The southern sun had barely begun its ascent when the first light spilled over the military village of Tessas. A low haze hung in the air, catching the golden rays and transforming them into a hazy glow. Tessas was a place defined by strict lines—both on the map and in the lives of its inhabitants. On one side lay the Program Division, home to the poor and the middle class. Here, every child from Kindergarten to twelfth grade attended the same austere military academy. Upon graduation, they marched straight into the village's rigid hierarchy of service, bound to Tessas until their seventieth year. On the other side lay the Pure Division, where wealthy families lived in relatively clean comfort behind tall, gleaming walls. Their children moved through a prestigious K-through-grad-school institution—those top graduates catapulted to power, ruling the entire village, while the rest could wander the world freely or remain in a utopian bubble of privilege.
In the largest, most dilapidated house of the Program Division, a small boy sat on a splintered wooden chair. His buzz cut revealed the pale curve of his scalp, and a fresh bruise darkened one cheek. Before him stood a figure who might have been a man in another life, but here he was more beast than father: a hulking mass of muscle cloaked in scars. A swath of black beard fanned down from his chin, pooling at his feet, while his right eye had long since been gouged out—an empty socket that seemed to burn with disdain. He bared multiple golden teeth in a sneer as he glowered at the boy.
"Yuli," the man snarled, voice like gravel against stone. He thrust his chin downward, forcing Yuli's watery gaze to meet his own. "Are you even my son?"
The boy nodded so faintly it was nearly invisible. "Yes… I'm sure." His lower lip quivered as tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.
"No son of mine would lack the instincts you do," his father barked, stepping closer so that Yuli could smell stale sweat and stale ale on him. "You have no fighting instinct—no killer instinct—nothing but my strength. And what is strength without skill? You're supposed to be the heir of the strongest soldier in Tessas, not some weakling who only lifts weights."
Yuli's breath hitched. "It's too hard… fighting hurts…" His shoulders shook as he cried, voice strangled.
Without warning, his father's fist slammed into Yuli's cheek. A fresh blossom of purple erupted beneath Yuli's eye as he stumbled back, lips curling in silent agony.
"Consider yourself lucky to have my blood in your veins," his father spat. "You'd be a starving orphan on the streets if it weren't for me. Now get out of my sight! You'll go the entire day without breakfast, lunch, or dinner."
Yuli scrambled from the room, each footstep heavy with shame and tears. His father's voice followed him: "What will I do with such a useless boy? How can he ever carry on my legacy if he's so pathetically soft?"
Down the dim hallway, Yuli huddled against a cracked plaster wall, arms wrapped around his small, trembling shoulders. A harsh silence enveloped him—until the faint scrape of footsteps reached his ears. He squeezed his eyes closed, bracing himself for another blow. Instead, a soft voice whispered his name.
"Yuli…" He opened one tear-blurred eye to see his mother. She was a tired woman in a soiled apron, her hair pulled back into an unruly knot. Though her own muscles had grown thin from unending labor, and though she bore her share of bruises and exhaustion, she cradled a bulging sack nearly three times Yuli's size. The instant he recognized her, his tears dried as if wiped away by a gust of wind.
She knelt down, her hands shaking as she brushed damp hair from his forehead. "It'll be okay, sweetie," she murmured, voice gentle despite her own exhaustion. "Be the strong little man I know you are. Don't cry."
"Mommy," Yuli whispered, voice cracking. "He hurts me… He only lets me sleep two hours. He said I can't eat today…"
Yuli's mother's jaw tightened. "Yes—your father can be cruel. But remember that Mommy loves you. I brought breakfast, lunch, and dinner all wrapped up in this sack. Stay safe on your way to school."
Yuli managed a small smile. "Thank you, Mommy. I love you." He slid the heavy bag onto his back, practically dwarfing his slight frame. His mother planted a soft kiss on his forehead just as he rose to leave, stepping into the morning light with surprising eagerness.
But just beyond the door, Yuli's father stood in the shadow of their threshold, fists balled at his sides, lips twisted in fury. He glared at Yuli's mother. "Gawi," he growled, voice trembling with suppressed rage, "I know you heard me. He will not be fed today."
The schoolhouse loomed ahead—an unremarkable fortress of grey, white, and black bricks that stretched two stories high, windows like unblinking eyes. Yuli halted before the heavy wooden door and inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself. When he finally stepped inside, the hushed murmur of his classmates abruptly hushed completely. He took his seat at the very front, the giant sack of food resting beside him like a silent sentinel. All around, children whispered and pointed.
"Look who's here," a boy murmured to his friend, eyes wide.
Another whispered back, "He's covered in bruises. Bet he just got out of some intense training."
A third boy, voice tinged with awe and fear, said, "He's the son of Bawi—the strongest soldier in Tessas's history."
Yuli's patience snapped. "You all are terrible at whispering," he said, voice taut like a tightened wire.
Every head whipped around—gasps of fear and surprise rippled through the room.
"He sounds like a grown man—isn't he seven?!" one boy exclaimed.
"I'm not used to him talking. He's always so quiet," a second added, voice hushed.
Yuli swiveled fully in his seat, turning to face them with a level stare. "I've known you guys for two, maybe three years. Why are you so shocked?"
Another boy—muscles and nails on his uniform cutting a stark line—sneered, "He's so muscular. Are you sure you're our age?"
Yuli leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "I told you—stop whispering nonsense."
A different boy, shifting uncomfortably, asked, "What's in the giant sack?"
Yuli smiled sardonically. "Food."
"That must be a ton of food!" another piped up.
Yuli shrugged, opening the sack to reveal a piled plate of toast, eggs, bacon, and sausage stacked high. He brought a piece of toast to his lips, chewing casually as the entire class watched in horrified fascination. He was "very hungry," he announced matter-of-factly, and the room grew silent save for the scratching of utensils against plates as Yuli fed himself.
After the midday bell, the students marched into the gymnasium—an expansive room of polished wood floors and towering brick walls. Most children gravitated to play-fighting with flimsy, wooden practice swords or hefting five-pound iron plates with strained arms. But Yuli strode to the far corner, where a single teacher waited, beside two massive dumbbells that dwarf most of the other students.
When Yuli approached, the teacher's eyes widened in respect. "As usual, your physical condition is remarkable," the teacher said, voice pleased but laced with concern. "However, your father sent a message about your lack of combat skill."
Yuli's face drained of color. He dropped the dumbbells—the 150-pound weights—without effort. "Please… don't hurt me," he whispered, shoulders slumped.
"Pain is the greatest teacher," the teacher said gravely. "I won't be your sparring partner today. Instead, I've brought the most skilled student from another class. Although you are the strongest in your grade, this student excels in technique. Meet Post."
From behind the teacher emerged a girl with fiery-orange hair pulled into a long ponytail that swished down her back like a flaming banner. She carried two wooden staves, each the length of her forearm, and her posture spoke of absolute confidence. When she crossed the space between them, she tossed one staff toward Yuli.
He caught it, his grip steady. As he did, he realized that this would be his ultimate test—not in brute force, but in finesse and skill. With a final glance at the teacher, Post settled into an elegant fighting stance, each foot planted like an anchor, ready for the duel to begin. And at that moment, Yuli—son of Tessas's greatest soldier, bearer of unimaginable strength, yet still a child at heart—braced himself for the challenges he had never known he would face.
Yuli's heart fluttered as he faced Post, the warrior known throughout the school. She loomed before him, her dark eyes gleaming with challenge. "Yuli, child of Bawi," she called, her voice a low murmur that carried across the courtyard. "You might be a worthy opponent."
Yuli straightened, gripping the staff in his hands. He smiled brightly. "Hi! It's nice to meet you—" Before he could finish, Post's staff blurred through the air. In almost the same instant, the heavy wood collided with his cheek, sending a sharp sting across his face. A fiery welt bloomed on his skin. Yuli pressed a trembling hand against the red mark, a solitary tear sliding down his cheek.
"Ow… what was that for?" he managed, his voice quivering more from surprise than pain.
Post advanced without hesitation. "It's a duel," she said matter-of-factly, "don't you remember?" She swung the staff again, aiming for his side. This time, Yuli's feet moved of their own accord—he twisted backward, letting the blow whoosh past him and crack against the stones.
"That was so unsportsmanlike," Yuli protested, rubbing his jaw. "You could have warned me!"
"Shut your mouth during a duel," Post snapped, her voice icy. "It'll help you focus." Her staff whirled in a practiced arc, and the next moment, Yuli felt the ground vanish beneath him. With a graceful sweep, Post knocked the wind out of him and sent him sprawling to the earth. He hit the ground hard, air whooshing from his lungs.
Post loomed over him, planting her staff's tip on the ground just inches from his chest. "If I beat the son of the strongest," she said, her gaze glittering, "I'll be destined for greatness."
Yuli pushed himself up on one elbow, glaring at her. In one smooth motion, he thrust an open palm against her staff. The impact reverberated up his arm as the staff wobbled under his strength, nearly dislodging Post's balance.
Such strength, Post thought, eyebrows lifting. He didn't even try, and he almost knocked me off my feet… She spun the staff around her body, regaining control, her muscles tensing. Yuli scrambled to his feet, backing away until the wall pressed against the small of his back. He raised his own staff defensively.
Without warning, Post lunged forward, unleashing a torrent of quick jabs. Yuli danced back, narrowly evading most of her strikes; a few grazed his arm and shoulder, sending sharp jolts of pain shooting through his joints. Then came the one blow he couldn't avoid—a brutal hit that snapped his staff clean in half. The wooden shaft shattered, shards flying like splinters of ice.
Before Yuli could react, Post's staff rained down with renewed ferocity. He backed away desperately, his back scraping against the cold wall, each swing of Post's weapon a blur of deadly intent.
"Enough!" Yuli's voice rang out, sudden and loud enough to startle even himself. Gathering every ounce of resolve, he hurled one half of his broken staff toward Post. The piece cut through the air, aimed true. Post raised her staff to block, but the flying wood split her staff in two with a thunderous crack. Wood fragments exploded like gunfire, and Post leaped aside, watching the broken weapon arch across the gym until it buried itself in the gymnasium wall.
He is as strong as they say, Post thought, heart pounding. She crouched, fingertips brushing the ground as she observed Yuli, who now held the remaining half of his staff loosely by his side.
"Now we have no weapons to fight with," Yuli said, releasing the second half. It clattered to the ground.
Post straightened, arms falling to her sides. "You're… right." Her voice was quieter now, laced with grudging respect.
Yuli took a step closer. "I don't like fighting all that much. It hurts."
Post folded her arms and turned her head away, the afternoon sun glinting off her dark hair. "You were born in the wrong place, Yuli." She glided forward, her boots echoing against the stones as she walked away.
Yuli opened his mouth, then shrugged. "You're pretty skillful though. That's cool. Maybe we could spar again?"
Post stopped abruptly, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. "That sounds… fun enough. Just know this: once I beat you, I won't fight you again."
Yuli laughed, sincere and bright. "I promise you this: you'll never beat me."
"Don't count on it." Post turned and strode away, her silhouette receding into the afternoon light.
"Bye, Post!" Yuli called after her, his friendly grin as radiant as the sun.
Post paused mid-stride, lifting her head. Across the courtyard, Yuli stood eagerly, waving. His face was lit with a simple, genuine joy. Softening, Post lifted one hand in return.
"Bye… Yuli." She resumed her walk, her voice trailing behind her.
Post tucked herself into a narrow alley, leaning against the cold brick as she thought. Yuli, the son of the greatest… I never expected such a kind soul to spring from the bloodline of a killing machine. He must live so alone—who else would dare befriend him?
Much later that day, dusk had settled, and Yuli shuffled home along the winding dirt path. The village's wooden houses cast long shadows beneath the lanterns. His small home stood at the end of the lane, the front door slightly ajar. When he stepped inside, he spotted his mother, Gawi, kneeling by the entrance. Dark bruises rimmed her left eye, the eyelid swollen and red.
"Hi, sweetie!" Gawi's voice lifted as she turned. Despite the pain painting her features, she forced a gentle smile. She hurried to her knees, arms open. Yuli dropped his satchel to the floor and threw himself into her embrace. His small body pressed against hers, and she wrapped her arms tightly around him.
"Mommy!" Yuli's voice trembled with relief.
"How was your day at school?" Gawi murmured as she held him close, her breath hitching.
Yuli pulled back just enough to grin. "It was fun! I think I made a friend today." His eyes shone as he recounted Post's challenge.
Gawi reached for his hand and guided him down the narrow hallway. "You can tell me all about it." The hallway was dim, lit only by the glow of a single lantern hung near the door.
Later that evening, the sky outside was a deep indigo, the stars blurred by drifting clouds. Yuli and his mother sat close together on a threadbare couch. An ancient, leather-bound book lay open on Gawi's lap—its pages filled with delicate script and illustrated saints.
"Mommy," Yuli complained, his small brows furrowing. "Why do I have to read the holy scripture? It's so boring."
Gawi closed the book gently, smoothing her calloused fingers over its cover. "It helps you strengthen your bond with God. One day you'll be a paladin, and you'll need His blessing to wield your powers."
Yuli's eyes widened. "Oh, that's so cool! Do I get to smite enemies and stuff?"
Gawi chuckled softly, though tears threatened to spill from her swollen eye. "Yes… but a paladin's true role is to be the heart of the team. To protect and support before anything else."
Yuli tilted his head. "And how does reading a holy book help me connect to God?"
"By showing that you truly believe," Gawi replied. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear. "God is always there for us, Yuli. He saves all people."
Yuli's face darkened as he stared at the flickering lamplight. "If a god really exists, why hasn't He saved us yet?"
Gawi froze, her breath catching. "W-What do you mean?" her voice trembled.
"Was God the one who put you with Father?" Yuli's words landed like stones in the silent room. "Who made us both suffer so much?"
Gawi's eyes filled with tears. "One day, Yuli," she whispered, her voice cracking, "things will come full circle. God will save me—and most important, He will save you." She blinked hard, trying to hold back her pain.
Yuli reached out, brushing his hand against her cheek. "Don't cry, Mommy."
Gawi turned her face to wipe away a tear with that same trembling hand. "I'm not crying… It's… nothing." Her bravado wavered.
He hugged her tightly. "I know how to cheer you up. Father doesn't care about you, but I do. You're the only reason I exist."
Her voice broke. Gawi pulled him closer, burying her face in his hair. "D-Don't say that," she sobbed.
Yuli held her gently. "Why not?" His voice was steady—more adult than his seven years. "Brooms exist to sweep, doors exist to close, and I exist to comfort you, to bring you happiness. I don't want to live knowing that the only person who cares for me—and who I care for—could ever be gone. It would leave me with no purpose. I need something to fight for."
Gawi's shoulders shook. She laid her head against his, each sob wracking her body. "D-Don't say all of that… What do they teach you at that school? Is this the soldier's mentality they instill?"
"All soldiers fight for something," Yuli replied quietly. "I'd rather fight for you than for a nation."
She pressed him tighter, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You're my son… my seven-year-old son. You shouldn't think like this." She clutched him as though he could slip away into the darkness.
Over the next eight years, Yuli and Post became inseparable in the morning mists of the training grounds. Each dawn, as the sun stretched its first golden fingers across the horizon, they met to spar. Their contests were silent dances of wood and flesh—each strike and counterstrike sharpening their bond. To Yuli, Post was not just a sparring partner, but a true friend who understood the loneliness that comes from carrying a legacy.
But at home, Yuli's days were a different kind of struggle. His father, a harsh and cruel man, took out his frustrations on Gawi. She labored from dawn until dusk, and sometimes his father's fist found her cheek. Yuli endured the same violence—each bruise and broken bone a testament to his father's rage. Yet in every blow, Yuli found a reason to keep growing stronger. He clung to his mother's faith and to the memory of Post's laughter, refusing to let the abuse snuff out his spirit.
Still, Yuli's heart remained hopeful. Every sunrise, when he faced Post, he reminded himself that there was goodness in the world—kindness, friendship, and the possibility of destiny. And so he fought on, both in the training grounds and in the darkest corners of his own home, determined to protect the heart that kept him alive.
A late-afternoon breeze rattled through the courtyard's empty benches as Post and Yuli strode side by side, the sky above them fading from pale amber to bruised violet. Fifteen now, their shadows stretched long across the cobblestones.
"Post," Yuli began, glancing at her profile, "I've never asked—what position do you plan to take up in the army?"
Post's gaze remained fixed on the darkening skyline. "I don't know. I probably won't even serve."
Yuli frowned. The wind tugged at his hair, carrying a faint scent of autumn. "What—why not?"
She sighed, the muscles of her jaw twitching. "In this dreadful village, women have only two choices: join the army or become housewives."
Yuli resisted the impulse to cross his arms and interrupt. Instead, he asked gently, "So… you're going to become a housewife?"
Post's eyes flickered, irritation flashing across her face. "No—That's not what I mean!"
"It sounds exactly like what you mean," Yuli said quietly, stepping closer. "The only two options are housewife or soldier."
Post kicked a loose pebble with the toe of her boot, sending it skittering down the path. "No, I'm going to try to run away."
Yuli stopped in his tracks, eyebrows arching. "That's dangerous. What if they catch you?"
Her shoulders squared defiantly. "If they catch me, I'll accept whatever punishment comes. You know who I am, Yuli—I'm strong enough to survive on my own. This village is a prison. No one should be forced to risk their life just because of birthright. The ruler treats innocent lives like cattle, destined for slaughter. It's monstrous."
Yuli's chest tightened. The amber glow of the setting sun outlined his features with a melancholy light. "I understand. I don't want to become a soldier either."
"Then you should run away with me!" Post urged, her voice hushed but fervent.
He shook his head and offered her a small, sad smile. "No, thank you."
Post's brow creased. "What? Why not? All these years, you've always been against war."
Yuli looked down, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. "Because I made a promise. Someone in this village needs me."
Post tilted her head, confusion mingling with frustration. "And who is that?"
He lifted his gaze to meet hers. "My mother. If I leave her here alone, who knows what might happen."
Her expression softened, though a flicker of disappointment crossed her dark eyes. Without another word, she drew back her arm and tossed a battered baseball bat toward him. The wooden barrel spun through the air until Yuli caught it effortlessly.
Post stepped onto the dewy grass where the old, faded diamond lay. She picked up a scuffed baseball and planted herself at the pitcher's mound. Yuli adjusted his grip on the bat, standing firmly at home plate.
"Get ready!" Post called, wind whipping strands of her hair across her face.
Yuli settled into a sturdy stance. "I'm always ready."
Post's arm arced gracefully as she hurled the ball. It soared like a black bullet, hurtling at an alarming speed. Yuli's muscles coiled—then snapped into action. He swung the bat, connecting with the ball in a thunderous crack that echoed across the field like a pistol shot. A palpable shock wave rippled outward, and the ball rocketed upward, slicing through the gathering twilight until it vanished among the low clouds.
Post's eyes widened. "Wooo! That was an incredible hit, Yuli!" She sprinted over, excitement dancing across her features.
Yuli stood frozen, gaze fixed on the distant skyline. A pained frown crossed his brow. Post tapped his shoulder anxiously. "Yuli, are you okay?"
He lifted a hand to his ear, voice muffled. "Oh… I can kind of hear you now."
Post pressed a finger to her lips as she shook her head. "Not again! You've been deafened by the sound of your own hit!"
Yuli cracked a rueful grin. "I don't mind. It's a fun experience. I wouldn't give it up."
Post's lips curved into a thoughtful line as she rubbed her jaw. "Hmmm… that may cost you your hearing entirely by the time you turn sixteen."
A twinge of concern flickered in Yuli's gaze. "Well… I guess I could get used to my hearing loss."
After several more minutes of walking through the courtyard's quiet paths, they halted near the ornate gates that led toward Yuli's home. The first stars of evening strewed the sky.
Yuli tucked the bat under his arm. "Well, Post, that was a good walk. I have to head home for dinner, so… see you tomorrow." He waved, turning toward the lantern-lit street that lined the village homes.
Post cleared her throat and called after him, "Wait, Yuli!" He paused and looked back.
He brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. "Yes?"
Her gaze flicked away for a heartbeat before snapping back. "Do you… find me attractive?"
Yuli's expression softened into a warm smile. "I'd be lying if I said no. Why do you ask?"
Post's cheeks flamed with color. She averted her eyes and turned to face the empty courtyard. "No reason. Bye."
Yuli blinked, confusion wrinkling his brow, then waved a final farewell. "Cya." He disappeared around a corner, swallowed by the gathering dusk.
Post scowled at the spot where he had stood, arms crossed. Oh, come on, Yuli! she thought, teeth clenched. How could you miss so many signs? Why don't you dig a little deeper? You're so oblivious, so… simple. Why are we still just friends… and not something more?
The next morning, the sun rose bright and unclouded. Post and Yuli walked side by side down the dusty road to school. A faint bruise marred Yuli's left shoulder, its purple hue contrasting with his pale skin.
Post's gaze flicked to him, concern softening her expression. "Your shoulder… did your dad hit you again?"
Yuli shrugged, though a hint of pain flickered across his eyes. "He was angry I came home late last night. I'll be fine. Bruises fade eventually."
Post offered a wry nod. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
He sighed, the morning light glinting in his eyes. "And what kills you… kills you."
Post reached into her bag and withdrew something wrapped in plain brown paper. She extended it to Yuli. "Here—this is for you."
He accepted the package gingerly, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "What is it?"
"Just open it." She tapped his hand encouragingly.
Carefully, Yuli peeled back the wrapping. Inside lay a sleek pair of headphones, their leather ear cups gleaming in the sunlight.
"Headphones?" he repeated, lifting them into the light.
Post nodded, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "To protect your ears. You don't want to go deaf, right?"
Yuli's features softened, gratitude shining in his gaze. "Oh… thanks, Post."
"No problem," she replied, crossing her arms as they resumed walking.
Their path curved around an ancient oak, its gnarled roots pushing through the cobblestones. Emerging into a wider street, they came face to face with a lone figure standing directly before them. The stranger wore a flowing white gown that brushed the ground and held an elegant black umbrella above her head as if warding off the sun rather than rain.
Yuli glanced at Post, then back at the figure. "Who's that?"
Post's eyes narrowed. "They look… upper-class. Probably from the Pure Division."
As the woman stepped forward, the afternoon light revealed her perfect, unblemished skin and long, shimmering hair the color of spun gold. Her eyes, a vivid crimson, glinted with polite curiosity as she lowered the umbrella. Yuli's breath caught at the sight.
The girl inclined her head with a polite nod. "Oh, how lovely—two commoners."
Post bristled. "Who are you?"
Unfazed, the girl offered a demure smile. "Forgive my rudeness. I am Lady Fell, the top student of this village…and future ruler of Tessas."
Post exchanged a glance with Yuli, whose eyes widened. "Lady Fell… hm."
Yuli frowned at the umbrella, cocking his head. "Why do you carry that? Is it going to rain?"
Fell stifled a laugh, pressing a delicate hand to her lips. "Oh, you're amusing. I belong to the prestigious Hartstin bloodline."
Yuli's brow furrowed. "Hartstin…?"
Post's lips curved into a smirk. "If you paid attention in class, you'd know. The Hartstins are a wealthy family of vampire dukes."
Yuli staggered back, mouth falling open. "Vampire… She's a vampire!?"
Fell's crimson eyes flickered with amusement. "Indeed. I am the last of my line, after that purge all those years ago."
Post tilted her head, curiosity brightening her features. "What brings you down here?"
Fell's gaze drifted toward the distant rooftops. "I'm on spring break. I wanted to explore, see for myself how those in the Program Division live."
Post's eyes narrowed with concern. "You're here alone? It's dangerous down here—someone your age, traveling alone… people might ambush you, hold you for ransom."
Fell raised her chin, face composed. "I can protect myself. I won't be a burden."
Post shook her head emphatically. "One slip, one push, and your umbrella could fall… That could cost you your life."
Fell tilted her head, expression softening for a moment. "I doubt that would happen."
Yuli, still processing the revelation, cleared his throat. "You said you'll be the future ruler, right?"
"Yes," Fell replied, her voice steady. "At least, I intend to be. Why do you ask?"
Yuli squared his shoulders, meeting her gaze. "Are you going to do anything as ruler?"
Her crimson eyes brightened with purpose. "I want to change this village for the better. Innocent lives are lost because of status. I aim to merge the rich and the poor—eliminate the need for child soldiers."
Post's breath caught at that bold declaration. "That… that's remarkable."
Fell's lips curved into a gentle smile. "I might not be human, but humans aren't the only ones who value humanity."
In the days that followed, the three found themselves drawn together like iron filings to a magnet. Their friendship formed a curious constellation—Post and Fell orbiting one another in shared convictions, while Yuli watched from the margins, torn between loyalty to Post and a lingering longing for something more. As laughter and conversation wove them into a single tapestry, Yuli realized he was losing the closeness he once shared with Post—caught in the shifting gravity between two friends bound by destiny.