The dust hanging over the training grounds "Iron Garden" glowed faintly in the morning light. A circular arena of white stone tiles. Fifty meters in diameter. Spectator seats lined the perimeter, already filling with nobles and high officials from the royal palace. Selivan stood at its center. His heart beat quietly. The familiar rhythm. No trembling in his breath, no shaking in his hands. Everything was perfect. The grip on his sword. His resolve. "The candidates are entering." The voice of an old knight called Borgan echoed across the training grounds. Mid-sixties, a former candidate for the Covenant Guard, he served the royal palace. The examiner. His face bore countless scars, each one a story of past battles. The candidates filed in one after another. Nearly thirty young men. All selected from the royal palace's roster, all bearing the bloodline of Covenant Guards. Selivan observed their faces. *(No one particularly stands out.)* They were, after all, knight candidates raised in safe environments. They likely had almost no real combat experience. Among them, Selivan was different. For twelve years, he had crossed swords with all manner of opponents in every corner of the streets. He knew true struggle. Then—a strange silence fell over the spectator seats. All eyes concentrated on one point. Selivan felt that gaze and instinctively looked up. Front row of the spectators. There sat a young man. Silver-white hair. Eyes of pale blue. Approximately twenty years old. His appearance was as if carved from ice. Utterly cold, not a trace of emotion visible. Yet his features were... more those of royalty than nobility. *(Is that... Prince Aerelis?)* Selivan intuited it. As the proclamation had stated—a twenty-year-old prince. But he was far different from what Selivan had imagined. No expression whatsoever. Like ice. In those eyes dwelt something like deep sorrow, or perhaps loneliness. Aerelis's gaze turned toward the candidates in the arena. The moment those eyes met Selivan's, something strange twisted through his chest. *(What is this feeling?)* It was not hostility. Rather—the strange illusion that the other person carried the same kind of loneliness that Selivan himself bore. Selivan immediately suppressed that thought. The other was royalty. Do not sympathize with the enemy. Aerelis looked away. "Now then, we shall begin the Covenant Guard selection examination." Borgan's voice dominated the training grounds. "The test consists of practical swordsmanship. Candidates will face one another in one-on-one matches. Winners advance to the next round; losers are eliminated. Does everyone understand?" "Yes." The candidates responded. Selivan responded as well. But his thoughts were elsewhere. *(To serve at the prince's side. To swear loyalty to the royal family—)* It was both the pride and the humiliation of House Kelvis. By rights, he should have held this position long ago. But now, this might become the first step in his revenge against the royal family. To infiltrate the enemy's inner circle. The examination began. The first pair of contestants took their stances in the arena's center. Their movements were clearly stiff. They likely had only training ground experience. One gradually gained advantage, and soon the other dropped to one knee. "Victory," Borgan declared. The loser left the arena. Match after match continued. Selivan observed. The habits in his opponents' movements. The wavering of their resolve. All for when his own turn came. Then Selivan's turn arrived. "Selivan, you're up." Selivan rose and walked to the center of the arena. His opponent was one of the better candidates from before. But Selivan felt no unease. The two took their stances. Borgan gave the signal. "Begin." Selivan moved. *Shuu.* The sound of his blade cutting air. His opponent's sword reacted, blocking. But Selivan's momentum did not stop. Second strike. Third. His opponent was purely on defense. His movements sluggish. His judgment slow. Selivan found the gap and lightly struck his opponent's shoulder. "Selivan, victory," Borgan declared. His opponent dropped to one knee. A murmur rose from the spectator seats. Selivan's swordsmanship was clearly on a different level from the other candidates. Those watching held their breath at his movements. Selivan slowly left the arena. After several more matches, the final bouts among the top candidates began. Selivan won them all. His movements were flawless, leaving his opponents no opening. When the final match ended, Selivan's breathing had not quickened once. Borgan gathered the victors. Selivan was among the top ten. "Thank you for your efforts. The successful candidates will be stationed in the Moon Corridor of the royal palace. Formal training begins tomorrow. That concludes the examination." Borgan announced. Selivan listened to those words while surveying the arena. Then— In that moment, something happened. A faint light appeared on the stone tiles where Selivan stood. An ancient pattern. "What—?" Selivan gasped involuntarily. Aerelis in the spectator seats must have noticed the light too. The prince rose to his feet. Selivan tried to stand, but his body would not move. The light enveloped his entire form. "Dangerous!" Borgan shouted. But it was too late. The light exploded outward. Selivan's vision turned white. His hearing vanished. His sense of touch disappeared. The world became nothing for an instant. And then— His chest pulsed violently. The heartbeat he had always thought was his own—another joined it. *Thump, thump.* Two hearts beating in the same rhythm. They were synchronized. Another's heartbeat, not his own. "Ugh—" Selivan dropped to one knee. His chest ached. His heart felt as though it were being torn apart. But that was not all. Simultaneously, something else flowed into him. Emotion. Cold. Deep. Loneliness. And against Selivan's own fierce passion, another wave of consciousness. "Selivan!" Borgan rushed toward him. But Selivan was not looking at Borgan. His gaze was fixed on Aerelis. Aerelis was also looking at Selivan. The prince's expression changed for the first time. Shock and confusion crossed his face. "What... happened?" Aerelis whispered. His voice reached Selivan. No—Selivan *felt* it, directly. Through their hearts. A figure appeared at the edge of the arena. A middle-aged man with grayish-black hair. A small soul stone pierced his right ear. His eyes were a sharp green. Valter, the court mage. Chief of the royal mages, sworn to absolute loyalty to the royal family. "My apologies," Valter said, leaping into the arena and examining the space around Selivan and Aerelis. His expression changed visibly. "This is..." Valter murmured. His voice carried a hint of disturbance. "A soul-binding curse. An ancient forbidden spell." The training grounds fell silent. "A curse?" Borgan asked. Valter nodded. His explanation was calm, clinical. "A sorcery that forcibly binds two souls together. When separated beyond a certain distance, intense pain courses through both. Emotions and mental states flow between them. In essence, the two become one." "Can it be broken?" Borgan asked. "Currently, I do not know. It is ancient sorcery, with limited records." Valter's words effectively meant this curse would not be easily dispelled. Selivan stared at Aerelis. Aerelis stared back at Selivan. In those eyes dwelt confusion, bewilderment, and something that could not be put into words. "For now, Selivan must remain at Prince Aerelis's side," Borgan commanded. His voice was heavier than usual. "The curse's effective range is approximately two hundred meters. Beyond that, intense pain will occur," Valter added. Selivan stood. Aerelis stood as well. In that moment, their two hearts synchronized again. *Thump, thump.* "What is your name?" Aerelis spoke to Selivan for the first time. His voice was refined, composed. Yet beneath it lay something sharp. "Selivan," he answered. "Selivan. I understand." Aerelis then looked away. Selivan also looked away. Yet within both their chests, their hearts continued to beat. Fierce passion and icy composure. Two opposing emotions, trying to become one. The training grounds began to accept this new reality. Selivan thought: *(Bound by soul to the royal family I should despise. Could there be greater humiliation?)* But those words echoed hollow in his chest. From the adjacent space, that presence he had once sensed in the moon corridor—Selivan felt something similar now. Loneliness. He understood instinctively that this was Aerelis's essence. This prince carried the same kind of loneliness that Selivan bore. Yet— "I will search for a way to break the curse. Until then..." Valter continued. "The two of you must remain together at all times." Those words sent new ripples through Selivan's chest. Alongside the enemy. At the enemy's side. Feeling the enemy's heart. That was what Selivan thought. But beneath that thought, another emotion was beginning to stir. What it was, Selivan could not yet understand.