"No! I can't do it anymore! I refuse to train! " Elysia Arlan's voice cracked as she screamed, the words echoing in the empty training hall. Her eyes burned with frustration, her hands clenched at her sides. The wooden floor beneath her feet felt colder than ever, the weight of her family's expectations pressing down on her chest.
She had tried to be what they wanted—obedient, graceful, the perfect daughter. But the chains of propriety were suffocating, and every command from her father, every hour spent in the harsh glare of her family's judgment, only deepened the rebellion that simmered beneath her skin.
Grabbing her cloak, Elysia flung it over her shoulders with a defiant jerk, ignoring the distant calls of her name. "Elysia! " someone shouted from behind, but she didn't turn back. The cries were only empty echoes, meaningless and tired.
She didn't care anymore.
With swift, angry strides, she stormed out of the house, her footsteps echoing in the vast, empty halls. She hated it here—the cold walls that closed in on her, the relentless demands that stripped away any semblance of freedom. She hated every part of this house, this gilded cage her family had constructed around her.
Without thinking, she stepped out into the street, the cool breeze brushing against her cheeks. She didn't know where she was going, only that she needed to leave, needed to breathe. As she wandered through the bustling streets, the city's noise felt almost like a balm to her wounded spirit. People crowded around, calling out to one another, lost in their own lives. For the first time in a long while, Elysia felt a flicker of something akin to hope.
That hope began to swell as she approached the town's central square. Laughter filled the air, a chorus of joy. She looked around in awe at the market stalls, brightly decorated with ribbons and colorful cloths. The scent of warm pastries and roasting meats mingled with the sound of festive music, and she couldn't help but smile despite herself. It was a festival of some kind—one that she hadn't heard of, one that was clearly an escape from the endless struggles of her own life.
Elysia wandered further into the crowd, her mind momentarily distracted from the heaviness of her family's expectations. She was lost in the music, in the warmth of the people, when suddenly, she collided with something—or rather, someone.
She stumbled back, surprised, and looked up into the face of a young man. His expression was unreadable, his eyes cold as ice.
"I'm sorry, " she muttered, instinctively taking a step back.
He didn't reply at first. His gaze swept over her, from her disheveled hair to the expensive cloak that hung loosely from her shoulders. "Watch where you're going, " he said with an edge of annoyance in his voice.
Elysia felt her temper flare at the dismissive tone. How dare he? But before she could muster a retort, a voice called out from behind her.
"Layton! "
The young man—Layton, it seemed—glanced over his shoulder with a barely concealed sigh before turning back to her. "This is your fault, " he muttered, almost as if he were speaking to himself.
But Elysia, in the midst of her frustration and defiance, could only glare back, unwilling to take the blame for his rudeness. "I didn't do anything wrong "
"You were in my way, " he snapped, but before either could say anything more, the sudden appearance of his entourage silenced them both. He turned sharply, ignoring Elysia entirely as his companions surrounded him, escorting him away.
But something about him stirred in her—a sense of challenge, of fire. And in that moment, Elysia couldn't help but wonder who he was.
Layton Vesperis had been raised in a world of cold propriety, a world where emotions were a sign of weakness. As the eldest son of the Vesperis family, he was expected to be a paragon of stoic perfection. Rumors abounded about him—how he was said to have a heart of stone, how he never showed weakness. It was a reputation he wore like armor, a shield against the world's demands.
He had learned early on that emotions only got in the way of survival.
So when he encountered Elysia, he didn't think twice. She was an obstacle—one that he could easily dismiss. But her defiant gaze, the challenge in her voice, had caught his attention in a way he hadn't expected.
And it irritated him.
The next morning, the streets of the market were alive with the same festive energy, and the air seemed charged with a new tension. Elysia had spent the night trying to forget about the stranger, but his words lingered in her mind, like a bad taste she couldn't wash away. She could have ignored him—after all, what did he matter? But the truth was, she couldn't forget him. She was drawn to him, to the icy resolve that cloaked him, and to the strange flicker of something else that had been there, just beneath the surface.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, a familiar sound broke through her thoughts—the unmistakable rhythm of a sword being drawn. Layton stood before her once again, a smirk on his lips as he raised his blade.
"I don't care that you're a girl, " he said, his voice cold as he prepared to strike. "I don't hold back "
Elysia's heart raced. A challenge. He wanted a fight.
She met his gaze with equal fire, stepping forward, her own sword drawn with a fluid motion. "Then let's see who truly doesn't hold back."
And so, the battle began—one that would ignite a war between their families, but also a fire that would burn through everything, changing their lives in ways they couldn't even begin to imagine.
Layton's breath quickened, the raw energy of his power surging through her. He had fought before, but something about this felt different. He could feel herself slipping, the power within him growing more volatile with each strike.
He was losing control.
Don't come any closer... The warning came too late, as his power surged once more, and the ground beneath them trembled.
He had always known this day would come—the day when his power would be too much, when the storm inside him would tear everything apart.
Despite their differences, despite the battles, Elysia knew one thing: She loved him. Even if he didn't understand, even if he never would, she knew it to be true. The question was, would she survive the consequences of loving someone like him?
Maybe more than he does.