The Kingdom of Pride and the Kingdom of Hope had been at war for over a century. The fields between them, once fertile and green, had turned to ash and bone, the ground soaked with the blood of countless battles. Neither side could claim victory, for every triumph was met with retaliation, and every fragile peace was shattered by hatred too deep to mend.

Legends whispered that no mortal could end this conflict. The cycle of bloodshed had become as unyielding as the seasons, woven into the very fabric of both kingdoms. Yet, one prophecy, spoken in hushed tones, offered a faint glimmer of hope—or a dire warning:

"When the blood moon rises, two children will be born. One from fire, one from light. Their fates will collide, and only they shall hold the power to end the war—through destruction or salvation."

On the night of the blood moon, the heavens bled crimson, casting an eerie glow over the jagged mountains of Pride and the silver forests of Hope. The skies themselves seemed to mirror the conflict below, illuminating two worlds poised on the brink of destiny.

In the Kingdom of Pride

The golden citadel of Pride loomed against the blood-red sky, its spires rising like jagged blades. Inside its gilded halls, a newborn's cry rang out—sharp, strong, and defiant.

Queen Arthea, still clad in her battle-worn armor, stood at the edge of the room. Her hands trembled as she approached the cradle where her daughter lay, though she would never admit such a weakness aloud. The child's amber eyes opened, meeting her mother's gaze with a spark that seemed far too intense for a newborn.

"Sara," Arthea whispered, her voice steady despite the storm raging in her chest. "You are the flame of Pride. You will end this war. You will fight. You will save. And you will rule."

That night, Sara's destiny was forged—not in the innocence of birth, but in the weight of expectation.

In the Kingdom of Hope

Far from the golden citadel, in a humble village on the edge of the Silver Forest, another child was born. The boy's first cries were soft, as if he sensed the weight of the world he had entered.

His father, William, a soldier whose weary eyes betrayed years of war, knelt beside the newborn. Gently placing a calloused hand on the boy's tiny chest, he spoke in a voice thick with emotion.

"Agro," William said, "you are the shield of Hope. When the darkness comes, you will hold the line. You will protect what we cannot."

The boy's mother, too weak to speak, placed her hand over her husband's, their fingers entwined over their son. Together, they gazed at Agro, their hearts full of both pride and sorrow, knowing the unforgiving world he would inherit.

The Burden of Destiny

Neither Sara nor Agro would remember the night of their birth, yet it would shape every moment of their lives. The blood moon had marked them as rivals—two forces destined to collide.

Sara, the flame, would burn bright, consuming all who stood in her path.

Agro, the shield, would endure, standing firm against even the fiercest storm.

Though born worlds apart, they were bound by a single truth:

The blood moon had chosen them.

Six Years Later

Six years had passed since the blood moon. The war had only grown fiercer, and its shadow loomed over every corner of the kingdoms.

Agro had just turned six, a day his father, William, had promised to celebrate.

"I'll be there, Agro," William had said, ruffling his son's dark hair. "Not even a war can keep me away."

But the promise was broken.

That day, the battlefield erupted in chaos. The Kingdom of Pride had unleashed war beasts—lions, wolves, and creatures bred for bloodshed—against Hope's largest force yet.

From the village, Agro waited, clutching a wooden toy his father had carved—a knight with a shield. Hours dragged on, and his hope faded with the setting sun.

The next morning, a letter arrived at their doorstep. His mother, Mary, opened it with trembling hands. As her eyes scanned the words, she collapsed to the floor, weeping.

Agro picked up the letter, his young hands shaking as he read:

"You must be proud. Your husband died a hero, saving many. His final words were: 'To my son, I'm sorry I missed your birthday.'"

The boy fell to his knees, his cry of anguish echoing through the village.

From that moment, Agro swore to become the strongest soldier, to destroy the Kingdom of Pride and end the war that had taken his father.

In the Kingdom of Pride

Far away, Queen Arthea was furious. The battle had been costly. She stormed into the training yard where her daughter, Sara, was practicing swordsmanship.

"How did we lose?" Arthea demanded, slamming her gauntleted fist against a stone pillar.

Sara, standing nearby, turned to her mother with hurt in her eyes. "You missed my birthday," she said quietly.

The queen froze, her anger briefly faltering. "I'm sorry, my cub. I was... at work."

Sara frowned. "You promised."

"We are at war. Promises cannot always be fulfilled," Arthea replied, her voice hardening.

"Then end the war," Sara said, her tone pleading.

The queen's expression darkened. "I don't know how."

Sara's amber eyes filled with disappointment. "You're the queen. How do you not know?"

Arthea's patience snapped. "You will understand when you grow up. Now, return to your lessons."

"But they're too hard—"

"Everything is hard now!" the queen barked. Then, softening slightly, she added, "Go, Sara. You'll thank me one day."

Sara nodded reluctantly and returned to her swordsmanship class, her mother's words echoing in her mind

The throne room of the Kingdom of Hope was a grand yet somber place, its stone walls adorned with banners that hung heavy with the weight of war. King Chil sat upon his throne, his expression thoughtful as he reviewed the reports from the battlefield. Victory had been achieved—but at a cost. Among the names of the fallen, one stood out: William, a soldier whose actions had turned the tide of the battle.

"Summon his family," Chil commanded, his voice echoing in the chamber. His advisors exchanged glances but obeyed without question.

The next day, Mary and Agro stood before the throne, dwarfed by the towering pillars and the rows of guards that flanked them. Mary clutched Agro's hand tightly, her face pale but composed. The boy, barely six years old, gazed up at the king with wide, curious eyes, though there was a lingering sadness behind them.

"My king," Mary said, bowing deeply. "Why have you brought us here?"

Chil rose from his throne and stepped forward, his royal robes trailing behind him. His gaze softened as he looked at the grieving widow and her son.

"Mary," he began, his tone measured, "your husband gave his life to secure our victory. His courage saved countless lives and ensured that this village—and this kingdom—would endure. But his sacrifice went unnoticed. That ends today."

Mary tightened her grip on Agro's hand, her knuckles white.

"I cannot undo your loss," Chil continued, "but I can honor his memory. From this day forward, you and your son will have a place in my court. You will live within the safety of the palace, and your son will be trained in the art of war. When he comes of age, he will lead a small company of men, tasked with securing new lands for our great nation."

Mary's head shot up, her eyes flashing with defiance. "My king," she said, her voice trembling but resolute, "I am grateful for your generosity, but we already have a home. And my son… he will never become a soldier."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Agro tugged at her sleeve, his small voice rising in protest.

"Mother," he said, stepping forward, "I want to be a soldier."

Mary turned to him, her face stricken. "Do you understand what you're saying?" she demanded, kneeling so they were eye to eye. "Do you want to die? Do you want to come home every day with blood on your clothes, your body broken, hovering on the brink of death after every battle?"

Agro's lip quivered, but his gaze didn't waver. "No, Mother," he said quietly. "I don't want to die. But I want to fight. I want to make them pay for what they did to Father. I want to destroy the ones who took him from us."

Mary's breath hitched, her face crumpling in anguish. She grabbed him by the shoulders, her grip firm. "You want, Agro. Not need. There's a difference. And because you only want it, I will not allow it. You will never join the army. Not as long as I'm alive."

The room was silent except for the faint echo of her words. Chil watched the exchange with an unreadable expression, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Enough," the king said at last, his voice cutting through the tension. Mary stood and turned to him, bowing again, though her movements were stiff with suppressed anger.

"I understand your fears, Mary," Chil said, his tone calm but firm. "No mother wants her son to walk the path of war. But this is not a matter of want or even need. This is duty. Your son is not just any boy—he is the son of William, a hero of this kingdom. His bloodline demands that he serve."

Mary shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "With respect, my king, he is my son. And I will not allow him to be taken from me."

Chil stepped closer, his gaze hardening. "And with respect, Mary, the choice is not yours to make."

Agro looked up at his mother, his small hand reaching for hers. "It's okay, Mother," he said softly. "I can do this. I'll make you proud. I'll make Father proud."

Mary's heart broke at the determination in her son's voice. She turned away, unable to meet his gaze.

Chil placed a hand on Agro's shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring. "You will begin your training when you turn sixteen," he said. "Until then, you will remain with your mother. But mark my words, young Agro—you are destined for greatness. This kingdom will need your strength."

Mary remained silent, her shoulders trembling as she tried to hold back her tears. Agro stood tall, his expression set with a resolve far beyond his years.

As they left the throne room, Mary's heart was heavy with dread. She knew the path her son had chosen would bring him closer to the same fate as his father. But no matter how much she tried to shield him, she could not fight destiny itself.

And Agro, for all his youth, had already made his decision. He would carry his father's legacy—no matter the cost

The grand hall of the Kingdom of Pride gleamed in the sunlight filtering through towering stained-glass windows. Queen Arthea stood at the center, her posture regal, her expression sharp as steel. Servants moved silently in the corners of the room, their presence like whispers against the tension in the air.

"Where is Sara?" Queen Arthea demanded, her voice echoing through the hall. A handmaiden stepped forward, her head bowed low.

"Her Highness is in the gardens, Your Majesty."

Arthea's eyes narrowed. Without a word, she swept through the hall, her gold-trimmed cloak trailing behind her.

In the gardens, Sara sat cross-legged beneath an ancient oak tree. Her blonde hair glinted in the sunlight as she plucked at the grass absently. Beside her lay a wooden practice sword, discarded and forgotten.

"Sara!" Arthea's voice cut through the peaceful hum of the garden, making the birds scatter from their perches.

Sara jumped to her feet, spinning around. "Yes, Mother?" she said, her hands clasped nervously behind her back.

The queen strode toward her, her eyes blazing. "Do not 'Mother' me. I was informed that you skipped your training lessons this morning. Is this true?"

Sara hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground. "Yes, it's true."

Arthea's face hardened. "Why? Explain yourself."

"It's too hard," Sara admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "My friends said it's not normal for a six-year-old to train like this."

The queen's lips pressed into a thin line. She loomed over her daughter, her presence as imposing as the castle walls. "Who are these friends of yours?"

Sara shifted uncomfortably. "I… I don't know."

Arthea's eyes flashed with anger. "Do not lie to me, Sara. You will tell me their names."

"I can't," Sara said, taking a step back.

"And why is that?"

Sara lifted her chin, defiance sparking in her green eyes. "Because I don't want to."

The queen's fury erupted. "You dare disobey your queen?"

Sara's resolve wavered, but she didn't back down. "I'm sorry, Mother. I just can't tell you."

Arthea took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm. Her tone grew colder, more formal. "You will address me as Your Majesty. Do you hear me, Princess Sara?"

"Yes, my queen," Sara said, her voice trembling.

"Good. Now, as your queen, I am giving you a direct order. Tell me the names of these so-called friends."

"I'm sorry, my queen," Sara said, her shoulders slumping, "but I can't."

The queen's face darkened, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Do you understand the punishment for a princess who disobeys her queen?"

"Yes," Sara murmured.

"Then tell me, what is the punishment?"

Sara's voice cracked as she replied, "No food. No crown. And… I can't leave my room."

Arthea stepped closer, her towering presence bearing down on her daughter. "Then you know what awaits you if you do not obey."

Sara hesitated, her hands trembling at her sides. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "I won't tell you."

The queen's expression was unreadable for a moment, and then she straightened, her voice like ice. "Very well. Go to your room. You are dismissed."

Sara's head bowed as she whispered, "Yes, Mom."

Arthea's gaze sharpened. "No crown. No mother. From this moment on, you will address me only as Your Majesty."

Tears welled up in Sara's eyes as she forced herself to meet her mother's steely gaze. "Yes, my queen," she said, her voice breaking.

Without another word, she turned and ran toward the castle, her small figure disappearing through the garden's arched gate. Arthea stood there for a long moment, her jaw tight, her hands clenched into fists. The queen's mask of cold authority didn't falter, but deep within, a pang of regret twisted in her chest.

In her room, Sara flung herself onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. Hot tears soaked the fabric as the weight of the confrontation pressed down on her. She thought of her friends, the ones who had whispered to her during stolen moments in the market. They had laughed at the ridiculousness of her rigorous training schedule, told her she was just a child, not a warrior.

But a princess didn't betray her friends. No matter the cost.

In the throne room, Arthea sat alone, her fingers drumming against the armrest of her chair. Memories of her own childhood training flooded back—endless hours of sword drills, bruises that never seemed to heal, nights spent crying silently into her pillow. She had endured it all because she had to, because her kingdom demanded it.

But looking at Sara, her only child, Arthea couldn't help but wonder if she had made a mistake. Was it wrong to demand so much from someone so young? Yet the weight of the crown left no room for doubt, no room for softness.

For both their sakes, she had to be strong.

As the sun set over the kingdom, casting long shadows over the castle walls, two hearts—one young and rebellious, the other burdened by duty—ached in silence, separated by more than just stone and titles

The grand hall of the palace shimmered with golden chandeliers and vibrant tapestries, alive with the hum of guests. Four years had passed since that fateful confrontation between Queen Arthea and her daughter Sara, and now, the Kingdom of Pride was celebrating Sara's tenth birthday. Queen Arthea had spared no expense—musicians played soft melodies, servants flitted between tables offering delicacies, and dignitaries from across the lands mingled under the soaring arches of the palace.

At the center of it all stood Arthea, her regal bearing as striking as ever, commanding the room with her presence. Dressed in a flowing gown of deep blue, she greeted her guests with a practiced smile, though her sharp eyes missed nothing.

Among the attendees was King Chil, his arrival causing murmurs to ripple through the crowd. Relations between Chil and Arthea had been tense for years, but tonight, there was no room for old grudges. Arthea approached him with measured steps, her voice smooth yet firm.

"King Chil," she said, inclining her head slightly. "Tonight is my daughter's birthday. There is no room for hate."

Chil nodded, his expression unreadable. "You're right, Queen Arthea. I came because of your invitation, but I have a request. I will only stay if the princess shares her celebration with someone close to my heart—someone like a son to me."

Arthea's brow furrowed slightly, but she gave a curt nod. "Agreed."

Meanwhile, Mary and Agro stood at the edges of the festivities, the boy's unease apparent in the tight set of his shoulders. Mary adjusted Agro's simple tunic, her touch soothing. "Agro," she murmured, "you're turning ten today. You share a birthday with the princess. Isn't that something special?"

Agro shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting toward the opulent surroundings. "Why are we here, Mom? This isn't our place. We're in enemy land."

Mary sighed, crouching slightly to meet her son's eyes. "They aren't enemies today, Agro. Not on your birthday, and not on the princess's either."

He frowned, crossing his arms. "Fine. But if they attack us, I won't hold back."

A soft laugh escaped Mary's lips. She pulled Agro into a hug, holding him close. "You're too much like your father," she whispered, her voice tinged with both fondness and sadness.

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted their moment. Mary turned to see Queen Arthea entering the room, her commanding presence filling the space. Mary immediately bowed low, her hand on Agro's shoulder to signal him to do the same.

"So," Arthea said, her tone as crisp as the autumn air. "This is the boy?"

Agro straightened, meeting her gaze with defiance. "Yes," he said simply.

Arthea's eyes swept over him, assessing. "Tell me, how is it that you and your family are so close to King Chil?"

Mary's breath hitched. "Your Majesty," she began carefully, "we are not permitted to speak of such things."

The queen's expression hardened, her sharp features like a chiseled statue. "Not permitted?"

Mary kept her tone steady, though her hands tightened slightly on Agro's shoulders. "We have been ordered to remain silent, Your Majesty."

Agro's temper flared at the exchange. "You're not our queen," he blurted, his voice sharp and loud.

Mary's grip on his shoulders tightened, her fingers digging in. "Agro," she hissed, "calm yourself."

Queen Arthea's eyes narrowed, her voice low and cold. "You are in my kingdom, boy. Do not forget that."

Before Agro could retort, the door creaked open, and Sara stepped inside. She wore a delicate gown of soft lavender, her hair adorned with tiny gems that sparkled like stars. She paused at the sight of the tense scene before her, her brows knitting together.

"Mother?" she said, her voice cutting through the charged air. "What's going on?"

Arthea straightened, her expression smoothing into something more neutral. "Nothing, Sara. I was merely speaking with this boy. He shares your birthday."

Sara's curious gaze shifted to Agro. She stepped closer, her movements light and deliberate. "You do?"

Agro gave a small nod, his earlier defiance dimmed by the calm curiosity in her voice. "I do."

A faint smile tugged at Sara's lips. "Then I suppose that makes today special for both of us."

Mary let out a quiet breath, relieved by the shift in tone. Arthea, however, remained watchful, her sharp gaze flicking between the children.

"Mother," Sara continued, turning back to the queen, "may I speak with him?"

Arthea hesitated, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides. Finally, she gave a short nod. "You may."

As the queen exited the room, Mary quickly ushered Agro toward Sara, her voice low. "Be respectful," she murmured.

Agro rolled his eyes but said nothing.

Sara tilted her head, studying him. "Do you like parties?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Not really," Agro admitted. "I don't like being in places like this."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't feel right. This isn't home."

Sara frowned thoughtfully. "I don't think this feels like home either."

Agro blinked, surprised. "But… you live here."

"Sometimes living in a place doesn't make it feel like home," Sara said quietly, her gaze dropping to the floor.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The distant sounds of music and laughter filtered through the closed door, muffled yet persistent.

Agro finally broke the silence. "Do you like parties?"

Sara smiled faintly. "Not really. They're always about everyone else, even though they're supposed to be about me."

Agro tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Sara's smile widened, but there was a hint of sadness in it. "Everyone comes to impress my mother, not to celebrate with me. That's just how it is."

Agro considered her words, then nodded slowly. "That doesn't sound fair."

"It's not," Sara agreed.

The two children shared a quiet moment of understanding, their differences momentarily forgotten.

Meanwhile, in the grand hall, Queen Arthea stood with King Chil, her expression unreadable. "What are you planning with that boy?" she asked, her voice low.

Chil's lips curled into a faint smile. "Nothing you should worry about, Queen Arthea. Tonight is about the children, not us."

Arthea's eyes narrowed. "Every action has a purpose, King Chil. Do not think I've forgotten that."

"And every purpose," Chil countered, his tone calm but firm, "has a reason. Perhaps one day you'll understand mine."

Arthea said nothing, her gaze fixed on the distant door behind which the children were talking. Her thoughts churned, but her expression betrayed none of it.

Back in the room, Sara turned to Agro, her curiosity evident. "Do you want to see the garden? It's quieter there."

Agro hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."

The two of them slipped out together, their small figures disappearing into the corridors of the palace. Somewhere behind them, unseen and unheard, Queen Arthea stood in the shadows, watching

Sara led Agro through the winding corridors of the palace, her steps light and quick. The muffled sounds of the celebration faded as they approached a set of ornate glass doors at the far end of the hall. She pushed them open, and a cool breeze greeted them, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and fresh earth.

Agro paused at the threshold, his eyes widening slightly. The garden stretched out before them, a lush, vibrant sanctuary surrounded by high stone walls. Lanterns hung from wrought-iron posts, their soft, golden glow illuminating the winding paths that cut through clusters of roses, lilies, and ivy-draped trellises. A gentle stream meandered through the space, its waters glittering under the light of the moon.

"This is… different," Agro said, his voice quieter than usual.

Sara glanced back at him with a small smile. "It's my favorite place. No one comes here during parties. They're too busy trying to impress my mother inside."

She stepped onto the cobblestone path, motioning for Agro to follow. He hesitated for a moment before stepping outside, the cool stones beneath his feet grounding him.

Sara led him toward a small wooden bridge that arched over the stream. She stopped in the middle, leaning on the railing and staring down at the rippling water below. "I come here when I want to think," she said softly.

Agro joined her, though he kept a slight distance. "Think about what?"

"About everything," Sara replied, her voice thoughtful. "About what it means to be a princess. About what my mother expects of me. About how things might be different if I weren't… me."

Agro frowned, leaning against the railing. "You don't want to be a princess?"

Sara shook her head. "It's not that. It's just… it feels like everyone sees the crown before they see me. Even my mother sometimes."

Agro looked away, his fingers curling around the railing. "At least you have a mother who cares."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately stiffened, glancing at Sara to see her reaction. She didn't look offended. Instead, her expression softened, her gaze fixed on the water below.

"Does she?" Sara asked quietly. "Sometimes I wonder if she cares more about the kingdom than she does about me."

Agro's brow furrowed. "She threw this huge party for you, didn't she?"

Sara shrugged. "It's not really for me. It's for the kings and queens and all the people she needs to keep on her side. I'm just… the excuse."

Agro didn't know what to say to that, so he stayed silent, the sounds of the stream filling the quiet between them.

A faint rustling caught their attention, and both children turned toward the sound. From the shadows of the garden emerged a sleek, black cat. Its green eyes gleamed in the lantern light as it padded toward them, its movements graceful and deliberate.

"That's Midnight," Sara said, her tone brightening for the first time. She crouched down, holding out her hand. The cat approached her without hesitation, rubbing its head against her palm.

"You have a cat?" Agro asked, his tone slightly skeptical.

Sara smiled, scratching behind Midnight's ears. "He's not really mine. He just showed up one day and decided to stay. My mother says he's a nuisance, but I think he's clever. He knows all the best hiding spots."

Agro crouched as well, extending a cautious hand. Midnight sniffed his fingers before giving a halfhearted nuzzle. "He's not bad," Agro admitted.

Sara grinned. "He likes you. Midnight doesn't like many people."

Agro glanced at her, noticing the genuine warmth in her expression. It was a stark contrast to the guarded, formal demeanor she'd had when they first met. For the first time, she didn't seem like a princess—just a girl.

"You're not what I expected," Agro said after a moment.

Sara tilted her head, her smile fading slightly. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know," Agro admitted. "Someone… different. Stuck-up, maybe. Bossy."

Sara laughed, a sound that echoed lightly through the garden. "I can be bossy when I need to be. But only when people don't listen."

Agro smirked. "Good thing I'm a great listener."

Sara rolled her eyes, but her smile returned. She straightened, brushing off her gown. "Come on. There's more to see."

She led him deeper into the garden, past a cluster of lavender bushes that filled the air with their sweet, calming fragrance. They reached a small clearing where a stone bench sat beneath a flowering cherry tree. The petals glowed pale pink in the lantern light, some drifting gently to the ground with the breeze.

"This is my favorite spot," Sara said, sitting on the bench and gesturing for Agro to join her.

He hesitated, but something in her gaze convinced him to sit down. For a moment, they simply sat in silence, the tranquility of the garden wrapping around them like a blanket.

"Do you ever wish you could leave?" Agro asked suddenly, his voice quiet.

Sara glanced at him, her expression thoughtful. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But I wouldn't know where to go. This is all I've ever known."

Agro nodded slowly. "I think about leaving all the time. Just… going somewhere far away. Somewhere no one knows me."

"Why don't you?" Sara asked.

He shrugged. "Because of my mom. She's all I have. I can't just leave her behind."

Sara looked down at her hands, her fingers tracing the delicate embroidery on her gown. "I think your mom is lucky to have you."

Agro glanced at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. "Thanks," he muttered.

The sound of distant laughter drifted through the garden, a reminder of the party still going on inside. Sara sighed, standing and brushing the petals off her gown.

"We should probably go back," she said reluctantly.

Agro stood as well, his gaze lingering on the cherry tree. "Yeah, I guess."

As they walked back toward the palace, Midnight trailing behind them, Sara glanced at Agro. "Maybe this place isn't so bad with you here," she said, a hint of teasing in her tone.

Agro smirked. "Don't get used to it, princess."

Sara laughed, the sound light and free. For the first time that evening, she felt like the celebration might actually be hers after all