Aoleria, weary of endless war, realized she had to make a choice. If there was even a spark of goodness left within Zytherion, perhaps she could reach it. If she could turn him to her side, the bloodshed might finally end.
One night, beneath the silver glow of the moon, she stood atop the highest tower of her ice palace, gazing toward the cursed forest. Her heart whispered: "What if there is still light in him? What if I can touch it? The war could end. Lives could be saved." That fragile thought awakened the forbidden love she had buried long ago.
But within his dark fortress, Zytherion thought differently. To him, Aoleria's search for goodness was weakness. He did not wish to be redeemed—he wished to conquer.
"The only way to claim her," he muttered into the shadows, "is to break her completely. Not with love… but with victory."
The next day, when they faced each other on the battlefield, Aoleria searched his crimson eyes. She yearned to find the human spark she once imagined there. But all she saw was fire, rage, and the relentless glow of darkness.
"Zytherion," she pleaded, her voice cold but tinged with hope. "If there is any goodness left in you, stop this war. End the bloodshed. Choose the light with me."
Zytherion's smile curved, filled with bitterness and desire.
"You still hope, Aoleria… and that is why you will lose. There is no light in me, only you. And you will be mine—whether you choose it willingly, or buried with your ice."
Aoleria's heart clenched. The spark she sought did not exist. In that moment, she knew their love could only birth ruin. And so, her heart froze once more, sealing away the last trace of hope.