Agneyastra's wise eyes met Emathion's, brimming with understanding. With a calm, measured tone, she offered her counsel, “Be honest with him, Emathion. Speak your heart or, if you choose, you may simply ignore the letter. Prince Devereaux's words reveal an earnest fondness for both you and Moriko.”
Emathion sighed, his resolve taking shape. “Okay,” he whispered, a mix of determination and apprehension lingering in his voice.
“Me and Sinai are going to Rami’s for a minute, do you want to come?” Agneyastra asked.
Emathion, his gaze focused intently on the ancient texts spread out before him, furrowed his brow in concentration, his fingers tracing the intricate symbols etched onto the parchment. “No,” he replied, his voice carrying an air of determination. “I want to study for healing training.”
Agneyastra understood the importance of Emathion's commitment to his studies. She gave him a gentle pat on the back, acknowledging his dedication to honing his healing skills. With a reassuring smile, she turned away and descended the grand staircase, the weight of her destiny heavy on her shoulders.
As Agneyastra reached the bottom step, Sinai approached her, clutching a woven basket in his hands. His voice was soft but filled with a sense of purpose. “Father told me to give this to you,” Sinai said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to stay home with Emathion.”
The sun cast its golden glow upon the quiet street as Agneyastra made her way towards Ramil's front door, a wicker basket clutched tightly in her hands. Each step she took seemed to echo through the stillness of the neighborhood.
A soft, hesitant knock resounded through the air, and Ramil appeared at the door, clad only in a towel that clung to his dampened body. The droplets of water glistened on his well-defined chest, hinting at the recent shower he had taken. His hair was slightly tousled, giving him a casual yet tempting appearance. “Come in,” Ramil spoke, his voice warm and enticing.
Agneyastra's fingers trembled as she extended the basket towards him, her eyes never leaving his captivating gaze. With a soft but determined voice, she insisted, “No, here.”
Ramil, seemingly understanding her intention, guided her gently into his abode, his touch delicate yet electrifying. “Let me go get dressed, and then we can catch up,” he suggested, disappearing up the staircase, leaving Agneyastra to wait in the confines of his living room.
Ramil hurried down the stairs, now adorned in loose house pants that hung low on his waist. Striding closer to Agneyastra. “That is close enough,” Agneyastra's voice trembled slightly as she spoke.
Ramil's voice was a seductive murmur as he leaned in close to Agneyastra, his warm breath caressing her ear. “Allow me this one time, Agneyastra,” he pleaded, his eyes smoldering with an intense longing. “I can show you a world beyond your wildest dreams, a realm of forbidden passion and lustful enchantment.” However, as if possessed by a consuming hunger, Ramil acted swiftly, pulling her into a passionate embrace, their lips colliding in a heated kiss.
But in that instant, Agneyastra's conviction took hold of her. With an unexpected force, she pushed Ramil away, her eyes blazing with indignation. “How dare you,” she exclaimed, her voice filled with both anger and disappointment. Without a second glance, she turned and fled from his house.
***
Ramil watched Agneyastra vanish into the night, her figure quickly fading into the darkness. A surge of urgency coursed through his veins, propelling him up the stairs to his bedroom. With trembling hands, he hastily grabbed a shirt, slipping it on as he slipped into his shoes. There was no time to waste.
He bounded down the stairs, the adrenaline driving him forward, and flung open the front door, stepping out into the cool night air. The moon hung high above, casting an ethereal glow on the path ahead. Ramil's eyes homed in on the spot where he had last seen Agneyastra, and with a determined stride, he followed in her elusive footsteps.
“Agney!” he called out, his voice earnest and almost desperate as he pursued her. The sound echoed through the empty streets, tangled with a mix of longing and sorrow. But he continued, undeterred, as if hoping that the sheer force of his voice could reach her and bridge the distance that had grown between them.
As Ramil neared the turn where Agneyastra had disappeared, a flicker of hope ignited within him. It was a tantalizing glimmer that propelled him onward, his feet carrying him with an almost unnatural speed. The air whispered secrets in his ears, urging him on as he approached the threshold of his father's home.
Breathless and weary, he burst through the door, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of Agneyastra. There, reclined on the couch, was Sinai with his calm demeanor in stark contrast to Ramil's frantic state. Desperation etched into his expression, Ramil approached Sinai, his voice shaky yet resolute. “Where is Agney?” he asked.
“You are not allowed to be here, unless father is here,” Sinai warned, his voice filled with a tinge of authority. But Ramil, determined and undeterred, paid no attention to his brother's admonitions. He continued his ascent up the staircase, compelled by a deep longing to make amends.
As he reached the top, Ramil's heart weighed heavy with remorse, his steps echoing against the wooden floors. He stood outside Agneyastra's closed bedroom door, his hand trembling as he reached out to open it. “Agney, please forgive me,” Ramil whispered, his voice filled with regret and longing. With a deep breath, he crossed the threshold and entered the room.
But as Ramil advanced, he suddenly found himself confronted by Agneyastra, her piercing gaze filled with a mix of fear and confusion. Quick as lightning, Agneyastra retreated into her closet, emerging with an ornate sword glinting in the dim light. The blade poised at Ramil's throat, her voice trembled as she demanded, “How?”
Caught off guard by her sudden aggression, Ramil raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. He replied, his voice tinged with both reluctance and a hint of remorse, “How I do it? Well, I never explained it, but I can show you.” Stepping closer, Ramil attempted to bridge the gap between them.
With her sword unwavering, Agneyastra's expression shifted from anger to anguish. A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a path down her cheek as she questioned, “You are so annoying. How can you do something with so much passion, but it means nothing to you?”
Ramil's confidence faltered under the weight of her words. Shame washed over him, his gaze averted as he took a step back, distancing himself from Agneyastra. He murmured softly, barely audible, “Because, it's better when it means nothing.”
Moved by his admission, Agneyastra's grip on the sword loosened, the tension in the room gradually easing. She lowered the blade, her voice filled with a mixture of sadness and longing. “That is why my reply is always no. I want to mean something to someone, before, I...”
As if guided by an invisible force, Ramil found himself drawn to a closet nearby. Opening it, he revealed a collection of dusty chests and unopened gifts. With a trembling hand, he pointed to the forgotten treasures. His voice, laced with a tinge of melancholy, carried across the room. “You meant something to him, I saw the love in his eyes for you that day long ago. By rejecting you, he spared you from the cruel fate his father bestowed upon his wife. Love is a curse that your enemies will use against you, it’s worse than a demon in your mind.”
Without hesitation, Emathion burst in positioned himself between Agneyastra and Ramil. His voice trembled as he commanded Ramil to leave. Emathion's voice thundered through the air, cutting through the tension like a blade. His eyes burned with a mixture of anger and resolve as he locked gaze with Ramil. “Leave now, Ramil!” he commanded. Tension filled the air as Ramil took a step closer, his gaze fixed on Emathion.
Emathion's body suddenly convulsed, collapsing to the floor, clutching his throat. Panic surged through Agneyastra and Ramil, as they dropped to Emathion's side. Fear tightened its grip around the room as they saw the struggle in Emathion's eyes, his breath ragged and strained.
Agneyastra desperately grasped Ramil's arm, her voice filled with concern and confusion. Her mind raced with questions, trying to make sense of the chaos that had unfolded before her. “What is going on?” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.
Through the pain, Emathion managed to find strength to speak. His words were strained, each syllable a struggle. “Moriko is being attacked,” he gasped, his voice laden with a sense of urgency and fear.
Ramil's eyes darted to the sword in Agneyastra's hand, his voice filled with determination. He pointed towards it, his words resolute. “Give me one, and let's go help Moriko.”
Agneyastra's hands trembled as she reached into her closet, pulling out two gleaming swords, a testament to her fierce determination. She handed one to Ramil and the other to Emathion, each weapon feeling cold and heavy in their grasps.
Leaving the safety of their house, the trio ventured into the uncertain night. They hurried down the dimly lit street, their path illuminated by the faint glow of a crescent moon hanging in the sky. Their destination was an ancient tree, standing tall.
Emathion wore a green bracelet on his wrist. As he approached the towering tree, he extended his hand and gently touched its weathered bark. A brilliant green light emanated from the tree, beckoning them forward. Without hesitation, they stepped through the portal, leaving familiar surroundings behind.
They emerged in the enchanting realm of the Green Forest, Agneyastra, her determination unyielding, offered her steady support to Emathion as they pressed forward. Ramil's heart pounded in his chest, urging them to quicken their pace. But with every passing moment, new injuries marred Emathion's body, like a cruel reminder of the impending battle that awaited them at the Earth Kingdom castle. “We must hurry,” Ramil urged, his voice filled with urgency and concern.
***
The moon shone brightly through the window, casting an ethereal glow upon the Earth Kingdom castle. Inside Moriko's bedroom, a haunting silence hung in the air. Moriko stood behind a table, her body adorned with cuts and bruises, blood dripping from her arms and legs. Devereaux, clutching a dagger in his hand, glared at her with a mixture of anger and desperation.
“We could have been happy together,” he hissed, his words laced with bitter resentment. “But you want him all to yourself.”
Moriko, her back pressed against the wall, instinctively tried to create distance between her and Devereaux. Her gaze flickered nervously towards her backpack, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. “We are all friends,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “Why are you doing this?”
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Devereaux's eyes flashed with mischief and obsession. “I want more,” he growled. “Where is he?”
As his gaze shifted to her backpack, Devereaux slowly approached, intrigue on his face. He reached inside and briefly skimmed through one of Moriko's cherished notebooks, his curiosity piqued. Sensing an opportunity, he swiftly slid on the backpack and fastened it securely to his shoulders.
“How do you open the portals?” Devereaux demanded, pointing towards her green bracelet. His voice carried a mixture of menace and intrigue. “Give me that.”
Moriko uttered a defiant “Never.” She lunged towards the door, desperate to escape the clutches of Devereaux.
But Devereaux, consumed by rage, shoved Moriko with a force that sent her crashing onto the plush couch near the crackling fireplace. In that split second, she mustered all her strength and hastily removed the treasured bracelet from her wrist, knowing the power it possessed.
In a daring move, Moriko defiantly tossed the bracelet into the roaring flames, taunting Devereaux with its destruction. But he was not one to be trifled with. Fury emanated from him as he yanked Moriko's hair, causing her to wince in pain. He leaned close, his face twisted by his wrath, and delicately slid the cold blade of his weapon down her chest, stopping dangerously close to her trembling.
As Devereaux leaned closer to Moriko's ear, “How much does he truly feel?” he wondered, his piercing gaze fixed on Moriko's searching eyes.
Moriko's heart raced as she desperately tried to push Devereaux away from, as he was attempting to touch her. Her voice trembled with fear as she pleaded, “Please, don't do this.”
Devereaux's hands skimmed across the soft cloth, his fingertips tracing the intricate patterns woven into the fabric of Moriko’s dress. With a careful yet determined motion, he raised his dagger to Moriko’s face, its blade glinting in the dappled the candlelight.
Moriko’s screams for help, Devereaux With a trembling hand, he hastily grabbed a piece of cloth and stifled the noise emanating from Moriko. With precision, Devereaux began to delicately cut the fabric away from Moriko. As the blade traced the path along the cloth, a hushed murmur of fabric tearing filled the air.
The door to Moriko's bedroom swung open with a sudden burst of energy, revealing Emathion, Ramil, and Agneyastra, their swords gleaming in the dim light. Emathion's eyes widened in horror as he took in the scene before him.
Moriko's terrified screams pierced the air, her pleas for help tearing at Emathion's heart. With a voice riddled with determination, he commanded, “Get away from her!”
Devereaux, his fingers wrapped tightly around Moriko's delicate throat, bore a twisted smile on his face. He brandished a gleaming dagger, its point glinting ominously. “Step any closer, and I will kill her,” he sneered, his voice filled with malice. “She is the one keeping me from you. All three of us could have been happy together, but she will not let it happen.”
With tears streaming down her face, Moriko pleads, her voice trembling with desperation, “Please, just go.”
Devereaux's gaze shifts towards Emathion, his eyes ablaze with determination as he declares, “I will not leave without him.”
Moriko's voice grows firm, desperation replaced by defiant resolve. “I will not allow you to take him from me.”
As tension tightens its grip on the scene, Ramil ventures a jest, attempting to break the heavy air that surrounds them. “Look at this, Agneyastra. Love has brought us to this absurd predicament—a man and a woman fighting over another man.”
Agneyastra, her patience wearing thin, forcefully shoves Ramil, her irritation evident in her voice. “Silence, Ramil!”
Amidst the rising chaos, Emathion's grip on his sword weakens until it slips from his fingers, clattering to the ground. He takes a step forward, his voice carrying a mixture of resignation and determination. “Let her go. Do whatever you desire with me, as long as she remains unharmed.”
Ramil's voice trembles with a mixture of fear and concern, his words reflecting his disbelief. “Brother, no!”
As Emathion approached Devereaux in the dimly lit room, there was a sense of anticipation hanging in the air. His steps were soft, almost hesitant, but filled with purpose. With a gentle touch, Emathion pulled Devereaux away from Moriko. Agneyastra, witnessing this unfold, rushed over to assist Moriko, who was left stunned and caught off-guard. The room was suddenly filled with a mixture of shock and curiosity, as if the very walls themselves were holding their breath in wonder.
Devereaux's gaze locked with Emathion’s, “We will never be apart again,” he whispered, his voice tinged with a blend of conviction and vulnerability.
Moriko, Agneyastra, and Ramil stood frozen, as Devereaux pulled Emathion closer, indulging in a passionate kiss that seemed to encapsulate the fiery intensity of their newfound bond. With an air of secrecy, Devereaux led Emathion away from Moriko's bedroom, seizing the opportunity provided by the window as their gateway to escape into the night.
In a flurry of panicked movement, Moriko dashed towards the window, she pressed her hands against the cold glass, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief. Outside, Devereaux was pulling Emathion away from the safety of the castle.
As Moriko turned to face Ramil, tears welled up in her eyes. As, Ramil's eyes locked onto Agneyastra. A surge of determination washed over him as he muttered, “Call for the healer, and I shall delve into the depths of darkness to rescue my brother.”
Without hesitation, Ramil met Moriko's gaze, determination etched onto his face. He nodded grimly before swiftly leaving the bedroom, his footsteps fading into the distance.
In the midst of their despair, Moriko sought solace in the comforting presence of Agneyastra. She clung onto her, tears streaming down her face. Her voice cracked with sorrow as she confessed, “Emathion saw Devereaux's true intentions in his dreams, and I... I didn't believe him.”
***
As the first rays of dawn painted the halls of the Water Kingdom Palace in hues of pale gold, Evain, adorned in her armored garb, strode purposefully through the corridors. Her comrades, fellow soldiers who knew her not only as their leader but also as their sister in battle, offered her nods of respect as she passed by. Her footsteps brought her to a halt outside her brother Devereaux's chambers. Raising her hand, Evain gently rapped on the door, the sound echoing through the quiet morning air. Without waiting for a response, she turned the doorknob and cautiously stepped inside.
The room was shrouded in a hushed stillness, broken only by the soft rhythmic breathing of someone fast asleep. Evain's eyes swept over the comforting familiarity of her brother's belongings, a reflection of their shared journey since childhood. But her gaze quickly settled on the figure nestled amidst the silken bedsheets – a woman with flowing locks of blonde cascading over the pillow.
A surge of frustration welled up within Evain, an eruption of emotions held back by the veneer of her regal composure. The sound of her armored boot colliding with the side of the bed filled the room, a resounding thud that punctuated the tense atmosphere. Her voice, a controlled blend of authority and concern, pierced the silence. “Where is Devereaux?” Evain demanded, her tone laced with a mixture of worry and impatience.
The blonde woman roused from her slumber, her eyes blinking open to meet Evain's piercing gaze. A hint of vulnerability danced within those irises as she mustered a response. Her voice carried a tinge of regret, the weight of the night's absence hanging in the air. “He never came back last night,” the woman confessed, the admission hanging heavy between them.
Marius, accompanied by the mischievous Nessy, emerged from his own chamber just moments later. The young lady, with an air of defiance, cried out, “I don't want to leave!”
Marius, his voice laced with sorrow, replied, “I have warned you, Nessy. Our attachments can never be permanent. It is time for you to depart the Kingdom.” He gestured for a soldier, who swiftly escorted the reluctant Nessy down the grand hallway.
Evain approached Marius, her eyes filled with determination. “I must go in search of Devereaux. I will accompany her to-”
Marius interrupted, a flicker of concern passing through his gaze. “To the sharks? No, thank you. Evain, what are you doing?”
With a resolute expression, Evain responded, her voice steady yet laced with worry, “Devereaux has not been seen this morning. I fear something may be amiss.”
Marius turned away, his tone tinged with a sense of urgency. “Then go, my sister. Find Devereaux before anyone finds out. We cannot afford to let this disruption grow any further.”
Evain emerged from the towering palace, her silver armor gleaming in the early light. With purpose in her stride, she approached her loyal horse, a magnificent creature whose ebony mane seemed to flow with an untamed spirit.
As Evain mounted her loyal steed, a sudden movement caught her attention. A figure on horseback appeared in the distance, charging towards her with great urgency. Instinctively, Evain's hand found the hilt of her sword, the weight of it comforting against her palm. Determined and ready for whatever challenge lay ahead, she dug her heels into her horse's flanks and galloped towards the approaching figure.
As they drew nearer, Evain's sharp eyes discerned the features of the figure. It was Ramil, a trusted friend, though his attire was far from his usual soldier's armor. Uncertainty mingled with relief as Evain slowed her horse to a halt, bringing herself face-to-face with Ramil.
His voice, laced with worry, cut through the desert air. “Where is my brother?” he demanded, his words laced with urgency.
Evain couldn't help but let a playful smirk dance upon her lips. “What, did your brother not come home last night as well?” she jested, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
Ramil's expression darkened as he shook his head. “No, you don't understand. Your brother attacked Moriko in her bedchamber, then he vanished into the night with my brother. If he hasn't returned to your kingdom, he must have fled to Abiectio Town.”
Evain's heart, strengthening her resolve. Without a moment's hesitation, she spurred her horse forward, the animal's muscles rippling beneath her as they charged further into the arid expanse. Behind her, Ramil followed suit, his determination mirrored in every stride of his steed.
The soft morning light filtered through the worn curtains, casting a warm golden glow on the small cabin. Emathion's clothes lay strewn on the floor, a trail leading from the doorway to the bed where Devereaux lay. Devereaux slowly blinked open his eyes, squinting against the brightness. He turned his gaze towards Emathion, who lay beside him, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. With a languid movement, Devereaux lifted his head and carefully rested it on Emathion's chest.
Devereaux his hands skillfully tending Emathion. Devereaux's face, lined with weariness and determination, Emathion can feel the warmth of Devereaux's touch on him, as he sleeps. Devereaux tastes Emathion's delectable treat. Each lick from Devereaux, Emathion’s face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and torment. His moans echoed around the room. The name “Moriko” slipped past his quivering lips like a lament, carried by the gentle breeze of his breath.
As the velvety softness of Emathion was touched by Devereaux's lips. He closed his eyes in bliss, savoring him on his tongue. Emathion's eyes fluttered open, the world slowly coming into focus around him. The soft glow of sunlight bathed the room, casting dancing shadows on the worn wooden walls. As his vision cleared, he saw Devereaux lowered on him, with his delicate hands tenderly.
As Emathion's eyes followed Devereaux's every lick, he couldn't help but notice the playful way Devereaux's tongue darted out to catch the droplets of delight sweat that threatened to escape. Emathion's heart pounded in his chest as he lay there. The weight of the Devereaux's body bore down on him, threatening to drag him into an abyss of darkness and despair. His mind swirled with conflicting thoughts, his every instinct urging him to resist, to fight back against the overwhelming tide.
But as he stared into the merciless eyes of Devereaux, a realization dawned upon him. It wasn't a matter of backing down or surrendering. It was about accepting the inevitable, the unrelenting force of fate that had woven its threads around him. Emathion's shoulders slumped, burdened by the weight Devereaux thrusting on to him. A deep sigh escaped his lips, as if releasing the very essence of his being in this moment of pleasure.
Emathion lifts up and charged forward like a raging bull, his muscles taut with power. With a primal grunt, he forcefully thrust himself into Devereaux, sending him sprawling to pillow on the bed. The impact echoed through the air, the thud reverberating against walls. As Devereaux crumbled beneath Emathion's immense strength, the bed trembled beneath them, as if yielding to the force of their collision with their release.
The heavy wooden door splinters and crashes open, violently interrupting the silence that had enveloped the small cabin. Devereaux, disoriented and alarmed, quickly springs to his feet. Evain, her eyes burning with urgency, storms into the room, her presence commanding attention.
“We must leave, now,” she declares, her voice laced with an underlying urgency. Her words hang in the air, laden with a sense of impending danger.
With a sense of urgency, Devereaux hastily fumbles to gather his scattered clothes and Moriko’s backpack, the fabric slipping through his trembling fingers. His eyes catch sight of a glimmering bracelet encircling Emathion's wrist. Devereaux snatches it abruptly, his fingers closing tightly around the green bracelet.
Emathion, dazed and confused, attempts to rise. Evain, without hesitation, swiftly thrusts her blade into his gut, her movements decisive and calculated. She withdraws the blade, its glistening surface tainted crimson from Emathion's lifeblood, sealing his fate while ensuring his survival.
“You will live,” Evain murmurs, her voice resolute yet compassionate. As Emathion's life force continues to drain away, Evain's attention swiftly shifts to Devereaux, a sense of steely determination etched into her features. In one fluid motion, Evain grabs hold of Devereaux's wrist, her grip firm yet gentle, guiding him towards the door. Together, they make their hasty escape from the confines of the humble cabin.