The Longing Of My Soul

Enemies in every sense of the word.
The blood feud between their houses had spanned generations-etched into ancient oaths, sealed in violence, and sustained by an unrelenting thirst for vengeance.

From the illustrious House Virelion came Prince Caelum-sharp-tongued and dangerously charming. Beneath his arrogant veneer lay a mind crafted for manipulation. Gifted with the ancestral power of illusion, he could bend reality to his will, weaving visions so convincing they could unmake truth itself.

Opposing him stood Princess Serelith of the fearsome House Nytheris-a lineage steeped in shadow and secrecy. Brilliant, self-contained, and perceptive beyond her years, Serelith moved through the world like moonlight: silent, cold, and piercing. Though she rarely spoke, her words, when delivered, carried the weight of knives.

It was on one fateful night, beneath the veiled revelry of a masquerade hidden deep within the city's underbelly, that the two met-unaware of each other's identities. Masks concealed their bloodlines; wine dulled their suspicion. For a few stolen hours, they were not heirs of hatred, but strangers drawn together by wit, dance, and a shared hunger for something neither could name.

They spoke in riddles, laughed too freely, and danced as if the world did not burn around them. And when the night waned, it ended not with a name, but with a kiss-smoldering, breathless, unfinished.

But peace does not linger long in the lives of heirs.

When Serelith was commanded to infiltrate Virelion's palace under moonlight and end the prince's life, she did not flinch. Her blade was silent as her breath. But when she slipped into his chamber and found Caelum-unarmored, asleep, entirely human-something shifted.

Her hand trembled. Her blade lowered.

She had found the boy behind the mask.

And in that pause, fate took root.

Thus began the unraveling.