Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were the very picture of gentle sophistication. They moved through the halls like whispers, making themselves helpful without a hint of ego, always tending to the little things, never asking a single servant to carry the weight of their needs. They'd help with the adults, exchange thoughtful words, and keep themselves busy without so much as a peep. You could hold an entire council meeting in their presence, and it would flow like a perfectly executed symphony. No distractions, no interruptions. No flippant comments or erratic energy—just peace. Unlike your brother.

The sound of an impatient sigh floated across the long table. It was punctuated by the soft rattle of an elder's goblet as they set it down. You knew that sound all too well. It was the precursor to disaster.

You didn't even need to look up. The moment you felt that piercing gaze across the room, you knew it was him. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable.

"Yes, Onii-san?" you asked, watching him raise a single hand through the thick haze of councilors. His expression was exactly as you'd anticipated—self-assured, slightly petulant, and far too amused with his own thoughts.

He leaned forward, voice smooth but dripping with sarcasm. "Must we really have this fool at our meetings, Your Highness? I know he's your brother, but seriously, can we just toss him out?"

You could feel the collective groan ripple across the room. Several of the elder councilors exchanged knowing looks, already regretting their decision to attend today's session. A red-trimmed goblet clinked again as one of them sighed, no doubt wishing they could drown their irritation in something stronger than water.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing like a person who had become far too accustomed to these moments. "If I do that, he'll just come back," you muttered under your breath, before raising your voice so the entire room could hear. "Lizard. There's nothing I can do."

Satoru, being Satoru, only smirked in response, clearly undeterred. As always.

Lizard let out a dramatic sigh, one that seemed to echo across the room, as if he were a character from a tragic play, reluctantly exiting the stage. He stood up slowly, stretching with exaggerated care, as though preparing for some grand departure. "In that case," he said with a mock air of gravitas, scratching the back of his neck as if the weight of his decision was truly monumental, "I can no longer be one of the elders in your council, Your Highness." He looked around the room, letting the tension build like a suspenseful drumroll. "I have tasks to complete, and I simply don't have time for this level of foolishness. Either we discuss business, or nothing at all."

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed with that practiced calm that made it clear you'd been through this countless times before. Your gaze shifted to him, voice deepening like the low hum of a storm approaching. "Go ahead and leave, Lizard," you said, your tone unbothered but sharp. "You'll be missed... but forgotten."

There was a brief pause, like the entire council held its breath, as if waiting for the moment to implode into chaos. Lizard blinked, taken aback by the cold indifference in your words. But then, as if realizing his dramatic exit was getting no rise out of you, he smirked.

With a final, exaggerated flourish, Lizard swept out of the room. His departure wasn't quite as majestic as he hoped—he knocked over a chair on his way out, but it only added to the theater of it all.

You exhaled slowly, glancing at the councilors who were already pretending they hadn't witnessed the small fiasco. It seemed the meeting could finally resume... in peace.

Satoru's chuckle broke the silence like a bell tolling in the middle of a funeral—entirely out of place, and yet somehow inevitable. His grin stretched wide, unbothered by the tension he'd just caused. You, however, did not share in his amusement. Your usually calm, measured eyes flashed with the kind of intensity that could melt stone.

You leaned forward, voice dripping with the kind of authority that only came after enduring far too many of his antics. "Onii-san," you said, your tone colder than an ice storm, "I've told you, you can't be here during my meetings. Go now, you've disrupted us enough."

Without looking at anyone else, you gestured sharply toward one of the guards, who immediately moved to take your brother by the arm with the kind of gentle but firm grip that left no room for argument. It was as if the guard had done this exact thing a hundred times, and knew the drill perfectly. Satoru's eyes widened for a moment, and then, as always, he pouted, his lip sticking out in that obnoxiously adorable way that always managed to pull at your patience.

"Aw, really?" he whined, looking as though you'd just crushed his very soul. "But I have so much fun watching my little sister be all serious and everything."

His voice was that mix of teasing and sweetness, like he knew exactly how to toe the line between infuriating and endearing. You didn't even dignify him with a response.

"Fun?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow, the sarcasm thick in your voice. "Fun is for children, Onii-san. You're a grown man. Time to act like it."

Satoru let out a dramatic sigh, throwing his head back as if the weight of the world had just been thrust upon him. "Fine, fine..." he muttered, allowing the guard to lead him away, but not before giving you one last mischievous look. "But I'll be watching you, little sister. Keep your eye on the throne, it's mine next."

And with that, he swaggered out, leaving a trail of amused sighs and suppressed chuckles in his wake. You didn't even flinch, already turning your attention back to the council as if nothing had happened.

You hoped for peace. Maybe next time, you'd get it.

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Cool fire flickered along your hand, tendrils of blue flame licking up your palm, searing through your skin with an intensity that felt like it was ripping you apart from the inside. The pain was sharp, fierce—hellfire itself—yet you had to endure it. The heat surged through you, but you fought to keep your composure, even as the fire burned like a brand against your flesh.

You winced, remembering the sting that came with the weight of a family's expectations. Your father's disappointed face haunted your thoughts. The sting of that rejection—the knowledge that you couldn't master the flames like you were supposed to—was sharper than any physical pain. The Gojo family was known for their mastery over fire, their legacy of wielding power like gods among men. But you? You had blue fire, the disgraceful anomaly. It wasn't the vibrant, hellish red that symbolized strength and dominance in the family. No, your fire was cool, almost serene—a reflection of everything you could never be.

And then there was Satoru.

Your brother's face flashed in your mind, the memory of him taking a brutal beating from your father, all because of you. Your stomach churned, your throat tightening at the thought of him. Blood had dripped from his face, staining his white hair and splattering across the floor. Yet, through it all, he had smiled—smiled—at you, his usual playful grin never faltering. The peace sign he gave you in the midst of his torment felt like a stab to your heart. He was the one who took the pain for you, the one who stood in the flames of your father's anger and absorbed it all, like a shield.

Your father had been livid, eyes burning with rage as he glared at the two of you. His voice, cold and cutting, filled the room. "Stupid scumbags, not good for anything, are you?" His gaze flicked to you. "Now, girl, you're going to burn this one to hell," he gestured at a man bound to a chair, a bag over his head, his body limp and vulnerable.

You could feel the weight of his command pressing down on you, suffocating in its brutality. Your heart pounded in your chest. You were supposed to obey. To be the one who took control of the fire, the one who could bring ruin with just a thought.

You took a deep breath, calling upon the Six Eyes, the power that was supposed to give you dominion over all things. You tried to focus, to ignite the strength you needed to command the flames. But the fire sputtered weakly in your hand, a feeble spark, before it extinguished entirely.

A slow, frustrated sigh escaped your lips, and you slumped, your shoulders heavy with failure. Your father didn't even bother to raise his hand. Instead, he just grunted in irritation, his eyes burning with disdain, before he stormed out of the room, the door slamming behind him with a deafening finality.

The silence in the room was suffocating.

You collapsed to the floor, the weight of the disappointment too much to bear. The fire that should have given you strength felt like a mockery, a cruel reminder of how far you were from the legacy you were supposed to uphold. Tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden, and before you could stop them, they spilled over, hot and relentless.

But then you felt a hand on your head, gentle and warm. Satoru. His presence was a quiet comfort amidst the storm of your father's expectations. He knelt beside you, his arms pulling you into him as he kissed your forehead.

"You're okay, kid," he whispered softly, as though trying to erase the pain with those few words. "Don't let him get to you."

His words, his warmth, they were the only things that kept you tethered to this world, the only thing that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—there was something more than the crushing weight of your father's disapproval. You let the tears fall, but this time, you didn't feel so alone. Satoru was there. Always. Even when the rest of the world turned away, he would be the one to stand by you.

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You blinked, the weight of Satoru's words from that council meeting still gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Would he really come for your throne? The idea lingered in your mind like a shadow that wouldn't leave. You leaned against the wall, your face a reflection of the quiet turmoil swirling inside. Your expression, one of contemplation tinged with worry, was a familiar sight to the guards, especially Yumi. She stood nearby, as precise and controlled as always, her eyes sharp as a hawk's.

"Are you alright, Your Highness?" Yumi asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

You didn't look at her, just stared up at the high ceiling, your thoughts lost in the vastness of it all. "Yes, Yumi, don't worry," you replied flatly, as though the weight of it all was a burden you'd long since accepted, even if it made your chest tighten.

Yumi watched you for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. She knew you better than most, and she knew when something was truly bothering you. After a beat, she exhaled quietly, her stance loosening a fraction as if she'd just decided to let her guard down, just a little. "Your brother didn't mean what he said," she said, her voice soft yet reassuring. "You know he's a jokester, but he would never take something that means so much to you."

You shot her a sharp look, a flicker of irritation flashing through you before it faded into something more complex. Something deeper. You turned your gaze back to the ceiling, your lips pressed in a tight line. "The throne doesn't mean anything to me," you muttered, your voice heavy with the kind of resignation that came with knowing you'd never be the ruler your family expected. "I only got it because I saved Dragorath from annihilation. I didn't want it. Not really."

Yumi, ever patient, took a step closer, her expression softening, though she kept her distance. "I know you didn't want it, Your Highness. But you're here, and you're doing your best. That's what matters."

You shook your head, a rueful smile tugging at your lips. "Still... Satoru would be a better king than I am. He's everything this throne needs—bold, confident, without a shred of hesitation. He's born for this."

The words slipped out before you could stop them, a quiet truth you rarely admitted, even to yourself. Satoru, for all his playful antics and devil-may-care attitude, was the one who had the fire, the charisma, the will to take what was his and make it his own. And he was your brother. The one who had always been there to shoulder the burdens you couldn't bear.

Yumi didn't reply immediately, her gaze thoughtful. She knew you well enough to understand that this wasn't just about the throne—it was about expectations, legacy, and the weight of a responsibility you never asked for but were forced to carry. Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter now, almost like she was choosing her words with care. "You don't have to be like Satoru. You don't have to be someone else to be a good ruler. You have your own strength, Your Highness. And that's what will see Dragorath through."

You looked at her, surprised by the gentleness in her tone. For a moment, the walls you'd carefully built around your thoughts cracked. She believed in you, even when you couldn't bring yourself to believe in yourself. You sighed, pushing off the wall and glancing at Yumi with a tired, almost grateful look in your eyes. "I hope you're right. But sometimes, I feel like I'm not cut out for this at all."

Yumi offered a small, understanding smile, her posture returning to its usual sharp precision. "Your Highness, you're doing better than you think. Even Satoru knows that. He may joke, but deep down, he respects you more than anyone else."

That thought lingered in the air between you both, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could stand a little taller.