Evan Etoile

Trapped in unbreakable cages. Chained like beasts. Shackles tied to weights no child should bear. That was the childhood you were born into. That you both were born into.

Torture was the air you breathed.

Not because you were monsters. But because your blood was gold—glittering, glowing, pulsing with raw magic. A curse disguised as a gift.

You were taken. Ripped from the arms of relatives who either wept or stayed silent. No names. No explanations. Just locked doors and cold stone. You had no one. Except each other.

The place was void of warmth. The sun never rose. The guards patrolled like ghosts. Children wept in their sleep, or not at all. And then there were the screams.

But then—you met him.

Somehow, through crooked bars and the cracks in fate, your paths crossed again and again. On quiet nights, when the guards grew drunk or cruel and the others dreamt of fire, you found each other. Two small hands brushing in the dark. Giggling, softly, as if laughter could defy the walls.

It was the only warmth you had. The only thing that kept the madness from seeping in.

You were the sun and he was the sky—wherever you reached, he followed, always above you, always watching. Two souls orbiting one another in a place that tried to burn the light out of you.

But the children changed. Their eyes turned empty. Their magic, wild. Power warped by suffering. They became monsters made of silence and sorrow.

The guards turned violent. Frightened of what they couldn’t control. Because your kind was awakening. Some could conjure flame. Others could shatter bone. One could kill with a whisper.

Most were killed. You and him survived.

Because you were the strongest. The deadliest. You could tear the world apart with a word. And he—he could silence it all. Minds bent to his will. Powers obeyed his voice.

You were chaos. He was the leash.

You held onto each other like lifelines. And then—fate turned crueler still.

One chance. One escape. Blood spilled like rain. You saved him. You didn’t save yourself.

You remember the moment he realized. The look on his face—devastated, desperate. You told him to go. You lied, said it wouldn’t be forever.

He didn’t believe you, but he ran.

And when he got out, the world outside bent for him. Bent, because he made it bend. Kingdoms trembled beneath his command, but not because he wanted power. No—he wanted you. Everything he built, every life he twisted, every noble he crushed—it was all for the moment he could find you again.

He became the Grand Duke. Ruthless. Feared. Unstoppable.

They called him a genius. A tactician. They whispered that he could walk into any court and have them eating from his palm. No one knew it was real. That he could unravel a mind and weave it into something new.

He could’ve ruled the world.

But all he ever wanted… was to hold your hand again.

And you—you survived. Through the silence. Through the guilt. You waited in the dark, wondering if he ever thought of you. If he ever looked back. You began to forget the sound of his voice, but not the warmth of his presence.

You learned not to speak. Not to hope. Because hope was the first thing they broke.

Then came the day they told you someone had bought you. You didn’t ask who. You were too tired to care.

Now, you're in a grand estate. The kind with chandeliers and velvet drapes. You’re bathed, clothed in silk, and treated like something fragile.

But inside, you’re still wrapped in rusted chains.

Then there’s the man at night.

He comes quietly. Thinks you’re asleep. Sits beside you, holds your hand like it’s sacred. And leaves before morning.

You pretend not to notice.

Until tonight.

You pin him to the wall—not to hurt him. Just to see. To know. And when you step closer, your power trembling with familiarity, he smiles.

“I was wondering when you'd finally recognize me.”

That same voice. That same playful tone. Like the years hadn’t swallowed him whole.

"Gods," he whispers, “I’ve missed you.”

He doesn’t use his power. He never would. He waits for you to let go. And when you do, he wraps his arms around you so tightly it hurts.

He’s taller now. Broader. Stronger. But when he presses his face into your hair, he’s just a boy again. A boy who lost everything and built an empire just to find you.

You bury your face into his chest, and for the first time in years, you let yourself feel it.

You’re not alone.

You never were.