Evening enveloped the kitchen as the flickering candle flames cast dancing shadows on the worn wooden surfaces. Agneyastra and Emathion stood side by side, assisting Pyla in the culinary endeavor. The aroma of herbs and spices wafted through the air, enticing the senses. Ramil entered the kitchen, his footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. His gaze fell upon the icebox, and he moved towards it with determination.
As Agneyastra deftly chopped the vibrant potatoes, her movements precise and swift, she glanced over at Agneyastra, her eyes filled with concern. “Mrs. Ash, Is this correct?” Agneyastra asked, her hands busy chopping potatoes beside her.
Pyla leaned closer, inspecting Agneyastra's cut potatoes. “Yes, it seems like it's about time you called mother.”
The abrupt sound of the icebox door slamming shut reverberated, momentarily shattering the tranquility of the room. Assertive and forthright, Ramil confronted Pyla. “She is not your daughter,” he retorted, his words sharp and tinged with resentment.
Pyla, gentle and understanding, urged Ramil to show kindness. “Be nice, Ramil,” she implored, her eyes filled with compassion. “Agney is sort of my daughter in a way.”
Ramil, attempting to cleanse his frustration, began cleaning an apple in the sink, the water cascading over its shiny surface. His voice carried a hint of disbelief as he challenged Pyla's words. “How can that be?” he inquired. “You didn't give birth to her.”
Emathion, ever the peacemaker, stood behind Ramil, snatching the apple from his grasp and taking a bite. His voice, soft and contemplative, offered a suggestion. “Maybe,” he mused, “it's like an adoption, Mom.”
Ramil, infuriated by his brother's audacity, shoved Emathion aside, reclaiming his apple. He vehemently discarded the notion, declaring it preposterous. “That's my apple,” he proclaimed. “Agney will never be a dweller or be part of this family.”
Feeling the weight of Ramil's rejection bearing down upon her, Agneyastra pushed past him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She swiftly exited the kitchen, seeking solace elsewhere, her departure leaving an emotional void in the room.
Pyla, fueled by her protective nature, pointed Ramil towards the door, her voice firm yet filled with maternal concern. “Go apologize now,” she commanded, her gaze unwavering.
Ramil's footsteps echoed through the empty house as he weaved his way from the kitchen to the dining room, then through the dimly lit living room. His thoughts weighed heavy on his mind as he ascended the grand staircase, taking each step with deliberate intent. He knew he had to find her.
Finally, Ramil reached Agneyastra's bedroom door. His heart raced with anticipation as he raised his hand to knock. The sound reverberated through the silence, a gentle tap against the intricately carved wood. Without waiting for a response, he turned the handle and gently pushed the door open.
The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the moon casting ethereal rays over Agneyastra's still form. She lay there, sadness etched upon her delicate features, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Taking a deep breath, Ramil closed the door behind him and approached Agneyastra's bedside, he sat on the edge of her bed. “I am sorry for what I said,” Ramil spoke softly, his voice laced with sincerity.
Agneyastra remained still, her head still resting on the pillow. Her voice was melancholic when she finally responded, “You never mean it when you apologize.”
Ramil sat on the edge of Agneyastra's bed, his eyes fixed on her. His voice filled with a mix of urgency and familiarity, he said, “Come on, Agney. You should be used to me by now.”
Agneyastra eased herself onto the bed beside Ramil, her gaze meeting his. She spoke softly, her voice betraying hints of hurt and frustration. “I told your mother that you hate me.”
Ramil's response was immediate, his hand moving gently to pull Agneyastra closer. He wanted her to understand. “I don't hate you,” he insisted, his touch caressing her arm without conscious thought.
Agneyastra's emerald eyes searched his face, longing for an answer. “Then why won't you allow me to be part of your family?” she asked.
Ramil's eyes remained fixed on Agneyastra's, captivated by their radiant beauty. He knew the truth that he couldn't bring himself to voice. “I will never think of you as my sister,” he admitted softly, his fingers tracing a delicate pattern on her skin.
Agneyastra's voice trembled, but determination shone through. “Fine, then. What will you think of me as?” she asked.
As if guided by an invisible force, Ramil's hand rose, his fingertips brushing against Agneyastra's face. His voice carried a flicker of hope as he spoke, “I hope to find out one day,” he murmured, leaning in closer.
Before their lips could meet, however, the door swung open, interrupting the tender moment. Sinai, stood there, clutching two toys in his tiny hands, oblivious to the weight of the scene unfolding before him. “Agney, are we still going to play before dinner?” he asked innocently.
with a genuine smile, her eyes shining with warmth as she responds, “Sure.” A sense of relief washes over Sinai's features as she hears Agneyastra's words, but Agneyastra's attention quickly shifts to Ramil, her gaze seeking his. With a gentle tone, she reassures him, “Don't worry, Ramil. I will make sure to relay your apology to Pyla, unless there is anything else on your mind.”
Ramil, feeling a sudden urgency, barely manages to utter a hurried response, “No, I... I must go.” Without waiting for further interaction, he hastily exits Agneyastra's room, leaving her and Sinai behind. Agneyastra leads Sinai into the living room where they find comfort in the playful embrace of toys scattered across the floor.
Unbeknownst to Agneyastra and Sinai, Ramil stands silently at the top of the grand staircase, concealed by the shadows. His eyes fixate on the heartwarming scene unfolding before him. At that precise moment, Marudeva, Ramil's father, emerges from his bedroom and catches sight of his son's intent gaze, silently observing Agneyastra and Sinai in their joyous play.
Marudeva approaches Ramil, his voice carrying a tone of caution and guidance, “I know, my son, that you have reached an age where the line between friendship and affection can blur. But remember, as the Ash Prince, you bear the responsibility of preserving your virtue and the honor of those you encounter.”
Ramil, unable to hide his frustration, rolls his eyes dismissively at his father's words. Tensing his jaw, he retorts, “You underestimate me, Father. I assure you, my thoughts do not lie with Agneyastra or anyone in that way.”
***
The dimly lit classroom buzzed with the sound of students shuffling their papers and the occasional whisper. Ramil's gaze was irresistibly drawn to Agneyastra, who floated gracefully between desks, assisting their instructor, Aurgelmir. Her long, flowing hair shimmered in the sunlight filtering through the nearby window, and Ramil found himself captivated by her every move.
But Ramil desperately fought to resist the pull of his curiosity. He knew the ramifications of letting his eyes linger on Agneyastra too long, especially in the presence of Sandra. As if on cue, Sandra settled down at the desk beside him, her eyes rolling in exasperation.
With a dismissive gesture towards Agneyastra, Sandra mockingly nodded and taunted Ramil, “My Father had to place me on restriction because of your little girlfriend.”
A mixture of fury and frustration consumed Ramil's expression as he turned to face Sandra. His eyes narrowed, daring her to repeat those words. In a voice heavy with anger, Ramil retorted, “Never say that again.”
With a roll of her eyes, Sandra leaned closer to Ramil, her voice laced with exasperation. “You are so thick, Ramil. You really do think others don't see the way you stare at her every day. She is almost three years younger than you. You should be with someone around your own age.”
A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Ramil's lips as he looked into Sandra's eyes, his words carrying a playful tone. “Ah, my dear friend Sandra, are you still afraid of losing me? Perhaps, I should have taken you up on your offer.”
Suddenly, Sandra forcefully shoves his arm. Annoyed, she sternly says, “You promised never to speak of it again. I am not interested.” Ramil can sense the frustration and annoyance in her voice.
Ignoring Sandra's warning, Ramil leans in closer and whispers, his tone filled with a mixture of vulnerability and admiration, “Are you sure? You are the most beautiful Dweller around my age.” Sandra's entire body tenses, and he can feel her trembling slightly under his proximity.
Realizing the magnitude of his words, Ramil quickly retreats, leaning back in his seat. A burst of nervous laughter escapes his lips as he attempts to lighten the mood. “But, me being with you would never work, Sandra. We spend too much time together already.”
Sandra sat With a sly smile, she whispered, “Rumors circulating about the halls say you are not allowed to have a girlfriend because of your Ash Kingdom title. Word on the grapevine is that you will be married off on your 17th birthday.”
Ramil, unfazed by the gossip, cast a quick glance at Ruby, who sat a few rows over. With a gentle smile, he returned his attention to Sandra. “These ignorant souls can't even get the rumors right,” he replied, his voice laced with amusement. “When I turn 17, I will be presented as the future heir of the Ash Kingdom. It doesn't mean I am to be married off immediately. Besides, my father cannot have control over my every decision.”
Sandra's eyes fixated on Ramil, her best friend, who was gazing intently at Ruby across the classroom. Ruby, with her long, flowing hair and contagious laughter, was seemingly oblivious to Ramil's observance of her. As Ruby chatted animatedly with her friend, a sense of unease washed over Sandra, causing her lips to part with caution.
“You can't be serious, Ramil,” Sandra whispered, her words barely audible against the backdrop of the bustling classroom. “This will not end well. Haven't you noticed? Ruby has been infatuated with you since the very start of our training.”
Ramil's gaze remained fixed on Ruby, his eyes tracing her every movement, seemingly captivated by her presence. He turned to Sandra, his face clouded with confusion. “You are my best friend, Sandra. How could you never have mentioned this to me before?”
Sandra's voice, tinged with a hint of frustration, filled the air. “You never cared about such things before, Ramil. You were always focused solely on your training, completely oblivious to the emotions and desires of those around you.”
Ramil rose from his seat and walked over to another desk across the room. Sandra's gaze followed him as he settled beside Ruby, as Ramil directed his attention toward Ruby, breaking the silence. “Ruby, how are you doing on this lovely day?” Ramil inquired, his voice a gentle melody amidst the stillness of the classroom.
Ruby's cheeks immediately flushed with a rosy hue, making her already fair complexion all the more striking. She shyly glanced down at her feet, her fingers nervously entwined. A hint of surprise colored her soft voice as she replied, “Good, why are you talking to me?”
A mischievous smile playing on Ramil’s lips. “This is our last class for the day,” he said, his voice filled with anticipation. “How about I come to your house so you can teach me your famous cookie recipe?”
A spark ignited behind Ruby's eyes as she heard Ramil's words. Her smile grew wider, her face glowing with happiness. “Yes,” she replied.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
As the bell rings, Ramil extends his hand towards Ruby, and without hesitation, she grasps it tightly. They dash out of the training building, propelled by a sense of urgency and anticipation that drives them forward. Moving swiftly, they navigate the halls of Ruby's home, their footsteps echoing in the empty corridors.
“Mother!” Ruby's voice rings out, filled with a mixture of hope and desperation, but all that greets her is a profound silence. It's in this moment, in the heart of her living room, that Ruby turns to face Ramil. His eyes meet hers, and she speaks with an earnestness that reverberates in the room.
“We are alone,” she states, her voice laced with both uncertainty and determination. “I know you may not feel the same way about me, but I refuse to let this opportunity slip away. She follows me.”
With a resolute nod, Ruby leads Ramil down the hallway adjacent to the front door, their steps echoing softly in the stillness. They step into Ruby's bedroom, and she firmly shuts the door behind them.
Ramil's voice cuts through the silence, his concern evident. “Are you sure about this? Once we cross this threshold, there is no going back.”
Ruby's response is unwavering, her voice filled with a heady mixture of certainty and desire. “Yes,” she breathes, her words weighted with the weight of their mutual longing. In that instant, Ramil leans in, capturing Ruby's lips in a lingering kiss. A surge of passion courses through their veins as Ruby takes charge, guiding him towards the sanctuary of her bed.
***
Evening embraced the grand dining room as Emathion sat at the mahogany table, surrounded by his family. The flickering candles cast an ethereal glow, creating dancing shadows on the walls. Each member of the family occupied their assigned seats, their faces painted with intrigue and anticipation.
Marudeva, a stern and authoritative figure, shifted his gaze towards the empty chair across from Agneyastra. His eyes narrowed, a silent question lingering in the air. With a penetrating look, he turned his attention towards Emathion. “Where is your brother?” Marudeva's voice cut through the silence, demanding an answer.
Emathion replied nonchalantly. “How should I know?” His voice dripped with indifference, showcasing his lack of interest in his brother's whereabouts.
Agneyastra, the ever observant and wise family friend, interjected with newfound knowledge. “His friends mentioned that he went to Ruby's house to learn the art of cookie-making,” she offered, her voice gentle and filled with warmth.
Just as the words settled in the room, a knock echoed through the tall oak doors. Marudeva rose from his seat, his face a mixture of curiosity and concern. He made his way out of the dining room, leaving behind a trail of uncertainty and curiosity in his wake.
Emathion, momentarily torn between his appetite and the pull of the unknown, cast a longing look towards the exit. Sensing his restlessness, his mother, Pyla, appealed to him, her voice filled with motherly affection. “Emathion, my dear, please, sit and enjoy your dinner.”
Reluctantly, Emathion returned to his seat, his appetite momentarily eclipsed by the promise of a mysterious visitor. He savored the flavors of each dish, albeit with a mind clouded by curiosity.
Soon Marudeva returned, his expression inscrutable, his gaze piercing towards his eldest son. He pointed a steadying finger towards Emathion, his voice low and controlled. “Someone is here to speak with you.”
As Emathion followed his father Marudeva out of the ornate dining room, the tall, oak doors stood open to reveal Yeongi. Emathion couldn't help but ask, “Is Moriko okay?”
Yeongi, her eyes reflecting a mix of concern and reassurance, nodded gently. Her gaze shifted to Marudeva, and she made a polite request, “May I take a walk with Emathion for a moment?”
Marudeva softly spoken “Yes.” Just as they were about to step outside, a disheveled Ramil entered through the front door, a wide smile lighting up his face. Sensing the tension in the air, Marudeva inquired, “Ramil, where have you been?”
Yeongi and Emathion strolled leisurely along the dusty dirt road, their footsteps creating a soft rhythm. The outside world seemed calm and serene, Yeongi, sensing his inner conflict, asked in a gentle tone, “Are you mad at Moriko?”
Emathion's frustration got the better of him, and he smacked his head with a closed fist. With a sigh, he replied, “No, I am nothing to her. She returned, and all seems to be well in the Earth Kingdom. But why, Yeongi, why are you here?”
Yeongi’s voice tinged with concern. “Moriko holds you in high regard, Emathion. Being her partner, I can only imagine the weight of that expectation you carry. But...”
Emathion's eyes clouded with confusion as he asked, “What is wrong with Moriko? I have noticed a sadness that lingers in my veins.”
Yeongi's voice held a hint of sadness as she replied, “She is unhappy with her life, Emathion. Perhaps, if you could find a way to visit her, to be with her in person, it would bring her joy. I have seen her use her abilities to travel different realms.”
Emathion's expression turned solemn as he murmured, “I have asked to meet her in person before, but she always changes the subject, as if she wants nothing to do with me.”
Yeongi's eyes widened as a realization washed over her. “Perhaps, Emathion, the source of her unhappiness is not Moriko herself. It is quite possible that the connection between the two of you is causing a profound effect on her and, consequently, on the Earth Kingdom. If you were to give up on her, it could have catastrophic consequences, leaving her vulnerable to the demonic forces that seek to harm her.”
Emathion's voice wavered with determination as he spoke, his words bursting with a profound longing. “I just want Moriko to be happy,” he confessed, his voice tinged with a blend of hope and anxiety. “I will talk with her.”
Yeongi accompanied Emathion, guiding him along the path, with a soft, understanding smile, she spoke softly, her words laden with empathy. “I am sorry,” she murmured sincerely. “You have been burdened with so much, and I admire your determination to seek Moriko's happiness.”
Emathion's response was filled with a mixture of humility and devotion. He looked upon Yeongi, his eyes reflecting the flickering glow of the stars above. “Moriko is not a burden,” he asserted, his voice filled with sincerity. “But I fear that might burden her.”
The moon bathed the scene in a pale glow as Yeongi's figure disappeared into the depths of the night. Emathion, his heart heavy with unspoken words, approached the threshold of his home. As he ascended the stairs, a cacophony of voices pierced through the quietude of the night.
His father Marudeva, a figure of authority and sternness, stood before his older brother Ramil, his eyes ablaze with anger. The words that spilled from his lips were laced with frustration and disbelief. “What do you mean you were with Ruby? At her house alone!
Emathion, burdened by this unexpected confrontation, felt the weight of his own thoughts pressing upon him. Seeking solace, he entered his room and closed the door, hoping to find refuge within the sanctuary of his own thoughts. With a trembling hand, he reached up and touched his temple, as if searching for a connection that transcended the physical realm.
In the depths of his mind, he called out to Moriko, a presence he had grown accustomed to seeking advice and guidance from. “Please, Moriko,” Emathion whispered, his voice a mere murmur in the silent chamber. “Talk to me.”
Moriko's voice echoed softly in Emathion's mind, the words dripping with remorse, “Emathion, I am sorry for the harsh words I said the last time we spoke. I truly think of you as my best friend. I never mean to hurt you.”
Emathion's voice, gentle and filled with longing, reached out in response, “I missed your voice, Moriko. Yeongi visited me, and her worry for you mirrored my own concern.”
Moriko's voice carried a mix of surprise and hope, “I thought you messaged me because you missed me.”
Emathion's reply held a genuine sincerity, resonating with the depth of his emotions, “I do miss you, Moriko. When I don't hear your voice, I feel lost in a world that seems empty without you.”
Moriko's voice quivered, a hint of self-doubt seeping through the conversation, “Emathion, you always know what to say, but I never do.”
***
The early morning sunbathed the grand halls of the Water Kingdom Palace in a golden glow. Evain happened to pass by the imposing doors of the king's office. As she neared, the muffled sounds of her father’s voice reached her ears in frustration.
“How hard is it to get one sand bracelet?” his voice reverberated through the corridors, laced with impatience.
General Sparkle stood beside the king, his voice weighted with concern. “These new recruits of soldiers are simply not cutting it, Your Majesty. Their training has not prepared them adequately for the tasks at hand.”
The king's frustration grew, his voice rising in exasperation. “Send more soldiers in today! We cannot afford any further delays. Go right now and ensure that we get one, I will not accept failure this time.”
Without hesitation, General Speckle, always swift in his actions, left the office in a flurry. Evain discreetly followed him from a distance, eager to uncover the secrets that lay beneath the surface.
Speckle hurried down the grand corridor, his steps echoing against the polished marble floors. Evain skillfully maneuvered, careful not to be seen, as she trailed behind him. After walking for what seemed like an eternity, Speckle finally arrived at the armory. It stood grand and resolute, a symbol of strength and protection. The sight before Evain's eyes was mesmerizing - rows upon rows of gleaming armor, reflecting the faint rays of sunlight that filtered through the stained-glass windows.
Speckle wasted no time, his voice firm and authoritative, as he addressed a group of soldiers who awaited his command. “Put on your armor now!” he exclaimed, his tone leaving no room for hesitation or delay.
As the soldiers began to prepare themselves, the clinking of armor and the rustling of fabric filled the air. Evain silently slipped into the dimly lit armory. The air was heavy with the scent of polished metal and leather, intermingling with the anticipation that filled the room. Every step she took echoed softly in the silence, but she couldn't afford to be heard. With practiced ease, she donned her armor, blending seamlessly with the other soldiers who were preparing for battle.
As she emerged from the palace alongside Speckle and the rest of the army, the weight of their mission settled heavily upon her shoulders. The grand gates of the Water Kingdom swung open, revealing a vast expanse of rolling hills and towering cliffs in the distance. Evain mounted her horse and spurred it forward, galloping swiftly alongside her fellow soldiers.
The wind whipped through her hair, the rhythmic sound of hooves thundering against the ground filling her ears. The tension grew thick as they approached the Dweller Warriors, lined up in perfect formation. Speckle, the commander, took his place at the head of the army and raised his voice above the clamor.
“The king requires just one sand bracelet from the Dwellers,” he declared, his voice carrying a mixture of authority and determination. “Now go and retrieve one.”
Evain gripping the reins tightly with one hand, she drew her sword with the other. Seeing her comrades fall easily to the Dweller Warriors. Sliding off her horse with a fluid motion, Evain charged into battle. Her sword swung through the air, an extension of herself, deflecting strikes and mercilessly cutting down the Dwellers who stood in her path. With each strike, she checked their wrists, searching for the coveted sand bracelet.
The battle raged on, the clash of metal against metal filling the air. Beads of sweat trickled down Evain's forehead as exhaustion threatened to consume her. But just as her hope was fading, her eyes caught sight of a Dweller riding atop a majestic camel. In the midst of the chaos, she couldn't help but notice the sand bracelet adorning his wrist, crafted from delicate glass with grains of sand confined within.
Evain's agile form darted through the chaos of the Dweller army, her silver blade slicing through flesh and armor with deadly precision. As she struck her weapon into the chest of an enemy warrior, his lifeless body crumpled to the ground, falling off the back of his camel. Without hesitation, Evain swiftly severed the Dweller's hand, freeing it from its owner's grasp. A glint of gold caught her eye as she noticed a sand bracelet adorning the severed limb. She carefully retrieved it and tucked it away in the safety of her pocket.
Amidst the bloodshed and clamor, a familiar voice resonated through the air. Speckle’s voice cuts through the chaos, a simple utterance: “Evain.” leaped off his horse and approached her cautiously. His eyes conveyed a mix of concern and urgency as he called out her name amidst the chaos.
Her senses heightened by the imminent danger surrounding her. In the frenzy of the battlefield, she momentarily lost sight of Speckle. Determined to protect her trusted ally, she swiftly made the decision to retreat from the front lines.
With swift and fluid movements, Evain maneuvered through the throngs of battle, leaving the Dweller army behind her. The thud of her boots resounded against the ground as she sprinted towards her horse. Mounting her horse with practiced ease, Evain urged the steed forward. Galloping at full speed, they raced across the treacherous terrain, the wind whipping through her dark blue hair.
The wind whipped through the air as Evain entered the Water Kingdom, her horse galloping with unyielding determination. The palace loomed before her, grand and powerful, an emblem of her father's reign. With a swift dismount, Evain's armor clattered, stained and marked by the blood of the Dwellers she had defeated.
Breathless and weary, Evain thrust out the Dweller's sand bracelet, its intricate design catching the light. As her eyes beheld Arroyo, walking with his advisor down the hall, a surge of pride and excitement coursed through her veins. Without hesitation, she called out to him, her voice carrying the weight of triumph.
“Father! I did it!” she exclaimed, her voice echoing through the marble corridors.
The king's gaze fell upon the bracelet, his eyes widening with astonishment. With a sense of cautious curiosity, he reached out, plucking the bracelet from Evain's hand. The connection between them ignited a flicker of recognition, and Arroyo's voice held a hint of awe.
“How did you acquire this, my daughter?” he asked, his tone a careful blend of concern and admiration.
Evain removed her helmet, her breaths coming in labored gasps as the adrenaline slowly receded. Her eyes locked with her father's, revealing both exhaustion and determination.
“I ventured onto the battlefield, Father,” she explained, her voice firm. “To obtain this for you.”
Tears welled up in Arroyo's eyes as he caught sight of the blood-stained armor adorning his daughter. Pulling her into a tight embrace, he whispered words of relief and admonishment, his voice filled with equal parts love and fear.
“You could have been killed, Evain,” he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. “Promise me, my dear, never to undertake such reckless actions again.”
Evain's grip tightened on her father's arm, her gaze steady and resolute. The fires of determination burned within her, urging her onwards.
“Father,” she gripped his arm firmly, “please, allow me to assist you in the next step. I will not fail you.”
Arroyo gazed at his daughter with a mix of anticipation and determination. In his hands, he held a glass bracelet, intricately crafted and filled with a shimmering, golden sand. As he spoke, his voice quivered with a mixture of excitement and confidence.
“This,” he declared, his voice carrying a tinge of urgency, “is the key to one step closer to having full control over the Earth Kingdom, then soon after The Kingdoms of Elements.”