face. Watching her brother being shoved by Brooke, her protective instincts flared. “You have no right to expect change when you consistently rejected him,” Evain spoke, her words laced with a mixture of frustration and disappointment. “And let''s not forget how many times you''ve stabbed him, both figuratively and literally.”
Brooke, her eyes flashing with defiance, stepped closer to Evain. Her voice filled with a misplaced sense of entitlement, she declared, “One day, I will be your Queen. You should learn to treat me with respect.”
Evain felt the words simmering on her tongue, ready to defend her brother once more. But instead, she made a choice - a choice to rise above the petty squabbles and protect her family. With a heavy heart, she turned away from Brooke, showing her disapproval through her actions rather than her words. Determined to support her brother, Evain followed in his footsteps, leaving Brooke standing alone in the hall.