Morning sunlight bathes the parking lot near the University of Miami, casting a warm glow on Jeremy's van. In the back of the van, Agneyastra and Tyson engage in a conversation that Jeremy, out of respect, tries not to eavesdrop on.

  The soft breeze carries their words, gently ushering them to Jeremy's ears. Agneyastra's voice is filled with both frustration and curiosity as she questions her uncle's decision. “You could've waited at Jeremy's apartment,” she exclaims.

  Tyson's response is firm yet tinged with concern. “You can't be unchaperoned with a male you are courting,” he replies, his tone reflecting the weight of tradition and caution.

  Agneyastra's voice cracks with frustration. “I am not courting him, but why not? Is it because you trust Moriko more than me?” she questions.

  Tyson's voice holds a hint of melancholy as he delivers his response. “Moriko is the Queen now, and one day you will be the heir to the Fire Kingdom,” he explains.

  Agneyastra, her voice tinged with confusion, “I am trying to understand your reasoning,” she states, her words wrapped in a mix of frustration and genuine curiosity.

  Tyson's voice grows softer, his words carrying the weight of past mistakes. “The last time an unmarried heir to the Fire Kingdom was left alone with someone they desired, you were the result,” he reveals.

  A moment of silence fills the air as Agneyastra absorbs her uncle's words. With a newfound determination, she counters his argument. “But you allow me to live in the same house as Ramil, who constantly offers himself to me. Yet I reject him,” she says, her voice tinged with a mix of frustration and defiance.

  Tyson's confusion is palpable as he stammers out a response. “What? Ramil?” he utters.

  Agneyastra's voice quivers with a blend of vulnerability and longing. “I wish you would trust me more, Uncle Tyson. Jeremy only thinks of me as a friend, nothing more,” she confesses, her emotions laid bare.

  Tyson's voice softens. “I do trust you, Agneyastra, but I don't trust others. You don't realize how important you are,” he says, his voice carrying a mix of conviction and protectiveness. “When we get back to Jeremy's apartment, I will allow you to have a little space, but I will remain in the living room,” he offers, a compromise born out of love and a desire to ensure her safety.

  Agneyastra embraces her uncle tightly, gratitude overflowing in her voice. “Thank you, Uncle Tyson,” she whispers, her words laced with a mix of relief and appreciation.

  Jeremy opened the driver side door and climbed into the van, his eyes immediately shifting to the back where Agneyastra and Tyson were seated. A smile formed on his lips as he greeted them, his voice filtering through the quiet space. “Emathion and Moriko will be busy for a couple of hours,” he shared.

  Agneyastra leaned forward from the back of the van, her excitement palpable. “Can I see your Lego room this time?” she asked.

  As they drove down the road, Jeremy navigated his thoughts towards his beloved hobby. “I guess not many people are interested in my hobbies,” he reflected, his tone tinged with a hint of resignation. But the sparkle in Agneyastra's eyes told him that she just might be different.

  The van smoothly pulled into the apartment complex, Jeremy parking it with a practiced ease. He turned off the engine, and together, they made their way up to his large top-floor living space. With each step, Jeremy eagerly shared tales of his Lego creations, igniting Agneyastra's curiosity.

  Upon entering the apartment, Jeremy led Agneyastra down the dimly lit hallway as the sound of Tyson's laughter echoed from the TV in the background. Her eyes widened as they reached the door, excitement buzzing within her. Agneyastra pushed the door open, revealing a sight that took her breath away. Instead of the anticipated Lego room, there was a large bed and movie posters adorning the walls.

  Jeremy quickly clarified, a gentle touch of disappointment in his voice. “No, this is my bedroom,” he explained, closing the door. With a resolute determination, he pointed further down the hall and confidently said, “This way.”

  Agneyastra followed Jeremy down the hall, a mixture of curiosity and intrigue swirling in her mind. The larger room that awaited them was a treasure trove of completed Lego sets, their vibrant colors and intricate designs beckoning her closer. Some sat on shelves, while others were displayed in the center of the room, forming a miniature city of imagination.

  Overwhelmed, Agneyastra marveled at the wondrous sight before her. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in each detail, each set that Jeremy had dedicated hours to create. She couldn't help but ask countless questions about the Lego masterpieces that surrounded them, her curiosity igniting an animated conversation between the two.

  Jeremy and Agneyastra found their way to a table, brought together by the shared joy of Lego building. Jeremy gently showed her how to assemble a delicate flower set, their hands entwined in a dance of creativity.

  As they expertly pieced together each brick, Jeremy found the perfect moment to ask a question that had piqued his interest. “Who is Ramil?” he inquired quietly, his voice laced with curiosity and concern. In all their conversations, Agneyastra had mentioned her brothers Emathion and Sinai, but Ramil had remained a mystery until now.

  Agneyastra's expression softened, her eyes reflecting a tinge of sadness. “We used to be friends,” she began, her voice tinged with nostalgia, “but now he prefers others. We argue all the time.” As she spoke, her fingers continued their delicate dance, building not only the Lego flower but also a bridge of trust between them.

  Jeremy moved closer to Agneyastra, their bond growing stronger with each passing moment. He squeezed her hand gently and offered a reassuring smile. “Well, it's his loss,” he said sincerely. “I'm glad you are my friend, Agneyastra. I wish you would visit more often, so we can build other sets together.”

  ***

  The scorching sun beat down mercilessly upon the barren desert, casting its searing rays across the vast battlefield. The clash of weapons reverberated through the air as Ramil fearlessly engaged in combat with the soldiers of the Water Kingdom. Unyielding and devoid of empathy, he showed no remorse as he swiftly ended their lives, one by one.

  Amidst the chaos and the cries of war, Ramil's observant eyes caught sight of his fellow Dweller Warriors struggling to hold their ground against the relentless onslaught of the Water Kingdom soldiers. With a surge of determination, he forcefully pushed his comrades aside and stepped forward into the heat of battle, his sword glinting ominously in the ample sunlight.

  With unmatched skill and precision, Ramil unleashed a flurry of strikes, each one finding its mark with deadly accuracy. The cries of the enemy soldiers filled the air, intermingling with the clashing of metal on glass and the wails of the wounded. Yet amidst the chaos, a steely resolve burned brightly in Ramil's eyes, his heart fueled by an unyielding desire to protect his homeland.

  As he stepped over his fallen comrade, Ramil's words cut through the cacophony of the battlefield, filled with a raw mixture of frustration and disappointment. “Pathetic,” he seethed, his voice carrying the weight of his unspoken expectations. “I need warriors who are actually worthy of being on this battlefield.”

  Warrior rose to his feet, his body drenched in sweat and dirt. With a voice filled with weary determination, he uttered, “We are trying our best, but perhaps some of us were not destined for greatness.”

  Ramil, a skilled and battle-hardened warrior, turned his sword towards the Warrior, the glint of defiance shining in his eyes. He retorted, “I have devoted my entire life to honing my skills as a warrior. Even when I am not on the battlefield...”

  Interrupting Ramil, the Warrior forcefully shoved his shoulder into him, the weight of his frustration palpable. His voice carried a hint of resentment as he stated, “You, on the other hand, seem to immerse yourself in any fleeting distraction that crosses your path.”

  As if in affirmation of his words, Ramil swiftly dispatched a Water Kingdom soldier who crossed their path without a second thought, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. Leaning in close, his voice dripping with sarcasm and contempt, Ramil provocatively suggested, “Perhaps your girlfriend would find such fleeting desires more to her liking.”

  In the midst of the chaos, Ramil turned his back on his opponent, a fierce and vengeful Warrior. The Warrior, driven by rage and desperation, raised his sword, ready to strike Ramil from behind. But fate intervened in the form of a Wind Kingdom soldier. Clad in a helmet that concealed her identity, her long blue hair flowed untamed from beneath, a striking contrast against the backdrop of sand and hostility. With grace and precision, she closed the distance between them, her spear cutting through the air like a deadly extension of her will. In one swift motion, she brought an end to the Warrior's fleeting existence.

  Ramil, caught off guard by the sudden intervention, found himself at the mercy of this enigmatic soldier. He instinctively placed his sword at the soldier's throat, only to discover a small knife aimed at his own manhood. “Is this how you thank your savior?” she questioned.

  As the adrenaline and tension ebbed, Ramil lowered his sword, acknowledging Evain's presence. A mixture of surprise and gratitude colored his voice as he addressed her, “Princess Evain.”

  With a hint of amusement in her eyes, Evain corrected him once again, revealing the truth behind her title. “Actually, I am a general in the Water Kingdom Army, Dweller. What caused your man to turn on you?”

  Ramil's gaze shifted, his eyes heavy with remorse. “I told him... I was going to take his girlfriend out.”

  With a hint of irony in her voice, Evain offered. “Now, you can have what you desire. You’re welcome, Dweller.” And with a swift gesture, she lightly smacked her spear against his rear, a final farewell before vanishing back into the storm of battle.

  The battle had taken its toll on Ramil, his body weary and his mind heavy with the weight of the day's events. With each step, he trudged towards his home, seeking solace within its familiar walls. As he pushed open the door, a wave of fatigue washed over him, making his movements sluggish.

  Inside, the living room was filled with an atmosphere of tension. Marudeva, paced back and forth, his face etched with worry. Standing nearby was Tyson, his gaze fixated on Marudeva. And there, on the couch, sat Agneyastra, her eyes downcast and a hint of sadness etched upon her features.

  Tyson spoke with a measured tone, breaking the silence. “I think it's best if Agneyastra goes to live in the Earth Kingdom,” he suggested.

  Ramil's frustration boiled within him, fueled by an undercurrent of jealousy. His words erupted with an intensity that reverberated through the room. “So, she can be closer to the man she takes photos of,” he retorted.

  Marudeva's stern gaze turned towards Ramil, disappointment etched upon his face. The weight of his father's disappointment settled heavily upon him, a crushing burden that added to his inner turmoil.

  Agneyastra's voice broke the tense silence, her words filled with remorse. “Ramil, I am sorry,” she pleaded, her eyes pleading for understanding. “I didn't mean to say anything.”

  Tyson turned to face Agneyastra, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and concern. His voice, strained with emotion, cut through the heavy air. “You did nothing wrong,” Tyson stated firmly, his voice low but unwavering. Agneyastra watched him, her eyes filled with confusion, trying to grasp the meaning behind his words.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Suddenly, Tyson's hand shot out, pushing Ramil forcefully against the wall. His grip tightened as he confronted Ramil, his voice seething with accusation. “Have you offered yourself to Agneyastra?” Tyson's words hung heavy in the room, causing everyone to hold their breath momentarily.

  Ramil's gaze slid down to the ground, guilt and resentment etched into his features. “If it wasn't for Prince Marius, she would have been mine by now,” Ramil admitted, his voice laced with bitterness and regret.

  The tension in the room escalated, and Marudeva, unable to bear any more hostility, interjected sharply. “Watch your tongue,” Marudeva warned, forcefully pulling Tyson away from Ramil, who took a step back, still glaring at Agneyastra with a mixture of longing and envy.

  Agneyastra stood in the midst of the chaos, her eyes darting between the three men, trying to make sense of their words and actions. Her voice quivered as she sought clarification. “What is he talking about?” Agneyastra asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Tyson's gaze softened as he met her eyes, his voice gentle and reassuring. “It's something that I am glad didn't take place,” Tyson replied softly, relief evident in his words. Turning to face her directly, he made a decisive request. “Agneyastra, pack your bags,” he instructed, his voice filled with determination.

  Before Agneyastra could react, Sinai abruptly rushed down the stairs and stood protectively by her side, his words filled with desperation. “Don't take my sissy away,” Sinai pleaded.

  Ramil, finally realizing the magnitude of his actions, stepped forward with an unexpected offer. “I will move out, and Agneyastra can stay,” Ramil declared, surprising everyone with his selflessness. “I will come back for my things later.” Ramil turned and walked out the front door.

  ***

  As the evening sun sunk beneath the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Earth Kingdom Palace, Emathion found solace in the library. Surrounded by towering bookshelves. Stacks of books, their worn spines and dog-eared pages, adorned the table before him. With an insatiable thirst for knowledge, Emathion delved into the realms of ancient civilizations and arcane spells, immersing himself in the tales and secrets held within those precious tomes.

  Yet, as time passed in the quiet embrace of the library, his gaze was drawn to the fireplace clock. The hands ticked away, counting down the hours. Sensing the lateness of the hour, Emathion gently closed the book before him, tracing his fingers over its leather cover, silently bidding it farewell for the night.

  With a purposeful stride, he made his way towards the adjacent room, the haven of dreams nestled near the crackling fire. The room was small, yet cozy, with plush rugs adorning the floor and a soft armchair positioned near the hearth.

  Weary from his intellectual pursuits, Emathion settled into the armchair, its cushions enveloping him like a warm embrace. The flickering flames danced hypnotically, casting playful shadows upon the walls. The crackling fire serenaded him into a state of tranquility, a siren's call to embrace the realm of dreams.

  Gently, his eyelids surrendered to the weight of exhaustion as sleep claimed him, wrapping him in its tender embrace. In this sanctuary of rest, Emathion's mind drifted away, carried across vast landscapes

  As Emathion's consciousness slipped into the dream realm, he found himself standing on a deserted beach, the powerful waves crashing against the shore. A sense of foreboding washed over him as his eyes settled upon a magnificent castle in the distance. The structure stood tall and proud, its walls glistening with the iridescent hues of coral and sea glass. A slender bridge connected the castle to the mainland, beckoning Emathion to venture closer.

  With each step he took, his presence seemed to go unnoticed by the multitude of Water Kingdom soldiers that lined the hallways. They stood steadfast in their shimmering armor, their gaze fixed forward as if guarding some hidden secret. The air was heavy with an ethereal silence, broken only by the distant echoes of water.

  Emathion's heart quickened as he delved deeper into the castle's labyrinthine corridors. The opulence of the interior contrasted starkly with the desolation of the outside world. Intricate tapestries adorned the walls, depicting mythical creatures weaving their way through an underwater realm. The flickering light of magical torches cast wavering shadows, adding an otherworldly aura to the surroundings.

  Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the silence, tearing through the depths of the castle. Emathion's instincts kicked in, driving him to follow the anguished cry. The urgency in his steps was palpable, the sound of his own rhythmic footfalls echoing in the hallway. The screams grew louder, fueling his determination to reach the source.

  As Emathion raced towards the origin of the call for help, the walls seemed to ripple with an unseen energy. Figures passed him by in a blur, their translucent forms slipping in and out of focus. He clutched the hilt of his sword tightly, his knuckles turning white, ready to face whatever awaited him at the end of this treacherous path.

  Emathion slowly opened the heavy wooden door, the creaking sound slicing through the hushed atmosphere of the room. As his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit space, he saw Devereaux engaged in a thrusting himself into a woman. With every one of his forces taken, as he slides in the woman, she tries to get away. The woman's voice cuts through the air, sharp and determined. “Stop, I only wanted to play chess,” she yells.

  But as Emathion observed closer, it became apparent that Devereaux was growing increasingly frustrated with the woman's screams. A flicker of annoyance danced across his face, accentuating his jawline and adding depth to his piercing gaze. Sensing an opportunity he shoves her face into the pillow.

  With a swift yet delicate motion, he caught hold of the woman's ponytail, tugging it slightly as if to prompt her into action. “You're not even trying,” his voice resonated low, filled with a mixture of exasperation and demand. A soft release followed, allowing her hair to fall back into place.

  The woman laughed, The woman pauses, her voice tinged with doubt. “I thought... I sounded more convincing last time. Allow me.”

  Devereaux lays back on his bed, as he watched intently as the woman effortlessly grasped on to him, her movements fluid and graceful. Devereaux breathes heavily as she licked his tip. Devereaux voice low but commanding. “do like it, Moriko.”

  Emathion watched, captivated by the unfolding scene. Emathion's eyes widened as he witnessed, the woman turn into Moriko, and she lips lock with Devereaux's. His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to comprehend the scene unraveling before him. It felt as if time had frozen, casting him as a helpless witness to this betrayal. The room seemed to close in on him, the air growing suffocatingly heavy as his mind raced with a thousand thoughts. With a gasp, Emathion awoke in a cold sweat.

  Emathion's bare chest heaved with anger as he sprinted through the sprawling hallways of the Earth Kingdom castle. The flickering torches cast eerie shadows on the walls as he raced towards Moriko's room, his heart pounding in his chest. Bursting through the double doors with frenzied determination, he found Moriko engrossed in a game of chess with Devereaux.

  “Get away from her, you pervert!” Emathion's voice echoed through the chamber, full of fiery accusation. His eyes blazed with a mixture of righteous indignation and fear.

  Startled, Moriko turned to face him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What is wrong with you?” she asked.

  Breathing heavily, Emathion struggled to speak the words that tormented his mind. “I had a dream... a dream of him doing perverted things, thinking about you,” he managed to say, his voice strained with anguish.

  Moriko's eyes widened in disbelief as she processed his irrational outburst. “You had a dream, and that is why you are lashing out at Devereaux?” she replied, her voice tempered with both concern and frustration. “I think you need to leave,” she added, her tone firm yet tinged with sadness.

  An icy silence filled the room as Emathion absorbed her words. His fists clenched, and he looked between Moriko and Devereaux, searching for some kind of confirmation that his dream was rooted in reality. But all he found was a sea of confusion and doubt. “You heard her, get going, fish boy,” Emathion snarled, directing his anger towards Devereaux.

  Moriko's gaze hardened, her voice laced with disappointment. “I was talking to Emathion,” she said, her words cutting through the tension. “I think you should go home now.”

  Realizing he had crossed a line, Emathion's resolve faltered. Defeated, he acquiesced with a single word, “Fine.” With a heavy heart, he turned and, his bare feet padding against the cold floor, walked out of the door, leaving the room cloaked in an unsettling silence.

  ***

  As the morning sun glimmered through the windows, casting delicate patterns of light on the cool marble floor, Marius made his way down the grandiose hallways of the Water Kingdom palace. His expression was an enigmatic mask, concealing a world of emotions that lay hidden beneath his stoic facade.

  Passing ornate tapestries depicting ancient sea creatures and mythical beings, Marius finally reached his destination. Standing before the imposing double doors, he surveyed the scene before him. Two imposing soldiers stood sentinel, their eyes fixed ahead with unwavering determination. A line of elegant ladies from the court had formed, their murmurs and hushed laughter echoing through the corridor.

  But it was the sounds emanating from behind those imposing doors that sent shivers down Marius' spine. Moans of pleasure mingled with the primal grunts of a man, creating a discordant symphony that betrayed the decadent activities taking place within.

  Summoning his courage, Marius approached the guards with measured steps. With a voice that belied the turmoil within him, he spoke softly, “My father requires these documents to be signed.”

  The wooden doors creaked open, revealing Arroyo, the ruler of the Water Kingdom. He forcefully pushed a woman out into the hallway, her delicate frame crashing against the cold, marble floor. He scornfully tossed her dress at her feet, a blatant symbol of his disdain.

  Arroyo's eyes narrowed as he looked towards Marius, his son and heir. “Finding your new stepmother has proven to be a more challenging task than I had initially anticipated,” he growled, his voice laced with frustration and impatience.

  Marius, with an air of confident defiance, held out a piece of paper towards his father. The parchment rustled lightly in the air, containing a weighty proposition. His voice dripped with composed authority as he addressed Arroyo. “This sounds like a problem that lies solely at your feet, Father,” he declared coolly. “Sign this and allow me to shoulder the burden of managing our kingdom once more.”

  Arroyo diligently signing the papers that awaited his signature. With a swift flick of his hand, he called for the lady who had patiently stood in line, her eyes filled with anticipation.

  Arroyo's gaze shifted towards the line of ladies, a mix of excitement and curiosity evident in their expressions. With a knowing smile, he motioned towards Marius, the loyal and trusted servant at his side. “Marius, my plan has come to fruition. Choose one from among them as your reward for their hard work.”

  Marius's keen eyes scanned the line, observing each lady meticulously. It was in that moment that his attention steadfastly fixed on a lady with fiery red hair, her nervous demeanor contrasting with her undeniable beauty. With a determined gesture, Marius pointed towards her, the rising anticipation evident in his voice as he spoke. “I will take her.”

  Without hesitation, Marius strode over to the girl, his presence commanding yet gentle. He beckoned her to follow him, his voice laced with a quiet firmness as he spoke. “Come with me.”

  Meanwhile, Marius entrusted the stack of signed papers to the water kingdom advisor, their collaboration being an integral part of his plan. “I will need a couple of hours,” he announced, a sense of purpose resonating in his words.

  The lady with red hair, her initial trepidation giving way to a flicker of curiosity, followed Marius obediently. The hallway seemed to stretch out endlessly, then the enter his private chambers. as Marius made his way towards the center of the room, his attention was drawn to a woman approaching him with an air of elegance and grace. Her striking emerald, green gown flowed around her like a cascading waterfall, the delicate fabric rustling with every step. With a swift yet graceful movement, she closed the door behind her, effectively shutting out the outside world.

  The lady, a vision of beauty with her cascading golden curls and sparkling sapphire eyes, offered a graceful bow in Marius' presence. Her voice, soft and melodic, filled the room as she delicately spoke, her words laced with a hint of urgency. “Are you not going to help me remove my clothes?” she inquired,

  Slowly, Marius undressed, setting aside each garment with a deliberate gentleness. Marius firmly declines, his voice laced with defiance and a touch of annoyance. “No, do it yourself.” As Marius settled onto his bed, he member was the smooth with veins bulging as he slowly pulled on it, hoisting himself into position.

  He says, ““Do what you want, but please, don't kiss me,” he pleaded “If you don’t comply, my father will subject you to even greater horrors. Or, you can choose the window.”

  The lady glided gracefully across the room, allowing her long, flowing robes slip off her body on the cool stone floor. Her presence commanded attention, her every movement captivating, as she approached Marius. The lady’s nerves tingled through her veins as she prepared to take her first plunge down onto his shaft. As the lady enveloped Marius, he closed his eyes, allowing the sensation of its gentle caress to transport him to a different realm.

  Down the dimly lit hallway, Evain's footsteps echoed like whispers against the stone walls. She approached her brother Devereaux's door, her hand poised to knock. The oak wood creaked beneath her touch as she rapped on it gently. “Get up!” she called out, her voice carrying a sense of urgency.

  The door swung open, revealing Devereaux, still bleary-eyed and disheveled from sleep. His voice was laced with confusion as he asked, “What?”

  Evain's outstretched arm revealed a crumpled parchment, sealed with their father's official crest. “Father has granted your request to join the army,” she declared, her voice tinged with a mixture of pride and concern.

  Devereaux's eyes quickly scanned the document, absorbing its contents. A flicker of surprise danced across his features as he muttered, “Father must really believe in me.”

  Evain's gaze briefly met his, her voice filled with determination as she announced, “Come on, I am going to train you personally. We can't afford for you to embarrass me out there. But first, we need to give the armorer your measurements. Do you still remember what I showed you all those years ago?”

  Devereaux stepped out of his room and fell into step behind his sister. His voice, resolute and eager, held a hint of anticipation. “I want to learn all I can about fighting in battle,” he confessed.

  Evain's voice turned stern as she cautioned, “This is not a game, Devereaux. I will push you harder than you've ever been pushed before.”

  Together, they entered the armorer's chamber, its air heavy with the scent of molten metal and sweat. Devereaux stood still, while the armorer took his measurements, his eyes scanning the weapons adorning the walls with a mix of awe and trepidation.

  Once their business with the armorer was done, Evain led Devereaux towards the training room. The air crackled with anticipation, mirroring the tension brimming between them. As the first punch was thrown, it became evident that Devereaux was not a natural. He stumbled, he wavered, but he never gave up.

  Evain's voice cut through the air like a whip, relentless in its demands. “Let's go again,” she urged, her hands held aloft, ready for battle. The siblings circled each other, their movements as fluid and precise as a duet.