The vast expanse of the Dweller city unfolded before Tyson and Agneyastra as they strolled through the intricately designed streets. Sunlight streamed through the ceiling made of glass, casting ethereal rays of golden light that illuminated the bustling city below. The warm glow imbued a sense of awe and wonder within their hearts.
Tyson''s deep concern was evident in his voice as he spoke, his words laced with a tinge of exasperation. “I can''t believe you and Moriko. You cannot simply go wandering into the Fire Kingdom,” he admonished, his brows furrowing with worry.
Agneyastra''s eyes shimmered with determination as she replied, her voice tinged with longing. “But, I just wanted to know more about my father, to uncover the secrets that lie within our lineage.”
Tyson sighed, his voice filled with a mix of longing and wisdom. “Agneyastra, while understanding your roots is important, you must also consider your own future path. Your destiny lies elsewhere, and by dwelling too long in the past, you risk losing sight of your own potential.”
Agneyastra''s gaze shifted, her mind lost in contemplation. “Perhaps,” she murmured softly, “if I knew the path my father walked at my age, I could better understand my own purpose.”
With gentle compassion, Tyson took her hand in his. “Agneyastra, your journey must be unique. Astounding revelations await you, but it is essential to discover your true path on your own. Ramil, ever the vigilant observer, informed me of your foray into the Fire Kingdom, and I must say, it was a fortunate intervention. The Fire Kingdom soldiers still honor the Kingdoms of Elements laws, and the consequences could have been devastating.”
Agneyastra, with a look of determination etched upon her face, abruptly halted in her tracks, her eyes fixated on Tyson. Her voice trembled as she spoke, her inner turmoil evident in her every word. “Ramil told you,” she murmured, her voice laden with frustration and defiance.
Tyson, attempting to soothe the storm brewing within Agneyastra''s heart, gently replied, “He is just looking out for you.”
A flash of anger swept across Agneyastra''s face as she vehemently denied his statement. “No, he''s trying to control and dictate every moment of my life!” she retorted, her voice echoing with a mix of anger and hurt.
Driven by her emotions, Agneyastra abruptly turned on her heel and started running down the bustling street, her determination propelling her forward. Tyson, caught off guard, mustered all his strength to keep up with her swift pace. They found themselves at the doorstep of the formidable Dweller Warrior Training building, an imposing structure that seemed to exude strength and discipline.
Inside training arena, General Aurgelmir stood engaged in conversation with Marudeva, their voices muffled amidst the echoes of swords clashing in training. Unfazed by their presence, Agneyastra boldly pushed herself through the fray, determined to make her voice heard. She approached Ramil, who was engrossed in conversation with Killa, and without hesitation, she forcefully pushed him to the ground.
Fierce determination burning in her eyes, Agneyastra pointed her finger at him, her voice resolute and full of defiance. “Stop trying to control my life,” she proclaimed, her words cutting through the air like a sharpened blade.
Ramil, caught off guard by her sudden display of strength, swiftly regained his footing and, fueled by anger, clenched his hand around the hilt of his sword. With a rapid motion, he brought the weapon up, its cold steel gleaming dangerously close to Agneyastra''s throat. In a tone laced with disdain, Ramil sneered, “Well, at least someone is making a decision on your future because you don''t know what you want.”
Agneyastra thrusts her blade forward, the glass singing through the air. Ramil parries the attack with a resounding clash, his muscles straining against the force. Their eyes meet with unwavering intensity, each attempting to assert their stance, their beliefs, through the artful language of combat.
In the midst of their clash, sweat glistens on Agneyastra''s brow, her breath ragged as she fights on. Through gritted teeth, she asserts, “So, but it''s my future to worry about, not your problem.”
Ramil''s blade meets hers again, the clash echoing a thunderous rebuttal. “If you are thinking about anything else besides becoming a warrior, you''re wasting your time,” he retorts.
Agneyastra, deftly parrying Ramil''s advances, counters with quiet determination. “This is your path, Ramil, not mine,” she declares, her words hanging in the air like a daring challenge.
Seizing an opportunity, Ramil executes a swift, intricate maneuver that causes Agneyastra to stagger backward, gasping in momentary surprise. A glimmer of concern flickers in his eyes as he presses on. “I know your doubts, but the soldiers on the battlefield are becoming more skilled every day. We''re going to need fighters like you,” he implores.
Their swords continue their symphony of motion, each question and response echoing through the vast training arena. Agneyastra, torn between destiny and uncertainty, grapples with the weight of her decision. Her heart races, a silent conflict waging within her as she considers the voices that pull her in opposing directions.
Agneyastra''s voice cut through the silence as she declared, “I still have one more year of educational training.” The words hung in the air like a veil, carrying a hint of resolve.
Accompanied by Tyson, Aurgelmir, and Marudeva, their footsteps echoed against the gleaming floors as they ventured further into the training field. There, they beheld a mesmerizing sight - Agneyastra engaged in a fierce sword fight with Ramil.
Ramil, his voice filled with determination, shouted over the clash of Glass weapons, “I know, but choose me for your future...”
In one swift motion, Agneyastra executed a graceful sword maneuver that sent Ramil sprawling to the ground. Her eyes widened with surprise as she said, “What?”
But Ramil, undeterred, slid Agneyastra''s sword away and swiftly rose to his feet. Through gritted teeth, he proclaimed, “Together, on the battlefield, we can be victorious and take out every single soldier of the Water Kingdom.”
Agneyastra''s retort was laced with firmness as she replied, “I want to help others, not spend my days fighting an endless battle.”
Ramil, his voice tinged with conviction, argued, “By defending their land from Invaders, you would be helping them.”
Their words spilled forth as they continued their conversation, their swords weaving through the air like an intricate dance. The training arena seemed to hold its breath, the other trainees momentarily forgotten as they stood enthralled by the intensity unfolding before them.
Amidst the clash of blades, Agneyastra proposed, her voice resolute, “If I promise to join when I''m of age, will you stop trying to control my life?”
Ramil, taken aback, paused for a moment before nodding in agreement. “Yes,” he uttered.
Yet, in a burst of defiance, Agneyastra swiftly smacked the sword out of Ramil''s hand, causing it to clatter to the ground. With her own weapon held menacingly at his throat, she asserted, “Fine.” Dropping her sword, she turned away from him, the strength of her conviction radiating from every step. The resounding applause of the onlookers filled the arena, an acknowledgment of her unwavering spirit.
***
Ramil slowly rises to his feet, his eyes fixed on Agneyastra exits the Dweller Warrior Training arena, trailed by her uncle Tyson. As they vanish from view within the towering building, Killa steps closer to Ramil. The sun casts long shadows across the training grounds, accentuating the seriousness in their expressions.
“She seems very impressive,” Killa remarks, her voice a mixture of admiration and curiosity.
Ramil''s gaze lingers momentarily on the now-empty space where Agneyastra once stood. He smirks, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes, and replies, “She is, indeed. But only when she relinquishes the reins of restraint.”
Killa moves to stand beside Ramil, her eyes surveying their fellow recruits with keen observation. Her tone carries a tinge of intrigue as she remarks, “You seem to possess a peculiar power, a way of inspiring others to push themselves harder.”
A modest smile tugs at the corners of Ramil''s mouth, his fingers idly tracing the hilt of his weapon. “You flatter me, Killa,” he responds, his voice a steady murmur. He takes a step forward as if preparing to depart, his form glowing in the fading rays of sunlight.
Killa, her hand trembling slightly, musters up the courage to take Ramil''s hand. With a gentle tug, she leads him out of the training arena, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor. Through the transparent glass door, they enter the dimly lit building that holds their secrets.
Her voice quivers as she softly whispers, “I can do more.” The intensity of her words hangs in the air, drawing Ramil closer to her inside the building.
Killa''s hand hovers in the air, reaching out to touch Ramil''s arm. But he steps back, creating a distance between them. His voice carries a tinge of regret as he reminds her, “You are married.”
Undeterred, Killa''s gaze locks with Ramil''s, unwavering and determined. Her words resound with a touch of defiance, “I don''t care. I know you are attracted to me.”
Killa closes the gap between them, her lips brushing against Ramil''s. It is a brief, tantalizing kiss that ignites a spark of passion between them, but just as quickly as it begins, Ramil pulls away. His voice trembles with a hint of regret as he asserts, “Of course you are beautiful, but I will not enter into another situation that will have a bad outcome.”
Ramil stormed away from Killa, his frustration evident in the way he clenched his fists at his side. The door loomed before him, an escape from this infuriating conversation. But just as he thought he was free, Killa''s words halted him in his tracks. “Then, I will not approve your regimen for battle,” she declared.
Ramil turned around, his eyes fixed on Killa''s unwavering gaze. The air crackled with tension as the two of them faced off, their emotions hanging in the balance. “You can''t do that,” Ramil retorted.
In response, Killa took slow, deliberate steps towards Ramil, her movements purposeful and calculated. As she closed the distance between them, her voice carried an edge of warning. “The new recruit regimen requires three supporters before they can proceed to battle. And I, Ramil, will revoke my support,” she explained.
“What? I will report this to my father,” he exclaimed.
Killa shrugged nonchalantly in response, her confidence evident in every fiber of her being. “Go ahead,” she taunted. “Sources say he rarely believes you anyway.”
“What about your husband''s feelings?” he asked, his voice filled with a flicker of hope, a desperate plea for understanding.
Ramil stands before her, as Killa closes the space between them, Killa with a sigh, she muttered, “He doesn''t care anymore.”
As Killa begins to loosen a strap on her armor, as Ramil unable to remove his eyes from her. She slowly reveals her stripped flesh to him. The room they enter is filled with an array of training equipment, each piece a testament to their shared dedication and strength.
Ramil allows Killa pulls him closer, his gaze lingering on Killa''s form, concedes defeat with a defeated sigh. He takes her by the hand and draws her closer, their lips meeting in a gentle, passionate kiss.
Ramil glanced at the clock. “Have to be quick,” he muttered under her breath.
Ramil pulls her into an embrace, then Killa lowers herself on to him. Ramil his lean against a wall, as Killa fills her mouth his member. After, a few minutes, it causes Ramil groans, “I am ready.” Killa arranges herself on a table with her rear directed at Ramil.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Outside the room, Ramil glimpses his comrades strolling past, oblivious to their presence, as Ramil positions himself behind Killa within the closet. Ramil''s brows furrowed in concern as looked down at himself, he was inches away from penetrate Killa. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice filled with worry.
Killa''s anticipation grew, as slide her stern against his shaft. She could no longer contain her excitement, her words bursting out eagerly, “Yes, I can''t wait a moment longer.”
Ramil aimed himself, then slide into Killa, he gripped her hips going faster with each propulsion triggering Killa’s moans to fill the room. They continue on, with their rhythmic and purposeful lust filled moves, as he was about to finish. Ramil withdrawals out of her, about to release himself on the table. Killa suddenly lowered herself on to him, and she swallowed all of his release.
Ramil slides himself out of her mouth, then he hurriedly dons his clothes, his fingers fumbling with buttons and laces. Not a word escapes his lips as he slips out the door. Ramil walked down the dimly lit hall, his eyes catching sight of Agneyastra engrossed in conversation with Tyson and his father, Marudeva. Sensing his presence, Ramil approached them and spoke with a hint of weariness in his voice, “Father, could you kindly inform the generals that I will be returning home for the rest of the day?”
Marudeva turned his attention towards Ramil, his stern gaze softened with concern. “My son, I must accompany Tyson to the top. However, Agneyastra can accompany you on your way back.”
“Very well,” Ramil replied curtly, his frustration subtly evident as he motioned for Agneyastra to join him. Together, they made their way out of the training building. The road led them away from the bustling Dweller City and towards the tranquil residential area.
As they walked, Ramil seemed lost in his own thoughts, his gaze fixed downwards with a distant look in his eyes. Agneyastra, perceptive as ever, picked up on his troubled demeanor and couldn''t help but inquire, “What has happened, Ramil?”
With each step, Ramil''s footfalls grew heavier, his frustration mounting. “Nothing,” he responded tersely, a dismissive edge in his voice.
Agneyastra refused to back down, her concern for him driving her to seek answers. “No, you''re not fine. Something is clearly bothering you. Please, tell me what''s wrong.”
“Just drop it,” Ramil retorted, his irritation palpable in his words.
Agneyastra, her voice softer but resolute, insisted, “I am no longer angry with you from our earlier disagreement. We''re supposed to be friends, Ramil. I care about you. Please, let me in.”
In a flash of anger, Ramil exploded, unable to contain his frustration any longer. “Maybe not everything in my life revolves around you! Can''t you see that?”
Agneyastra, taken aback by Ramil''s outburst, retorted sharply, “That doesn''t mean you need to lash out like this! We''re supposed to support each other like family, not tear each other apart!”
Their heated exchange came to an end as they finally reached their destination – their shared house. Without a moment''s pause, Ramil stormed in, almost slamming the door in Agneyastra''s face. He raced up the stairs, his voice echoing from his closed bedroom door, “I''m fine. Just leave me alone.” And with that, the door slammed shut, leaving Agneyastra standing outside.
***
As the early morning sun cast its golden hues over the lush Green Forest of the Earth Kingdom, a tree stood tall and proud near a winding trail that led to the mighty mountains. Suddenly, a burst of emerald light erupted from its gnarled trunk, causing a green portal to materialize before the awe-struck eyes of Yeongi and Emathion.
Yeongi turned to Emathion with a tone of affectionate authority, Yeongi declared, “I must return to the Fire Kingdom now, but I trust that you will behave in my absence.”
Emathion nodded earnestly, his eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you for bringing me, Yeongi. I will strive to be my best.”
With one final glance, Yeongi gracefully ambled towards a seemingly ordinary tree nearby. Tenderly, she placed her hand upon its rough bark, causing another shimmering portal to emerge. As the portal enveloped her, Yeongi disappeared from sight, leaving Emathion standing alone in the forest, surrounded by the peaceful whispers of nature.
With a resolute determination, Emathion continued his journey. He followed a narrow tunnel that wound through the ancient roots of colossal trees, leading him towards the Empty Stone city. Pressing on, Emathion finally arrived at his destination the castle.
Emathion made his way through the twisting corridors of the castle, acknowledging each Fire kingdom Soldier and the Brucies with a nod or a small phrase. The air hung heavy with anticipation as he approached the double doors leading to the bedroom. Pausing for a moment, he rapped gently on the doors before slowly pushing them open.
Stepping into the room, Emathion''s eyes fell upon the figure of Moriko, peacefully asleep in her bed. Soft sunlight spilled through the curtains, casting a gentle glow upon her slumbering form. As he moved closer, his gaze was drawn to a gleaming dagger that lay upon the nightstand next to her. Its intricately carved hilt and razor-sharp blade caught the flickering light, its presence both mysterious and foreboding.
Summoning up his courage, he whispered her name, “Moriko.”
As Emathion''s hand stretched across the expanse of the nightstand, Moriko''s senses heightened. The warmth of Emathion''s body against hers sent a shiver down her spine. A flicker of anticipation danced in her eyes as she whispered, “This seems different than the others.”
Emathion, sensing the change in Moriko''s demeanor, gently withdrew himself from her, confusion etched on his face. Moriko, unable to resist the pull of her emotions, reached out, her fingers tenderly wrapping around Emathion''s neck, pulling him closer.
Their eyes locked, a sea of emotions swirling between them. Emathion''s gaze dropped to Moriko''s lips, a moment of hesitation hanging in the air. Then, as if guided by an unseen force, he looked back into her eyes, searching for an answer.
“What are you doing?” Emathion''s voice quivered.
Moriko''s voice, barely a whisper, held a hint of raw vulnerability as she replied, “This is real.”
Emathion, overwhelmed by the weight of the moment, took a seat beside Moriko on her bed. He held the dagger in his hand, its intricate design catching the slivers of moonlight peeking through the window. Breaking the silence, Emathion''s voice carried a trace of wonderment as he spoke, “Yes, where did you get this dagger?”
Gently, Emathion placed the dagger back into Moriko''s hands, his movements almost reverent. Standing up, he took a step back, his eyes clouded with a mixture of emotions. “Actually, I don''t want to know,” he admitted softly. “I will go wait for you in the library. I don''t want to be late for the health convention in Jeremy''s realm.”
Emathion stood before Moriko, his gaze steady and determined. “Emathion, I am just friends with Devereaux,” Moriko stated firmly, her voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness.
Emathion turned to face Moriko, his expression a mixture of concern and mistrust. “You shouldn''t be friends with him,” he replied, his voice laced with a slight edge.
Feeling the surge of anger rising within her, Moriko stomped her feet and pointed her finger accusingly at Emathion. “I knew you would say something bad about him! I don''t care who you befriend!” she exclaimed, her frustration palpable.
But Emathion, ever composed, maintained his stance, his voice steady and calm. “I would never stop you from befriending anyone else. I know you have a big heart and care about many,” he assured her.
Curiosity crept into Moriko''s eyes as she questioned, “What is different about Devereaux?”
Emathion hesitated, his response laden with uncertainty. “Devereaux''s sister told me that he is not nice,” he admitted.
Yet Moriko remained unwavering in her trust, her voice filled with conviction. “He has been nothing but kind to me. We are just friends,” she insisted.
Emathion, unable to ignore the growing sense of unease, pulled Moriko into a tight embrace. He spoke softly, his words laden with a hint of worry. “Fine, I just will always worry about you. Maybe his sister was telling a lie or something. When does he come here?”
A flicker of joy danced in Moriko''s eyes as she revealed, “He comes at night, and we play chess while I regale him with tales of my travels.”
Emathion studied her, his concern giving way to a softness in his gaze. “You seem happy when you talk about him,” he observed.
A coy smile played on Moriko''s lips as she affectionately whispered, “I told him about you.”
Emathion stood before her, a mischievous smile dancing upon his lips. His laughter filled the air, bringing a playful energy to the room. “Why would a man want to hear a beauty like you talk about another man?” Emathion jested, his voice filled with lighthearted teasing. “Do I need to worry about him coming for me in the middle of the night?”
Moriko couldn''t help but playfully shove Emathion, a spark of amusement dancing in her eyes. “No. Did you just call me beautiful?” she teased, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of her lips.
Emathion, undeterred by her playful antics, pointed towards the open bedroom door, a hint of sincerity in his voice. “Well, it''s the truth,” he said, his eyes lingering on Moriko''s face, unable to tear himself away from her radiant beauty.
A brief silence settled between them, filled with unspoken words and fluttering heartbeats. Finally, Emathion broke the silence, his voice filled with a mixture of warmth and vulnerability. “I will wait for you in the hall,” he whispered, his gaze momentarily slipping away before leaving the room.
***
As the afternoon sun cast its ethereal glow over the Water Kingdom, Evian stood in her personal training room, clad in armor that glimmered like a reflection on a crystal-clear lake. The rhythmic clash of steel echoed through the chamber as she swung her sword at the practice dummy, each strike punctuated by a resounding thud.
In this sacred space, where her true strength and determination blossomed, Evian sought solace from the never-ending expectations that weighed upon her. But on this day, her sanctuary was invaded by the arrival of her parents, the Queen and King, their presence as imposing as the crashing waves against the shore.
The Queen''s eyes fixated upon Evian, her voice tinged with a hint of disappointment as she turned to Arroyo. “Daughter scared away another suitor,” she uttered, her words weighted with concern. “At this rate, we will never marry her off.”
King Arroyo, a pillar of wisdom and compassion, met his wife''s gaze with unwavering resolve. “So, what?” he replied, his voice steady and firm. “She is happy. Leave her be.”
Evain was engrossed in her rigorous training regimen. Her personal training room resonated with the echoes of her sword striking the wooden dummy, the sounds reverberating throughout the palace corridors. Meanwhile, the Queen attempted to engage in a conversation with the King, her frustration evident in her agitated footsteps. Unable to contain her annoyance any longer, she abruptly turned towards Evain, her eyes filled with determination, and made a bold decision - she would seize the sword from her daughter''s hands.
Anticipating her mother''s impulsive actions, Evain desperately called out, instinctively warning her to exercise caution. “Mother, be careful!” she pleaded, her voice laced with concern.
Driven by her resolve, the Queen disregarded her daughter''s plea and persisted in her pursuit for the sword. In a tragic twist of fate, her own reckless movements caused the sword to accidentally plunge into her own stomach. As blood stained the pristine palace floor, the Queen crumpled to the ground, her strength diminished.
Witnessing the harrowing scene unfold before his eyes, Arroyo stood frozen. Evain dropped to her knees beside her fallen mother, her eyes brimming with tears. She turned to her father, a plea shining through her delicate yet determined voice. “We need a healer, father,” she implored.
Arroyo emerged from the room, the heavy wooden door creaking closed behind him. He scanned the immediate vicinity, his gaze falling upon one of his soldiers who stood nearby, ever loyal and vigilant. With a sense of urgency and concern, the soldier addressed his king, his voice laced with worry, “Sir, does the Princess and the queen need assistance?”
As if in response, the distressed voice of Evain echoed from within the room, her plea for help reverberating through the corridor. “Please someone help us!” she cried out, her words filled with desperation.
Arroyo''s gaze flickered from the soldier to the hallway, where his son Devereaux appeared, evidently in need of his attention. Arroyo''s heart sank as he contemplated the gravity of the situation. “We will need a healer,” he stated, his voice but a whisper. “There was an accident.”
The soldier swiftly departed, racing past Devereaux without hesitation. Arroyo approached his son, his face etched with concern. Devereaux, sensing the weight of his father''s words, knew that urgent action was necessary. With a determined nod, Arroyo instructed him, “Devereaux, there was an accident between your mother and sister. Go get your brother Marius now!” Feeling a surge of adrenaline and the weight of responsibility, Devereaux darted down the hall, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls.
Arroyo entered the training room, his eyes immediately drawn to scene before him. Evain knelt beside the Queen, her tears cascading down her pained face. The room''s air was heavy with anguish, brought forth by the lifeless form of the Queen, her blood staining the floor beneath.
Evain''s voice broke, trembling with sorrow and guilt, as she whispered, “Mother, I am sorry!”
Arroyo stepped closer to Evain, as stood watch over them. In that moment, Devereaux and Marius, rushed into the room, their own grief written across their faces. Their eyes locked onto their mother''s lifeless body, and the weight of their loss became all too real.
Uttering broken words, Evain recounted the tragic accident, her voice choked with despair, “I was training, and she grabbed my sword and pulled it into her chest.”
Devereaux, consumed by anguish, pulled their mother''s lifeless head to his chest, his grief transforming into rage. He turned towards Evain, his voice filled with accusation, “Lies, get out!”
Evain, her body smeared with the crimson tide of her mother''s blood, stood up with a heavy heart. She took one last look at her brothers, drowning in their own pain, before stepping into the hallway, seeking solace in the presence of her father, Arroyo.
Arroyo, his voice filled with both understanding and concern, gently spoke to Evain, “Evain, I think it''s best if you avoid your brothers until the funeral. Emotions are raw right now, and they need time to process their grief. We will come together to mourn and find solace in our own ways, but for now, give them the space they need to heal.”
Devereaux clutches his mother''s lifeless body, his hands trembling with grief and anger. His eyes, bloodshot and filled with unshed tears, fixate on his brother Marius, who weeps silently beside him. The weight of their shared loss hangs heavy in the air.
“You know Evain did this on purpose,” Devereaux whispers through choked sobs, his voice laced with despair.
Marius'' eyes widen with disbelief, his voice breaking as he retorts, “Our sister could never be that vile. You mustn''t let grief cloud your judgment, brother.”
As if on cue, the door creaks open, revealing the silhouette of the healer followed closely by a band of solemn soldiers. In a desperate attempt to shield Devereaux from further anguish, Marius quickly pulls his brother away, their footsteps echoing with sorrow as they retreat from the scene.
The healer and soldiers move with somber efficiency, their eyes avoiding the intense grief etched across Devereaux''s face. With gentle reverence, they lift their mother''s lifeless body onto a stretcher, an act that resonates with finality.
Through tear-streaked vision, Marius catches a fleeting glimpse of their father, sporting a cruel smirk on his face as he trails behind. Marius takes a deep breath, pulling Devereaux into a desperate embrace. The warmth of their sibling bond envelops them, offering solace amidst the darkness. Silently, Marius guides his grief-stricken brother away from the room, urging him to find refuge in a moment of respite.
“Stop,” Marius whispers, his voice filled with a mix of determination and concern. “This path will solve nothing. Come, let us go and make you some tea. Perhaps a moment of tranquility will help soothe your shattered heart.”