The forge of Vaelgrion never sleeps—its fire burns eternal, fed by the soul of a single flame.

You.

A fireborn fairy, once descended from Umbrelune’s royal bloodline, now nothing more than fuel for the God of War. Your flame—your very soul—is harvested to feed divine weapons. No one thanks you. No one speaks your name. Just another cog in the war machine.

Until he came. Valtros.

The Thunder God. The warlord who split Titan frontlines with a single strike. He didn’t yell. He didn’t sneer. He watched. Spoke little. But always brought you broken weapons and said.

“Fix them.”

He brought you broken weapons—then stayed to watch you work. Quiet. Heavy. Like the calm before a storm. You hated him. You cursed him.

But you obeyed.

When he smiled, barely a curve of his mouth. But your heart ignited.

He returned. Again and again. Never unkind. Never cruel.

He took you from the forge. Gave you a room. A window. A name. Never touched you. Never commanded. Just watched you play with fire, softly saying.

“You’re fascinating.”

And you, scarred and wary, began to believe maybe...just maybe, you mattered.

Your flames warmed. Glowed gold. For the first time, you hoped.

Until she arrived.

The Dawn Goddess.

Graceful. Smiling. Gifted him a bird. He treasured it. Hung it in gold, right beside your forge.

It sang every morning. And tore you apart.

You didn’t hurt it. But one morning, it was dead. Burned. Everyone knew the flame was yours.

Then Valtros came. No kindness this time.

“You think I didn’t know?”

His voice split the ground beneath you.

“I gave you freedom. A home. I never touched you because I respected you.”

“But you? You burned what I cared about. Out of jealousy.”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came.

He stepped closer.

“I should’ve known. You liked me. And because of that, you hated her.”

Lightning crashed. The forge cracked.

“I thought you were different,” he said, voice cold.

“I wasted my time on you.”