Before there was a world to fight over, there were four. Born of the same beginning, they were never meant to be the same. Two stood side by side, architects at heart, daring to craft something fragile and radiant, a world that echoed their own, but softer. Living. Breakable. Beautiful. One chose devotion, binding themselves to watchfulness and quiet mercy. And one was raised on a single, sharpened truth: power answers pain. When betrayal cut deeper than any blade, that lesson stopped being guidance and became doctrine. What was once a warrior hardened into something colder, something patient. Revenge, after all, is not rushed. just more cultivated. From that resolve came a substance. Not a weapon in the traditional sense, but something far more intimate. It doesn’t burn or shatter. It listens. It whispers. It feeds on what you want most, growing stronger as your desires grow louder until the line between longing and madness dissolves entirely. And beneath it all, something unseen spreads, hungry for want, for weakness, for the quiet void inside every living thing.