Saturday morning arrived, casting a soft golden light upon the world outside the windows of Agneyastra's bedroom. Rousing from her slumber, she stretched her limbs and slowly emerged from the cocoon of her bed sheets. Agneyastra chose her weekend attire with a sense of purpose. Draping herself in flowing fabrics, she adorned her body with silver jewelry that glimmered in the morning sun. As she stepped out of her bedroom.
Meanwhile, Ramil's door creaked open, revealing a disheveled figure. A hint of annoyance etched upon his face, he rolled his eyes upon spotting Agneyastra in the hallway. Brushing past her without a second thought, he made his way towards the stairs, a sense of discontentment clear in every step he took.
However, Agneyastra, unwilling to let the encounter go unnoticed, spoke up, her voice gentle yet determined. “Excuse me,” she said, her words carrying a touch of sincerity and a hint of curiosity.
Ramil paused at the beginning of the stairs, his body turned towards her. With a sharp inhale, he broke his silence. “Forget it,” he said in a voice tinged with bitterness. “You are not worth it.”
Agneyastra, sensing something amiss, chased after him, her steps quick and determined. Finally catching up to him at the foot of the stairs, she gently tugged on Ramil's hand, her eyes searching his face.
“Can you tell me what I did to make you angry?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Ramil's reaction was abrupt, as he jerked his hand away from her grasp and turned to face her. His features contorted with a mix of frustration and pain. “I am not angry at you,” he insisted, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.
Agneyastra's gaze remained fixed on Ramil, her brow furrowing with concern. “You are clearly mad at someone,” she observed, her words soft and gentle.
His walls crumbling, Ramil leaned in closer to her, his voice raw and filled with pent-up emotion. “I am just tired,” he admitted, his words carrying the weight of exhaustion. “Tired of too many people in this house and, most of all, I dislike seeing you everywhere I go.”
Agneyastra steps back, she drew a shaky breath, her voice filled with a bittersweet resolve. “Then, I will leave,” she declared, her words tinged with a mix of sadness and determination. “So, you never have to see me again.”
Agneyastra dashed towards the front door, only to be intercepted by Pyla, who swiftly descended the stairs with a graceful agility. Pyla's eyes filled with concern, and with a tender touch, gently pulled Agneyastra away from the door.
“Ramil, Agney is family now,” Pyla's voice carried the weight of a loving parent's plea. “Agney, please come help me in my craft room today.”
Ramil watched the scene unfold, a bewildered expression etched upon their face. Pyla's gaze met Ramil's. “What happened to my sweet boy?” Pyla wondered aloud, their voice tinged with a mix of longing and confusion.
Suddenly, Emathion materialized behind Pyla, an impish grin spreading across their face. Their laughter sliced through the air, tinged with a hint of mockery. “Ramil has never been sweet, mother,” Emathion's voice dripped with scornful amusement, as if delighting in the discomfort they had caused.
But Ramil's protective instinct erupted like a wildfire within them. In an instant, they surged forward, pushing Emathion with all their might until he tumbled to the floor. The force of the shove caused Pyla to lose their balance as well, collapsing onto the cold, marble surface. Panic and regret filled Ramil's eyes as they realized the unintended consequences of their actions.
Overcoming their initial shock, Ramil swiftly knelt down beside Pyla, extending a hand to help the fallen figure rise. “I am so sorry, mother,” Ramil's voice quivered with genuine remorse..
In the distance, Marudeva emerged from a nearby hallway, witnessing the entire dramatic scene. His voice carried a weight of authority as he declared, “You are punished for the day. Go to your bedroom, and we will talk later.”
Ramil's gaze burned with anger as it fell upon Emathion. His words dripped with accusation, “Emathion, see what your big mouth caused.”
Pointing sternly upstairs, Marudeva commanded, “Go to your room now, Ramil!” His voice echoed with authority, leaving no room for defiance.
Watching helplessly as Ramil reluctantly ascended the staircase, Agneyastra's eyes welled up with sorrow. She turned to Pyla and Marudeva, her voice carrying a tinge of guilt, “It is my fault that Ramil is upset.”
Marudeva's voice grew firm as he responded, “No, dear girl. Ramil needs to learn how to control himself. One should never apologize for the actions of another.”
Pyla gently placed her arm on Agneyastra's shoulder, a comforting gesture to alleviate any apprehension she might have felt. “Come on,” Pyla said with a warm smile. “I will teach you how to sew today.”
Agneyastra nodded in agreement. She followed Pyla down the hall, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floor. At the end of the hallway, Pyla reached for the doorknob, her hand enveloped in a swirl of magenta energy. The door swung open, revealing a sprawling room filled with an array of sewing equipment and other crafty paraphernalia.
Every inch of the room was brimming with creative inspiration. Shelves lined with intricately patterned fabric stacked tall against the walls. Sunlight streamed through the leaded glass windows, casting vibrant hues across the room.
Pyla settled herself at one of the sewing machines, beckoning Agneyastra to join her. Silently, Agneyastra took her seat, eyes wide with anticipation. Pyla's fingers expertly glided across the machine, guiding Agneyastra's hesitant hands to find their place.
With each stitch, Agneyastra's confidence grew. Pyla's patient guidance transformed the unruly fabric into something beautiful, the thread weaving a tale of artistry and perseverance. Pyla's encouraging words filled the air, like a soft melody caressing Agneyastra's ears. “See,” Pyla whispered, her voice laced with pride. “I told you, you would get it.”
As Agneyastra continued to work, her movements becoming more fluid and assured, a hint of vulnerability crossed her face. “Do you think Ramil will hate me forever?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
Pyla paused for a moment, her gaze filled with compassion. She placed a gentle hand on Agneyastra's, offering solace in her touch. “He doesn't hate you,” Pyla reassured. “You know, in the first month after you arrived here, Ramil never left your side. He watched over you as you slept, caring for you while you healed from your injuries. I believe he is simply navigating the tumultuous path of growing up, where hormones can sometimes cloud judgment. Give him time, for he too is on his own journey of self-discovery.”
***
As the rays of dawn slowly filtered through the drawn curtains, Ramil emerged from his in his bedroom, an aura of frustration engulfing him. With hurried determination, he slipped on his training attire, the fabric clinging to his anguished frame. Grasping a haphazard pile of books, he strode purposefully out of his sanctuary, his footsteps echoing through the hollow corridors of the house.
Navigating the descending stairs with haste, Ramil passed by Agneyastra and Emathion, who were already preparing to embark on their day. Their words mingled with the morning air, drifting like whispers that faded as quickly as they formed. Pyla appeared from a side hallway, her graceful presence contrasting with Ramil's agitated disposition. Waving farewell to her departing children, she turned her gaze towards Ramil, a hint of concern playing on her features.
With a voice filled with warmth and curiosity, Pyla inquired, “My dear boy, what is it that you seek?”
Ramil, still immersed in his search, responded with utmost determination, “My hand-to-hand combat book.”
Pyla's gentle finger pointed towards a stack of books resting on an end table, her voice revealing the harmony of a well-orchestrated household. “Agneyastra, arranged the books in an orderly manner yesterday. She and Emathion assist me endlessly, lightening my load without a word of complaint.”
Ramil approached the table, his hand reaching out to claim the elusive volume he sought, his eyes rolling in frustration. He couldn't help but express his simmering resentment. “It seems you have received everything you desired, mother. Emathion, the perfect son, and now Agneyastra, the daughter you've always longed for.”
Pyla stepped in front of Ramil, blocking his path, a look of hurt on her face. “Ramil, I wish you wouldn't say such things,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “I love you all.”
Ramil's tone remained cold as he responded, “Yes, but more than others.”
Unable to bear the distance growing between them, Pyla pulled Ramil into a tight embrace, her voice breaking but filled with sincerity. “You are wrong, my dear. That's not how a heart works. If you feel this way, maybe I failed you as your mother.” Tears streamed down her face as she clung to her son, desperately trying to mend their fractured connection.
As the commotion reached the dining hall, Marudeva emerged to find Pyla with tears streaming down her face. Concern etched on his face, he turned to Ramil accusingly. “Ramil, what did you do now?”
Ramil locked eyes with his mother, watching as she wiped away her tears. Seeing the pain reflected in her eyes, Pyla spoke up, her voice filled with defense and frustration. “He did nothing! Why are you so hard on him?”
Marudeva closed the distance between them, fixing his gaze on Pyla. “I am hard on him when it comes to you, my love. Why are you crying?” his voice softened.
Pyla tightened her embrace around Ramil, her voice shaking but fierce. “He is just growing up so fast, that is all. Ramil, I love you, my dear boy. Go before you are late for your first class.” Pyla held him for a moment longer before releasing him. Ramil grabbed his stack of books, then headed off to face the challenges of the new day at school.
As the golden rays of the afternoon sun streamed through the classroom windows, casting a warm glow upon the scene, the air was filled with an ambience of anticipation. It was the last class of the day, and the students eagerly gathered around the large, inviting mats that covered the floor.
Aurgelmir, their esteemed instructor, stood at the forefront, emanating an aura of mastery and wisdom. With his weathered but kind eyes, he demonstrated the art of hand-to-hand combat, guiding his students through each movement with grace and precision. By his side stood Agneyastra, whose expertise in martial arts was renowned.
Among the students sat Sandra, her eyes sparkling with excitement and determination. Her gaze shifted momentarily to Ramil, a close friend who stood beside her, Sandra's voice echoed through the room as she timidly raised her hand, her words carrying a glimmer of hope. “Can Agneyastra be my partner?” she asked.
Ramil, ever watchful and protective, couldn't help but interject. “Don't do it,” he cautioned, his tone veiled with worry.
Aurgelmir paused, his gaze shifting from Sandra to Agneyastra. He considered their request. “Are you sure?” he inquired, his voice tinged with concern. “Agneyastra is highly advanced, having trained since she was but an infant. I believe Ramil would be a better match for her skill level.”
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Ramil, determined to shield Sandra from any harm, moved closer to Aurgelmir, his posture exuding a quiet conviction. “She will not fight,” he declared firmly. “She will only run away, as she always does.”
Agneyastra, caught between the fiery determination of Sandra and the skeptical doubt of Ramil, locked eyes with Aurgelmir. A flicker of resolve danced in her gaze, yet beneath it, a trace of apprehension remained. “I will not fight anyone,” she spoke with a gentle firmness. “I am only here to assist.”
Ramil couldn't help but chuckle, the sound tinged with a touch of triumph. “See?” he exclaimed, his voice laced with a mix of mirth and disbelief. “She will never accept my challenge. Or, anyone else’s.”
Agneyastra's determined gaze fixates on Aurgelmir as she announces, her voice resolute and unwavering, “I accept Sandra's challenge.” Without hesitation, Agneyastra steps onto the mat, assuming her fighter's stance, ready to face whatever lies ahead.
Sandra, with a cocky smirk adorning her face, confidently approaches the mat, her fists held out in front of her. “Let's do this,” she taunts, eager for the battle to commence. Before Aurgelmir can even signal the start of the fight, Sandra launches a lightning-fast strike towards Agneyastra, only to be met with a perfectly executed block. Agneyastra's swift reflexes are a testament to her skill, leaving Sandra momentarily stunned.
Seizing the opportunity, Agneyastra swiftly outmaneuvers her opponent, landing a powerful blow that causes Sandra to crumple to the ground, defeated and sprawled on the mat. Despite her victory, Agneyastra's compassionate nature compels her to act with empathy towards her defeated rival.
Leaning down beside Sandra, Agneyastra extends a helping hand, her intentions pure and kind. However, Sandra's gaze shifts towards Ramil, who shakes his head disapprovingly. A surge of malice taints Sandra's expression as she lashes out, her kick connecting with Agneyastra's side in a brazen act of betrayal.
Aurgelmir, ever watchful and discerning, swiftly intervenes, stepping in between the two combatants to prevent any further aggression. Disapproval lines his face as he addresses Sandra, his voice stern and accusatory. “Sandra, your actions lack both respect and honor. I will be reporting this incident to your parents, as it is clear that you have much to learn.”
***
Moriko's bedroom was a sanctuary of solitude, the walls adorned with posters of fantastical creatures and shelves overflowing with well-worn books. The air hung heavy with an unspoken melancholy as Moriko sat perched on the edge of her disheveled bed, her gaze fixated on the ceiling above.
A soft, hesitant knock echoed through the room, jolting Moriko from her thoughts. Curiosity pricked at her, coaxing her to rise and answer the visitor at her door. With a heavy sigh, she obeyed the beckoning call and swung the door open to reveal Yeongi standing before her, her presence an oasis of warmth in the otherwise desolate room.
As Yeongi took a step inside, her eyes fell upon the scattered notebooks that littered Moriko's room, each one a testament to her creative endeavors. The sight elicited a glimmer of curiosity in Yeongi, prompting her to inquire about Moriko's self-imposed exile.
“Why are you in your bedroom? It's a lovely day outside,” Yeongi remarked, her voice tinged with genuine concern.
Moriko's voice wavered, a reflection of her somber state. “I'm just trying to stay out of the way. Brucies are easily bothered by me now. And Emathion... well, he's mad at me. My words, once again, have twisted and distorted his perception. He believes that I don't truly accept him as a friend.”
With an understanding gaze, Yeongi settled herself beside Moriko, offering a tender embrace that sought to provide solace. “Don't fret, dear friend. Time has a way of mending wounds and healing hearts. In the blink of an eye, you and Emathion will find yourselves standing at the helm of the Earth Kingdom, united in love and shared purpose.”
Moriko couldn't help but let out a soft, melancholic chuckle at Yeongi's hopeful words. “Oh, how I wish that were true. But every time I engage with Emathion, I seem to stumble upon new ways to hurt him unintentionally. I can sense his pain, and it becomes too much for me to bear. I believe it is best for him to find his own happiness, a path that doesn't involve me.”
The room was steeped in heavy silence, burdened by the weight of Moriko's revelation. The two figures sat side by side, their shoulders touching, reflecting a deep bond forged through countless trials and tribulations. Yeongi, her eyes filled with concern, gazed at Moriko, the girl she had come to think of as a daughter.
With a hint of resignation, Yeongi finally spoke, her voice laced with a mixture of understanding and apprehension. “Fine, if that is truly what you want, but know that the path of ruling a Kingdom can be a lonely one. However, we can set that worry aside for now, as it is still years away. Let us focus on the present moment, my dear.”
Moriko, feeling the weight of her own decision, sought solace in Yeongi's embrace. She held on tightly, seeking comfort in the warmth and certainty that her steadfast companion always provided. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a hint of vulnerability. “Let us divert our attention from the distant future and concentrate on what lies before us. I can barely manage the day-to-day responsibilities as it is. What would you suggest we do?”
Yeongi, her eyes filled with determination and a desire to restore a sense of vitality to Moriko's weary spirit, proposed her plan. “First and foremost, my dear, let us escape the confines of this stifling room. The stagnant air suffocates our spirits, and a breath of fresh air is just what we need. Let the sun's rays and the gentle breeze caress our skin, rejuvenating body, and soul alike.” With a nod of agreement, Moriko gingerly rose from her seat.
Moriko and Yeongi emerged from the dimly lit bedroom and stepped out into the openness of the small cabin. As they made their way towards the exit, the atmosphere around them shifted. An intense tension hung in the air, emanating from the glares and passive-aggressive gestures of the Brucies that surrounded them.
Moriko let out a heavy sigh, her voice laced with both frustration and sadness as she spoke softly, “This is why I have been hiding away in my room. The hostility is becoming unbearable.”
Yeongi, his expression tightening with determination, responded, “I will have a word with Tyson about this. Perhaps we should increase the number of soldiers from the Fire Kingdom to protect you. If there are more of them, there will be less need of Brucies.”
As Yeongi voiced his plan, a particularly defiant Brucie stepped forward, his eyes filled with contempt. In a pained voice, he spat out his words, “No matter what we do, the Princess is never happy here, where she truly belongs.”
Moriko's voice quivered with a mix of remorse and frustration, “I apologize if I have not been able to show my happiness. I've been trying my best, but it seems I'm falling short.”
Yeongi's gaze shifted to Moriko, his eyes filled with concern. With gentle firmness, he uttered, “The truth is, they are drawn from your power, Moriko. Like parasites, they feed off your energy. But why are you allowing their presence to dampen your spirit? What is it that truly makes you unhappy?”
Moriko sits on the ground, the soft forest floor providing a cushion beneath her. The gentle sway of the trees above casts dappled sunlight onto her face, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to her sorrowful expression. Her voice, tinged with a longing for companionship, inescapably trembles through the stillness of the clearing.
“I am always alone,” she says, her words carried by the breeze. “Oh, how I yearn for the warmth of more people around me. In Stanchion, with Alyona and the other Earth Kingdom people, I truly felt a part of something greater than myself.”
Yeongi's eyes meet Moriko's, her gaze filled with compassion. She replies, his own voice a soothing balm to Moriko’s lonely heart. “What if I spoke with Marudeva, persuading him to allow Emathion and his other children to visit you? Perhaps they could bring some of the sense of community you so long for.”
Although Moriko's lips curve into a small smile, a hint of resignation underscores her response. “I will not burden, Emathion with my problems. I will try to accept my fate as it is.”
Yeongi's voice breaks the silence once again. “You speak of your future as if it were a prison sentence,” she observes, her tone as gentle as a whisper. “But what if I stayed for the entire day and leave only in the morning? Would that not alleviate some of your solitude?”
Moriko's eyes widen with surprise, tinged with a touch of worry. “I wouldn't want to keep you from Tyson and the responsibilities of the Fire Kingdom. You have your own obligations to tend to.”
In a nurturing embrace, Yeongi envelops Moriko, seeking to dispel her doubts. “Worry not, my dear. It will all work out. Let us go and revisit the memories of your travels together, delving into the pages of your notebooks.” Moriko's face lights up, a radiant smile illuminating her features, as hope dances in her eyes. Hand in hand, they make their way back to the safety of their cabin.
***
In the hushed stillness of the early morning, the grand training room of the Water Kingdom palace glows with a soft, ethereal light. Evain stands in the center of the room, her fatigue evident in the subtle shadows under her eyes. Gripping a gleaming spear tightly in her hands, she relentlessly drives it into the heart of a stationary dummy, her movements fueled by a simmering anger that seems to consume her.
As General Speckle steps into the vast space, his presence goes unnoticed by Evain. The room, usually bustling with the flurry of trainees and the clashing of weapons, holds only the resolute princess, her focus locked solely on her relentless assault. Speckle, his gaze flickering with concern, watches her for a quiet moment, absorbing the raw intensity emanating from her every muscle.
Finally, unable to remain silent any longer, Speckle raises his voice, his words slicing through the air like a startled bird taking flight. “Princess Evain, why are you overdoing it?” The general's concern is laced with a hint of confusion.
Still, Evain does not acknowledge the presence of Speckle nor the weight of his words. With a determined resolve, she moves effortlessly from one weapon to the next, her agile fingers mastering each one with an uncanny grace. As trainees begin to filter into the training room, their wide-eyed admiration mingling with their trepidation, the scene transforms into a magnificent display of skill and determination.
Moving purposefully towards Evain, Speckle closes the distance between them, slowly but deliberately. With a voice that carries the authority of a commanding officer, he bellows, “Evain, stop now!”
Evain, her chest heaving, placed her weapon back on the rack. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, evidence of her exertion.
“Why?” Evain gasped, her voice filled with frustration. “I am not executing the moves well enough. I have to try harder.”
Speckle, the seasoned trainer, stepped forward, his eyes filled with concern. “That is impossible,” he reassured her, his voice gentle yet firm. “You are the top trainee here. I don't want you to overexert yourself.”
Evain turned to face Speckle, her eyes determined. “Maybe it's because the others don't push themselves enough,” she said defiantly. “It seems like all they know how to do is kill unarmed girls. That's why they are easily defeated by the Dwellers.”
Silence hung in the air for a moment, the weight of Evain's words lingering between them. Speckle's expression hardened as he spoke, his tone filled with caution. “That is enough,” he said sternly. “One thing you must learn is to follow orders. That is what separates a good soldier from a bad one.”
Evain, her spirit unyielding, stood before him, her young face marked with defiance. “I will prove you wrong one day,” she declared, her voice laced with determination. With her heart aching and tears welling in her eyes, she exited the training room, her footsteps echoing through the empty corridors.
Ascending the grand staircase, each step echoing her frustration, Evain made her way back to her room. As she turned the corner, her path intersected with her beloved brother, Marius, accompanied by his wise royal advisor. Seeing her distress, Marius rushed over, concern etched across his features.
“What happened, sissy?” Marius asked, his voice filled with brotherly love. He nodding to his advisor, indicating for them to continue without him, and guided Evain to her bedroom.
Settling into her bedroom, Evain took a seat at her intricately carved vanity, her reflection staring back at her through teary eyes. Marius perched on a nearby chair, his presence a comfort in the darkness of her despair.
“I hate these worthless soldiers,” Evain confessed, her voice holding a mix of anger and disappointment. “I know I am ten times better than them. They are lazy and lacking in dedication. I wish father would allow me to go into battle and prove my worth.”
Marius, his voice filled with empathy, attempted to soothe her troubled mind. “Evain, we are only fifteen years old,” he reminded her gently, his words carrying the weight of reason. “Our father is careless when it comes to other children, that is why he sends in younger soldiers into war. They hold you back not because of your title, but because you are fathers favorite.”
Evain's eyes flashed with defiance, stubbornness seeping through her words. “I refuse to be confined by anyone,” she declared, her voice tinged with determination. “One day, I will show them all that I possess the strength and skill to be a Water Kingdom Soldier. They will not hold me back any longer.”
The door of Evain's bedroom creaks open, and she watches as her mother and father step into the room, accompanied by Devereaux, who lingers near the door, his expression unreadable. As Arroyo, opens his mouth to speak, the tension in the room intensifies.
“General Speckle informed me that you are pushing yourself too hard during your training,” Arroyo says, his voice filled with a mix of concern and frustration.
Evain meets her father's gaze, her eyes filled with determination. “Yes, I may be pushing myself, but it's because nobody else takes their training as seriously as I do,” she admits, her voice tinged with a touch of defiance.
The Queen, standing beside Arroyo, shakes her head disapprovingly. “I warned you, Arroyo, that allowing her to train with the soldiers would lead to trouble,” she says, her tone laced with disappointment.
Arroyo shoots a sharp glare at the Queen, a silent warning to hold her tongue. He takes a step closer to his daughter, his presence demanding attention. “As your King, I am ordering you to take a break from your training,” he declares firmly, his voice brooking no argument.
Fear and reluctance creep into Evain's voice as she pleads with her father, “No, please father, don't do this.”
Arroyo meets Evain's gaze with unwavering authority. “As I have told your brothers countless times, members of the Water Kingdom's royal family do not beg,” he states sternly. “You will take a break, and tomorrow, you will apologize to General Speckle. You will remain in your room for the rest of the day. Marius, let us depart.”