The first ti I fought him, I thought it would be over in seconds.
The first ti I defeated him, I thought he would crumble.
But Ed didn't break.
And I hated him for it.
Zareth was different after he returned.
He smiled more. Laughed more.
As if running away had freed him from sothing.
But the worst part—the part that made my blood boil—was how he treated Ed.
Like a friend. Like an equal.
Like a brother.
Not . Not the sister who had trained with him for years.
Not the sister who had cried herself to sleep every night after he left.
No.
Instead, he gave his attention to that human.
A human who had no right to be here.
I should have ignored him.
I should have let him fade into the background like a passing shadow.
But I couldn't.
Because no matter how much I tried to look away—he was always there.
.
The training grounds were silent as we stood across from each other.
I saw the way Zareth looked at him—concerned, protective, proud.
It made sick.
I gripped my sword tighter.
"Begin." Arianna our teacher said.
I moved first.
Fast. Precise. A perfect strike aid at his throat.
CLANG!
Ed barely managed to block, his stance faltering from the force.
I smirked. Too slow.
I pressed forward, my attacks relentless.
Strike. Parry. Dodge.
Again and again, I pushed him back, driving him toward the edge of the arena.
He didn't stand a chance.
And yet—
He didn't give up.
No matter how many tis I knocked him down, he stood back up.
Bruised. Bleeding. Yet still standing.
It was infuriating.
I had fought hundreds of opponents before.
Nobles. Warriors. Even Zareth himself.
And every single one of them had yielded when they realized they couldn't win.
But not him.
Even after I slamd him into the ground for the tenth ti—
Even after I held my sword to his throat, my victory undeniable—
He still looked at with those sa, stubborn eyes.
Unbroken.
Unafraid.
Like he didn't care that he lost.
And that—that made hate him.
I fought him every chance I got.
Every morning, every afternoon, every evening.
Every ti I saw him, I challenged him.
And every ti, I won.
Fifty tis.
A hundred tis.
A thousand.
I crushed him over and over again.
Until his body was covered in bruises.
Until his hands bled from gripping his sword too tightly.
Until he could barely stand at the end of each match.
And yet—he never stopped.
Never backed down.
Never yielded.
It should have made feel powerful. It should have reassured that I was stronger.
But instead—
It enraged .
Because no matter how many tis I beat him, he never acted like it mattered.
He never looked at with fear.
He never looked at with awe.
He never acknowledged .
He just got up. Smiled. And said, "Again?"
As if he was enjoying it.
As if he was enjoying losing to .
And I—
I didn't understand why that made my chest tighten.
One evening, after yet another match, I found Zareth waiting for outside the training hall.
He didn't say anything at first. Just watched as I wiped the sweat from my brow, my breath still heavy from the fight.
Then—
"Why do you keep challenging him?"
I frowned. "Because he's weak."
Zareth sighed, shaking his head. "Then why does it bother you so much?"
I stiffened.
It didn't bother .
It was just—
Just—
I didn't answer.
Zareth studied for a long mont before speaking again.
"You know… he reminds of you." Zareth said.
I flinched.
"What?" I snapped.
"He doesn't care about winning or losing. He just wants to get stronger."
I clenched my fists. "That's different."
"Is it?"
His eyes locked onto mine, unyielding.
"You used to be like that too," he said. "Back when we were younger. Back before you started hating the idea of losing."
I turned away.
I didn't want to hear it.
I didn't want to think about it.
Because I wasn't like Ed.
I wasn't.
I fought to be the strongest.
To make sure no one ever left again.
To make sure he never left again.
Ed fought for… what?
For fun? For improvent? For himself?
That was stupid.
That was aningless.
And yet—
And yet—
A part of envied him.
That night, as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I realized sothing.
I hated him.
Not just because he was human.
Not just because he took my brother's attention.
Not just because he refused to yield.
I hated him because—
Because deep down—
I wanted to be like him.
[A/N: it ans that she wanted to like him in a sense that winning and losing didn't matter to her but it matters because she wants to win only.]
But I couldn't.
Because if I did—
Then everything I had built, everything I had fought for—
Would have been for nothing.
I told myself I hated him.
I told myself I despised everything about him—his stubbornness, his arrogance, his refusal to break.
I told myself that every ti I knocked him down, every ti I saw him struggle, every ti I left him battered and bruised on the training ground—
I was proving a point.
That I was stronger.
That he was nothing.
That I had no reason to care.
But then—
Why was I the one feeling defeated?
The palace halls were silent as I made my way toward the training grounds.
It had beco a routine by now.
Wake up. Train. Challenge Ed. Win. Leave.
Over and over again, until the outco was burned into my mind.
I would win. I always won.
And yet, even knowing that—
I couldn't stop.
It wasn't just about proving my strength anymore.
It wasn't even about my brother.
Sothing about him unsettled .
Sothing about the way he never changed—even when I should have broken him a hundred tis over.
I was used to seeing people struggle. I was used to seeing fear in their eyes when they faced , realizing they had no chance of victory.
But Ed…
He never looked at that way.
Not even once.
Not even now.
"Again."
He barely had ti to stand before I was attacking.
I moved faster than usual. Pushed harder. Struck with more force than necessary.
I wanted him to falter. To hesitate. To fear .
But he didn't.
CLANG!
Our blades clashed, sparks flying between us.
I saw the exhaustion in his stance, the sweat dripping from his brow, the bruises forming along his arms from our previous fights.
He was weaker than . Slower. Less refined.
So why—
Why did it feel like I was the one losing?
He blocked another strike. Then another. His footwork was ssy, his technique sloppy—but he was adapting.
Every second, he was learning.
And for the first ti since we started fighting—
I felt sothing twist inside .
It wasn't anger.
It wasn't hatred.
It was fear.
Not fear that I would lose.
Fear that if I did, if I ever gave him even a single victory—
I wouldn't be able to stop.
I won, of course.
I always did.
Ed collapsed onto the ground, his breathing heavy, his fingers still gripping his sword even as his body trembled from exhaustion.
I should have walked away.
I should have left, like I always did.
But I didn't.
Instead, I stood there, watching him struggle to sit up, watching the way his eyes burned with determination even through his fatigue.
And for so reason, I asked—
"Why don't you ever get angry?"
Ed blinked. "What?"
I crossed my arms, frowning. "I beat you every single ti. I humiliate you in front of everyone. I make sure you can't win. So why don't you ever get mad? Why don't you ever—"
Break?
Ed wiped the sweat from his brow, then gave that sa, infuriating smile.
"Because I'm not fighting to beat you."
I stared at him, my mind blank.
He wasn't—?
"I'm fighting to beat myself," he continued. "To be better than I was yesterday. That's all that matters to ."
I clenched my fists.
That was stupid.
That was childish.
That was—
That was the sa thing Zareth used to say when we were kids.
Before he left. Before he ran away. Before he ca back different.
And suddenly—
I hated the way Ed's words made my chest ache.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
His words kept repeating in my head.
I'm fighting to beat myself.
I hated him. I still hated him.
But for the first ti—
I found myself wondering what it would feel like if he ever won.
And I didn't know whether that thought terrified or excited ....
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