Long before the chaos of Ramuza's hall… There was another battlefield. Not of demons or catastrophes, but of two stubborn souls.

Dax was younger, rougher, a wild brute swinging his fists like storms. His transfiguration wasn't refined yet—his arms stretched into iron blades, his legs into blunt cannons. He loved showing off, crushing training dummies, and mocking every mage weaker than him.

And then came Nyra. The prodigy summoner. Silver hair tied in a braid, her eyes sharp, her presence commanding. Behind her stood her first summon, a tiny spirit wolf pup glowing faintly silver. She was calm, but her calmness felt like arrogance to Dax.

"You think your little pets can fight me?" Dax sneered, punching his fist into stone until cracks spread. Nyra didn't flinch. She just smirked. "You're loud. That's all you are. A loud hammer."

That was it. Sparks flew.

Dax charged, arm transfiguring into a steel claw. Nyra's wolf pup leapt forward, fangs glowing. Their clash shook the training ground.

Dax laughed through every strike, bleeding from scratches, mocking her. Nyra gritted her teeth, summoning again—two wolves, then three, until the air was filled with silver howls.

But neither of them gave up. Dax kept charging, body transforming into weapons, breaking through her summons one by one. Nyra kept summoning, her body shaking from the strain, refusing to fall before him.

Hours passed like minutes. And when both collapsed, covered in dust and blood, breathing heavy, something strange happened.

They laughed. Together.Not because one had won, but because they finally found someone just as insane, just as relentless as themselves.

That day, they didn't say it. But Dax and Nyra had become bound by battle. Enemies? Rivals? Friends? None of those words fit. They were something else entirely—two storms destined to collide again and again.

Nyra laughed, that mischievous grin tugging at her lips."Why don't you just come to my room? Master Lee Wang already said we should live together. Who knows, maybe we'll learn something amazing. Not that I want you there—honestly, I'd prefer you stay far away—but if Master says it, I'll… welcome you."

Her words were sharp, but hidden under them was a warmth she didn't admit.

Dax, half-laughing, half-exhausted, lay back against the wooden floor, chest rising and falling heavily."I don't want you in my room either… but yeah, Master says so. No choice."

Both nodded, unwilling yet strangely relieved.

In that moment, their shared stubbornness turned into something else—a silent joke between them. A bond hidden in quarrels. An unspoken comfort born in laughter, misunderstandings, and the strange spark that only the two of them could share.

The wind howled softly through the hollow mountain, slipping in through the wide windows. Thunder murmured somewhere far away, rain kissing the stone walls with rhythm.

Nyra lay sprawled near Dax, her skirt suddenly flying with the gust."Ah—!" She quickly pressed it down, face flushed.

Dax froze. His cheeks betrayed him, turning crimson.

Nyra caught it immediately. She balled her fist and smacked her own chest with a mock punch—bang!"Ouchhhh—what, what did I do now?" Dax groaned, eyes wide.

Nyra leaned close, squinting. "Then why are your cheeks pink, huh? What's that face?"

Dax turned his head, still red, fumbling for an excuse."It's… It's not me. It's your fault. Your thighs are too clean and pink—they just… reflected on my face."

Nyra's jaw dropped. "Pervert!"

They locked eyes for a heartbeat. The silence cracked—then both burst into wild laughter.

Nyra clutched her stomach, rolling over. "I'm the pervert!? You—you're insane!"Her voice broke between hiccups of laughter. "From nowhere—you—ahh, I can't breathe!"

Dax was already doubled over, rolling beside her. "I'm the pervert? You're crazy! You're literally insane!"

The hollow mountain echoed with their laughter, louder than the thunder outside.

Another day at the Hollow Mountain temple—the air heavy with incense and the clang of wooden staffs as disciples trained under the vast roof.

In a quiet corner, Dax leaned close to Nyra, hissing, "Hey—listen, don't react, okay? Can you… maybe… help me get close to Maira? Please, please, buddy. I know you can do it."

Nyra froze mid-stretch. Slowly, a mischievous grin crept onto her face. She tilted her head, then suddenly spun toward him, finger pointed straight.

Before Dax could dodge, she pinched his nose. Hard.

"Hey—ow! What are you—"

Nyra's eyes narrowed with mock seriousness as she leaned close, her voice sharp but playful."So… you like Maira? That pink little girl?"

Dax blinked rapidly, ears turning red."I-I didn't say—"

Nyra cut him off, stepping back with folded arms and a smug smirk."You pervert. Why would I help you with that, huh?"

Her voice rang out, drawing the stares of a few nearby disciples. Dax flailed his hands in panic, whispering hoarsely, "Keep your voice down, idiot!"

But inside Nyra's mind, she went silent. Numb. That strange pull again—the feeling she didn't want, yet it was there unconditionally. The butterflies, the purity, the soft sting in her chest whenever Dax's stupid grin appeared.

She hated it. She saw it as losing. Losing control.

So she did what she always did. She played it off. She laughed, rolled her eyes, stayed sassy—because that was safer than letting the truth slip.

And fool Dax… he couldn't understand. Not now. Not for a long, long time.

To him, she was just Nyra, the mocker, the puncher, the one who caught him off guard with insults. But under that game, something fragile was building, and every time she teased him, it only grew harder to hide.

"Nyra used to hide her emotions,behind the face of bold and beauty.She bore love,but covered it with cruelty."

"Her laughter was sharp,Her words always bite,but inside her chestSomething tender burned bright."

"She mocked, she teased,She rolled her eyes in play,but her heart betrayed her—beating his name every day."

"Dax was a fool,blind to her disguise,She never caught the stormthat lived in her eyes."

"Nyra kept it buried,like fire under snow,a secret she carriedwhere only she could know."

From Dax's eyes, Nyra wasn't just Nyra. She was like a house where he could live, a place where he could feel safe, a place that never betrayed him. She was a roof that never broke, walls that never cracked, and a light that never dimmed. Whenever he felt weak, she was the strength that held him. Whenever he felt empty, she was the one who unknowingly filled the silence. To him, Nyra was like family—something permanent, someone who always stayed.

But hidden behind all those fights and playful insults, there was something deeper. Something he never spoke about, something even he didn't understand at first. It was love. A raw, real kind of love. It wasn't loud, it wasn't dramatic—it just sat there, buried under their laughter, wrapped inside their arguments, waiting for him to notice.

He would sometimes stand in front of the mirror, arms around himself, pretending he was being held. At first, he used to imagine Maira's hug. He thought that was what he wanted. But one day, by accident, he imagined Nyra's hug. And it was different. It was warm in a way nothing else was. It wasn't just comfort—it was fire and safety at the same time. It made his chest heavy, and before he realized, tears had already slipped down his face.

That was the moment he understood, even if he couldn't say it out loud. What he wanted most in this life wasn't victory, wasn't strength, wasn't even glory. What he wanted was something so simple it almost hurt. He wanted to feel Nyra's hug. Not in imagination. Not in dreams. But real. Like it was the only thing that mattered.

But the thing about Dax—he was a master at forgetting. When he stepped out of the bathroom, wiping his face, he buried that soft moment deep down again. Back to normal. Back to noise. He picked up a pillow and threw it straight at Nyra's head, laughing like some idiot, acting like nothing ever happened. Nyra threw it back harder, calling him a fool, and just like that, they were back to their endless cycle—mocking, fighting, bickering like kids.

And yet, somewhere inside him, that warmth still lived. But Dax was good at hiding. He was like a trained actor, or maybe a joker on stage—always knowing how to smile at the wrong time, always knowing how to fade the truth under laughter. Even Nyra, with her sharp eyes, couldn't always tell if his grin was real or just another mask.

So life went on. The attraction towards Maira came back again, as if nothing ever shifted. Dax played the fool, chasing someone else, while the real answer—the real heartbeat—was always sitting right beside him. Nyra, bold and beautiful, hiding her own storm.

The question that burned under the silence was this: would Dax die without ever telling her? Without ever admitting that he felt something more than love for her—something deeper, heavier, permanent? Or would Nyra, the stupid brat's secret strength, finally break her own mask and confess?

Because sometimes battles are not fought with swords, fists, or magic. Sometimes the deadliest war is the one between two hearts—too stubborn to say what they really mean.

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