Two sisters stood at the crossroads of light and shadow: one born of darkness, tender and devoted, while the other blazed with an unforgiving radiance, her heart seething with a fury that could scorch everything in its path.

  Eons ago, in a time long forgotten, the walls of Castle Asura blazed with joy and cheers. The lord had just created his first children—twin girls. The eldest, was named Ventris born of light, was a vision of brilliance. Her golden hair shone with such a radiant intensity that only the god-king himself could look upon her without being blinded. She exuded so much power that the old king wondered if he had perhaps outdone himself. The youngest, Solaria, born of darkness and shadow, was just as remarkable. Though she was the younger of the two, she held greater power. Her platinum-white hair shone like moonlight, a stark contrast to the dark and blue eyes that shimmered with the vastness of the starry night sky. Within them, twinkling stars and shifting nebulae in hues of pinks, purples, and blues seemed to swirl. When one gazed into them, it was as though they could peer into the very depths of the universe.

  The proud father brought both babies out and broadcasted their images throughout his vast kingdom. The cheers of his angels filled the castle as they sang hymns while he presented the adorable children to meet the masses. The planet Oreath, which would, centuries later, come to be known as Earth, echoed with celebration. The mortals held festivals, and some transcendent humans arrived to personally congratulate the king. These humans were among the first of his creations and the ruling class of his people, right after him, having reached the thresholds of godhood themselves. They too had something to celebrate—a son of their own.

  The boy, born the first crown prince of the human empire, was named Aurelius, a name meaning "first" and "strongest," symbolizing his place as the firstborn son and the embodiment of power.

  He was born only a few days prior to Lord Asura's daughters, a tiny bundle of innocence with the most striking features. His skin was soft and dark, a sharp contrast to the vividness of his golden-blue eyes—eyes that shimmered like precious gems, both fierce and serene. His hair, as dark as the midnight sky, began as a deep black at the roots and faded into a radiant gold at the tips, capturing the light like a glimpse of the sun's first rays at dawn.

  When he was presented to the god-king, the room filled with awe as the little prince's face broke into a large, gummy smile. His eyes sparkled with a sense of wonder and awe as he looked up at the towering figure of Lord Asura. The king, moved by the moment, gently reached for the boy, asking if he could hold him. The entire room fell silent, waiting in anticipation.

  But what followed took them all by surprise. As the god-king cradled the baby, the little prince—filled with pure joy—giggled and, with surprising strength, reached up to grasp the god-king's majestic beard. He tugged playfully, his tiny fingers pulling at the long strands, cooing and laughing with delight. The room erupted with laughter, the tension melting away as they watched the adorable sight. Even the god-king, typically so composed, couldn't help but chuckle, his deep, thunderous laugh echoing through the castle. The moment was one of pure, innocent joy—a fleeting reminder of the bond between the divine and the mortal.

  As the adults went to discuss matters of the realm, the three children—Ventris, Solaria, and Aurelius—were placed in a lush garden enclosure, a serene space filled with vibrant flowers and soft grass. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming roses and the gentle hum of life around them. The children sat in the center, mesmerized by the world unfolding around them, their wide eyes taking in the chaos of voices and movements in the distance, yet their peaceful little corner remained untouched by the turmoil.

  Above them, the angels—radiant and ethereal—hovered gracefully. They circled around the babies, their voices weaving together in angelic hymns that seemed to float on the air like a soft breeze. Some of the angels gently leaned down to play, their glowing hands extending to coax smiles from the babies. Solaria, with her platinum-white hair and eyes like the starry sky, giggled as an angel cradled her and gently rocked her back and forth, singing a lullaby so sweet it made the flowers sway in rhythm. Aurelius, his small fingers reaching out, tugged at the flowing robes of an angel, who bent down and laughed softly, twirling him in her arms as the boy's bright eyes sparkled with delight.

  Ventris, with her golden-blonde hair and ruby red eyes, watched intently, her gaze fixed on the angels dancing above her. One of the celestial beings floated just above her, letting her small hand grasp the glowing fingers extended toward her. The angel leaned in, her song echoing softly as Ventris giggled, the fiery spark in her eyes lighting up as if her very soul was touched by the harmony around her.

  The garden became a playground of laughter, music, and the purest joy, as the celestial beings danced around the babies, filling the air with love and light.

  The future looked bright for the three children, as they were surrounded by love and peace. Born at the heights of power within their societies, they were cherished not only by their devoted parents but also by their adoring subjects. In their peaceful world, filled with the warmth of affection and the promise of greatness, the path ahead seemed destined for harmony and prosperity. Their lives, woven with the threads of love and power, stood as a beacon for what the future could hold.

  But just because you are raised with love does not mean you will become a loving person. The choice lies within you as an individual. It is not the circumstances of your birth or the affection you are shown that define your heart, but the decisions you make. You have the power to choose whether you will be filled with love or consumed by hatred, for the heart's true nature is shaped not by what is given to you, but by what you choose to embrace.

  Three centuries since had quickly passed and deep in a dense forest, a wild boar charged through the underbrush. The beast was massive, nearly the size of a fully grown human, measuring about 5 feet long from snout to tail, and standing roughly 3 feet at the shoulders. Its thick, powerful body rippled with muscle, its hooves pounding the earth as it ran with frantic speed. The boar's breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, its eyes wide and wild with fear, darting about as it sensed the predator closing in.

  Not too far behind, a young boy was hot on its trail. His hair, dark at the roots, faded into gold at the tips, catching the light as he moved with fluid grace. His body, lean and athletic for a preteen, was built for speed and agility. At around 4 and a half feet tall, his limbs were toned with the strength of someone who spent his days running and climbing, muscles already defined but still growing. His chest rose and fell in quick breaths, eyes focused intently on his prey. With every step, his youthful energy propelled him forward, his movements quick and calculated, a testament to the training and discipline that had shaped him into the hunter he was becoming.

  He watched from the trees, his sharp eyes tracking the boar's every movement. With a focused determination, he began throwing down massive branches, strategically placing them to herd the beast down the path he wanted it to follow, keeping it on course toward the pen it had escaped from. The boar's hide was dark brown, with jagged white streaks running through its coat like lightning scars. The markings were runic, glowing faintly with magic—a clear sign it had been blessed with powerful enchantments. The creature possessed the strength of ten men and a slight affinity for earth magic, making it all the more dangerous.

  The young man knew that if the boar made its way further into the forest, it could reach the less protected areas where humans, especially the vulnerable ones who had no resistance to magic, could fall prey to its wrath. His pursuit had begun the moment it escaped, and now, as the boar neared the pen, it suddenly broke off the path. It turned, heading straight for a group of unsuspecting hikers.

  In a flash of magic-fueled speed, the boy dashed forward, his body a blur as he closed the gap between them. His muscles burned with effort as he leaped toward the boar, grabbing the beast by its tusks with an iron grip. With a powerful twist of his body, he slammed the creature into the ground, the force of the impact sending a loud thud echoing through the trees. The boar lay still, unconscious from the blow, its magic temporarily subdued by the sheer force of the strike.

  The young man stood over the fallen beast, his chest heaving with exertion. He wiped his brow and sighed, speaking aloud to no one in particular, "I wanted to get her home without having to do that again..." His voice was tinged with frustration, but also a strange sense of satisfaction. Though it was necessary, he knew that subduing the boar in such a way would only bring more challenges ahead.

  The young prince, exhausted from his pursuit, plopped down beside the unconscious boar, the tension in his muscles starting to ease. His breath was still heavy, but the adrenaline was slowly fading, leaving a calm sense of accomplishment. As he leaned back against the forest floor, the sound of footsteps approached, followed by the murmurs of voices. The frightened hikers, who had heard the loud explosion of the boar's fall, came to investigate.

  Two figures emerged from the trees: Mirlack and his son Zervas.

  Mirlack was a burly man, a human without magic but a force of nature in his own right. His sheer strength was legendary, with no mana flowing through his veins, yet he could take down opponents twice his size with ease. His thick arms and broad shoulders spoke of a lifetime of hard labor, and his presence alone was enough to make most step aside.

  His son, Zervas, walked beside him. At 16, Zervas was slender but well-toned, his muscles honed through years of training and hard work. His affinity for wind magic was apparent in the way his body moved—fluid and graceful, as if the wind itself whispered through his veins. His shoulder-length silky white hair, tipped with soft green highlights, swayed in the breeze, a sign of his connection to the air element. He wore his magical gift with pride, not hiding it, but embracing it as a part of who he was.

  When Zervas saw the young prince sitting next to the boar, he immediately knew exactly what had happened. The boar lying unconscious before them was Gerelda, a prized magic beast from a neighboring farm that had a notorious habit of breaking out. And the young prince—well, it had become something of a tradition between them. The prince had made it his favorite pastime to track down Gerelda and return her home after each escape. It was a game, of sorts—one that the boar seemed to enjoy as much as he did. As one of the few quasi-forest lord magic beasts, Gerelda found a worthy challenger in the young prince, who was one of the only beings aside from actual forest lords that she could play with in such a manner.

  As Mirlack and Zervas approached, Mirlack smiled and waved at the young prince, his voice warm and knowing. "Hello, young prince. Relda got out again, I see. Is it already time for your weekly game of tag?"

  The boy, still catching his breath, looked up at the two men with a tired but amused grin. He had become so accustomed to this, the game, the chase—it was a routine, one that was almost as much a part of him as his royal duties. The boar's playful escape had become an unwelcome but familiar interruption to his week, and though it was exhausting, he found a strange thrill in the pursuit.

  "Hey Mir, it's been a while! I haven't seen you since the last harvest festival!" The young prince called out, his voice light with warmth. His gaze then shifted to Zervas, and he smiled proudly, a sense of fondness radiating from him. "And this must be little Z," he said, the tone of affection clear in his voice.

  Even though the young prince was over 300 years old, his physical body only resembled that of a 12-year-old. Time passed slowly for him, and though his years were vast, his youthful appearance remained unchanged. But beneath that youthful exterior was one of the strongest souls in the land. As the crown prince of the human empire and a transcendent, he had earned a reputation not only for his immense power but for his genuine desire to connect with the people he ruled. He wasn't just a ruler—he was part of their lives.

  He had known Mirlack for many years, holding him as a baby, just as he had with his father before him. When Zervas was born, the prince had been asked to be his godfather, and in time, he took on the role of Zervas's magic teacher. He had helped the young boy refine his wind affinity, guiding him through the complexities of elemental magic.

  He looked at Zervas now with a brotherly gaze, seeing the boy not only as a student but as a younger sibling, someone he had watched grow over the years. As much as the prince had tried to teach Mirlack the ways of magic, he had quickly realized that the farmer found greater joy in the simplicity of hard work rather than the complexities of spells and incantations. Mir's strength lay not in magic but in the solid foundation of effort and perseverance. The prince had always respected that about him, even if he had wished his friend shared more of a connection to the arcane world.

  "How's the wind treating you today?" The prince asked, shifting his attention back to Zervas with a playful grin. "Ready to show me how much you've learned since last time?"

  "Not today, Aure. Me and father are gathering blue-vined jasmine grass today," Zervas replied, his voice light as he gestured to the gear strapped to his back.

  When the prince heard that, it suddenly dawned on him: Gerelda had run toward them because she smelled the grass. It was her favorite treat, after all, but more importantly, it was the scent of the two men's equipment—shovels, cutlasses, and other tools used for harvesting the prized herb. The tools still held the faint, sweet fragrance of blue-vined jasmine, a scent that Gerelda could never resist.

  The young prince chuckled softly and sighed as he gently petted the still-sleeping boar. "Well, looks like you've led yourself into another trap, Gerelda," he mused with a grin. The boar's preference for the herb had drawn her toward the very men who were gathering it, and now the chase had led to yet another playful confrontation.

  Blue-vined jasmine grass was an incredibly rare herb, growing only on a long, winding path that led up into the mountains of Kyre. It required a three-day trip to reach the field and return, but it was well worth the journey. The herb was known for its powerful medicinal and healing properties. It could even be brewed into a potent ale called King's Nectar—so strong that even immortals could become drunk from just a small cup.

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  The prince, now realizing how Gerelda had tracked them, smiled and lightly shook his head. "She's got an excellent nose for the good stuff, that's for sure." He said, laughing softly as he petted the unconscious boar.

  The prince knew he had taken up enough of their time and gave a small signal, indicating that he was going to leave. The three men shared a firm handshake, a gesture of mutual respect, and parted ways.

  Mirlack pulled out a sandwich, ready to eat before they continued their journey. His son, Zervas, sat beside him, and they began to share a quiet meal, the sounds of the forest and their relaxed conversation filling the air.

  Meanwhile, the young prince, Aurelius, lifted the large boar with ease, his strength barely challenged by the creature's size. Despite its weight, he carried Gerelda effortlessly, heading back toward the farm to return her to her enclosure. The boar stirred slightly in his arms but remained unconscious, still oblivious to the fact that her game of escape had come to an end for the day.

  As the prince walked off, he glanced back over his shoulder at Mirlack and Zervas, offering them a final smile before disappearing into the trees, the sounds of the forest returning to its peaceful rhythm.

  As the prince made his way home, walking through the bustling city square, he waved to his subjects, offering them a warm, if somewhat reserved, smile. Though he sometimes tried to blend in with the crowd, his golden-blue eyes and black-and-gold hair were unmistakable giveaways, so he eventually stopped trying to hide. When he reached the castle walls, the guards greeted him with reverence and respect, but there was also a palpable joy in their hearts. The prince had made an effort to remember all their names, and some of the guards were even descendants of those he had befriended long ago. His connection to them was not just that of a ruler, but of a man who genuinely cared for the people under his protection.

  As Aurelius reached the door to his room, he heard a soft, familiar voice that brought a smile to his face. "Hello, Aure. Had a good run in the woods?"

  It was Solaria, daughter of the god-king, with her platinum-white hair cascading in soft waves, her starry eyes sparkling like the night sky. She wore a beautiful frilly blue and gold dress, the fabric shimmering as she moved gracefully toward him.

  "Hello, Soli. Didn't expect you to come by this early." Aurelius replied, his voice filled with both surprise and affection.

  She leaped into his arms, and without missing a beat, he spun her round and round, her platinum-white hair flowing like a cascading waterfall. As the prince laughed, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, her embrace so strong it felt like she could crush him. Yet, despite the force, there was nothing but warmth and affection in the way she held him, her heart full of joy at being in his presence once more.

  He was by no means weak—Aurelius was a transcendent, a being who had crossed the threshold into godhood, He was far stronger than any mortal or immortal—his strength unmatched by any who walked the earth. Only his father, the king of all humans, could offer him a real challenge, their battles testing the very limits of their power. Yet, when it came to pure strength, he was still weaker than Solaria. She was a true goddess, a being of a plane of existence higher than even immortals, and her strength was unparalleled. While Solaria's strength was greater than his own, he knew well that their power, though different, was complementary—a balance between godhood and transcendence that would forever tie them together.

  Their betrothal had been arranged as part of a promise between the god-king and his father, Barbarus. It was a testament to their shared commitment to preserving peace between the humans and the gods, a bond forged not just in love, but in the hope of unity between two worlds that had long stood apart.

  In tales of old, Aurelius had read that before King Asura had discovered Oreath, it was a barren wasteland, filled with dangerous magical beasts and warring factions. The land was a place of constant chaos, where survival was a daily struggle and few could claim any measure of peace. During this time, his father, Barbarus, had been a king—ruling over a fractured world torn apart by bloodshed and strife.

  Barbarus had lost his own father when he was young, a tragedy that had shaped him into the fierce and determined ruler he became. Alongside his mother, Abella, Barbarus had spent years plotting and strategizing, slowly gaining control of the war-torn lands, inching toward some semblance of order. But it wasn't until King Asura arrived, with his divine power and wisdom, that things truly began to change. With Asura's help, the world was reshaped, the chaos quelled, and a new era of peace began to take root—one that extended beyond the realms of mortals and into the heavens themselves.

  The alliance between the gods and mortals, forged in blood and sacrifice, was a testament to how far the world had come—and to the power of unity in the face of overwhelming odds.

  Aurelius appreciated the peace he had been born into, knowing that it was the result of countless sacrifices and bloodshed. As he grew older and learned the truth of his father's struggles, his admiration for Barbarus deepened. The king had forged peace in a world once torn apart by war, and the prince aspired to be like him—strong, wise, and unyielding in his commitment to keeping that peace.

  Aurelius knew that the world he lived in, with its fragile balance between gods and mortals, was built on the foundation his father had laid. It was not enough to rest on the laurels of the present; he had to ensure that the peace they enjoyed would endure for future generations. And so, with determination in his heart, he strived every day to be worthy of the legacy his father had left him, vowing to protect the peace Barbarus had fought so hard to achieve.

  Though Ventris often mocked him for his relative weakness, Solaria had always been there to support him. Her love and guidance helped him discover his true strength—not in sheer might, but in wisdom, patience, and compassion. Through Solaria, Aurelius learned that true power wasn't solely measured by physical strength; it was rooted in the bonds they shared, in the quiet moments of trust, loyalty, and understanding. Their relationship showed him that the most enduring strength came not from force, but from the love and support they gave each other.

  Eventually, Aurelius was able to grow into a strong warrior in his own right. Through years of dedication, training, and the guidance of those around him, including Solaria, he honed his skills and strength. While his power may never reach the heights of Solaria's godly might, he became a force to be reckoned with—fierce, skilled, and unyielding in battle. His strength wasn't just in his physical prowess, but in his heart, his unwavering resolve to protect those he loved and the peace his father had worked so hard to establish. Through constant effort, Aurelius proved that even the weakest among them could become formidable in their own way. He was no longer simply the crown prince of the human empire, but a warrior in his own right, worthy of respect in both the realms of gods and mortals alike.

  Presently, the young lovers stood in a quiet embrace, the warmth of their connection filling the space between them. Solaria was the first to break the silence, her voice soft but heavy with concern.

  "She did it again, Aure." She sighed, her gaze troubled. "She hurt them... The humans in the Caniss Empire. While we were out doing our rounds and healing the sick in the far regions, a human child seemed to have annoyed her, and... She burned them all."

  Aurelius's expression tightened, the weight of her words sinking in. Solaria continued, her voice barely above a whisper, the sadness in her eyes evident.

  "I stopped her and healed as many as I could, but when Father heard of it, he immediately stopped her from being able to leave the Celestial Palace. He's... Furious with her."

  Her words hung in the air, the tension palpable as they both felt the gravity of the situation. Solaria, always calm and composed, now seemed visibly shaken by the cruelty of her sibling, Ventris's actions. Aurelius could see the pain in her eyes, the frustration of trying to keep peace within a family that was slowly unraveling.

  The sorrow and frustration in her celestial eyes pressed heavily on his heart. Despite his immense strength and power, there were so many things beyond his reach. He couldn't fix this, couldn't restore Ventris to her senses, nor could he undo the damage she'd caused to those she had hurt. He longed for the answers, for a way to ease her pain and bring back her smile. But for now, in this moment, all he could offer was comfort.

  "... Come with me." He murmured, taking her hand. She followed in silence, trusting the warmth and steadiness of his grip.

  The God King, Asura, believed that true power lay not only in creating and ruling, but in understanding the delicate balance of intervention. He knew that while his daughters were gods, they were not to simply wield their power indiscriminately. Instead, he sent them on missions across the world to address issues that required their divine abilities, but with the understanding that they should never interfere where human effort could suffice. He wanted them to help, to guide, but not to control.

  The rule he had established over the world was one built on respect for the mortals' autonomy. He believed that humans, though lesser in strength, had their own paths to walk and problems to solve. They were not helpless; they were capable of growth, of resolving conflicts on their own, and learning from their mistakes. The God King's daughters were sent to places where their guidance could make a difference—whether it was healing the sick, providing wisdom, or addressing natural calamities. Yet, in every situation, they were careful to avoid interfering in human quarrels that didn't require divine intervention. It was a lesson in restraint and responsibility, a way of showing his daughters that their power was not meant to dominate, but to uplift and protect.

  And while the God King was the creator of all things in the universe, he was not a boastful ruler. His humility was part of his strength. He managed his vast realm with care, keeping the balance of life and death, light and dark, growth and decay, under control. His influence extended over not just this world, but the entire universe—each one intricately designed and ruled under his watchful eye. And while other universes existed, Asura's rule was firm, steady, and just. He had created the very fabric of existence itself, and his reign had been one of peace and stability for eons.

  The God King had no interest in domination for the sake of power, nor did he desire to control every aspect of his creation. He understood that even gods must respect the natural order of things. He had kept good rule over his territory, not through force, but through wisdom and the quiet strength of knowing when to act and when to step back. His daughters, however, were still learning this balance, especially Ventris, whose growing cruelty was becoming a source of concern.

  Ventris had always carried a certain air of superiority, born from her immense power and the way she saw the world. She believed that those she deemed "beneath her," especially mortals, were little more than insignificant creatures—mere ants in the grand scheme of things. She saw their lives as disposable, considering them nothing more than tools to be used or discarded at her whim.

  For centuries, this attitude had been present in her, though it was once contained by the guidance of her family, particularly her father, the God King. However, as time went on, Ventris's cruelty grew more pronounced. Her actions escalated from manipulation and intimidation to outright violence, and it wasn't long before she began taking the lives of humans in what seemed to her like a mere exercise of power. Her heart, once cold but controlled, had become tainted by a darker kind of cruelty—one that was not content with simply bending others to her will, but sought to extinguish their lives altogether.

  Some of the other celestial beings, those who shared her power and pride, began to rally behind her, agreeing with her view of mortals as expendable. They saw her cruelty not as a problem, but as an expression of strength. To them, humans were just ants to be crushed underfoot. To them, killing was a natural extension of power, a necessary action to maintain dominance.

  But the God King, Asura, saw things differently. He could not ignore the growing darkness in his daughter. While he had always known her to be strong, he had never imagined she would descend so far into tyranny. He understood that strength, while essential, could not be wielded without compassion and wisdom. Ventris's approach—her willingness to kill without remorse—was not the kind of ruler he had hoped she would become.

  Asura saw the potential in her, and he had hoped she would one day rise above her arrogance and embrace a more balanced and just rule. But with each act of cruelty, he feared that hope was slipping away. The God King had always sought peace between gods and mortals, and he knew that Ventris's path would lead only to chaos. It was not the ruler he wanted for his people, and it certainly wasn't the ruler he wanted his eldest child to become.

  Solaria in the following years had become a symbol of peace and compassion, despite her origin as the goddess of darkness, void, and shadow. Her connection to the quiet and mysterious forces of the universe had not turned her heart cold, as some might have expected. Instead, she had embraced her role as a protector, a healer, and a guide for the people. Her ability to understand the delicate balance between light and dark, creation and destruction, had made her beloved by the mortals. They found solace in her presence, and her actions spoke volumes about her true nature—one of grace, humility, and unwavering kindness.

  She saw the value in all beings, whether divine or mortal. She knew that her true strength lay in her ability to connect with others, to listen, and to guide them without overwhelming them with her power. This was what made her beloved, not just by mortals but by many celestial beings as well. Though she was the goddess of darkness, her heart was a light in itself, shining brighter than any golden radiance, a beacon of hope for those who knew how to look beyond appearances.

  In stark contrast, her sister Ventris, the so-called "blessed daughter of light," had fallen further into her own delusions of grandeur. Ventris had begun to see herself as the only true deity deserving of worship, believing that her divine heritage made her above the mortals. She grew resentful of the humans who did not revere her as she felt they should, her arrogance becoming more pronounced with each passing year. In her eyes, they were nothing more than fragile creatures, beneath her and undeserving of anything but her contempt.

  She often thought to herself that the pitiful humans should worship her, for she was the one born of light, the one who could wield the power of the heavens. As she continued to fuel her own sense of superiority, she became more isolated, lost in the belief that her power and lineage made her a goddess far above the reach of any mortal.

  Solaria had always been meant to be her sister's support, the hand that would guide Ventris when the God King, Asura, would eventually step down and leave the reins of power to one of his daughters. The plan had always been for the two of them to work together, to balance each other out—Ventris, with her powerful light and strength, and Solaria, with her wisdom and compassion born from the darkness and void. Asura had believed that through their shared rule, they could create a kingdom of balance, where both light and shadow were honored.

  However, as the years passed, the God King began to witness the slow, steady corruption of his eldest daughter. Ventris's cruelty and her growing arrogance made it clear that she was no longer the ruler he had hoped she would become. She had fallen too far into darkness, but a different kind—a darkness of the soul, one that saw mortals as nothing more than pawns to be crushed underfoot. Her sense of superiority had reached dangerous levels, and the God King knew that she could not be trusted with the fate of the humans, the very beings they had once sought to protect and guide.

  With a heavy heart, Asura made the painful decision to strip Ventris of her right to rule over the humans. He handed that responsibility to Solaria, believing that her pure heart and her unwavering compassion would bring a sense of justice and peace to the world. The God King hoped that by giving Solaria the power and authority over the humans, Ventris would be forced to learn from her sister, to see what true leadership was—a leadership rooted in love, not dominance.

  But for Ventris, the God King's decision was nothing less than a betrayal. She saw it as a public dismissal, an indication that her father no longer believed in her potential. Her anger burned, and she could not comprehend why she had been chosen to be cast aside in favor of Solaria. She had always believed that she was the one most deserving of the throne, the one who was meant to rule. To her, her father's action was not a lesson, but a rejection, and it twisted her heart further toward hatred and resentment.

  Instead of learning from her sister, Ventris grew more bitter and vengeful, viewing Solaria's ascension not as a chance for growth, but as a mark of betrayal. The very sister who had once been her closest confidante, her support, was now seen as an obstacle, the reason for her fall from grace. In Ventris's eyes, Solaria had stolen what was rightfully hers, and that wound festered, feeding her cruelty even more.

  This was the fracture that began to deepen between the two sisters, a divide that would shape their destinies in ways neither could have foreseen. While Solaria, with her light and compassion, sought to lead with justice, Ventris, consumed by her feelings of betrayal, turned further away from the path of righteousness, making her eventual descent into darkness all the more inevitable.