Eren knelt on the scorched earth, his once-proud head bowed, fingers digging into the dirt as if clinging to the remnants of his shattered pride. Tears fell freely, carving clean streaks through the dust and blood on his face. The golden sword lay discarded beside him, its holy light dimmed—just like the fire in his eyes.
Ashen released Sasha's hand and walked toward the broken prince. The arena held its breath as he crouched in front of Eren, close enough to see the tremors wracking his frame.
"Listen," Ashen said, his voice stripped of mockery for once. "I lied. Sasha isn't my girlfriend."
A collective gasp rippled through the spectators—Layla's sharp inhale, Noora's stunned silence, Sasha's shaky exhale. But Eren's reaction was the most visceral. His head snapped up, eyes wide and wet with betrayal and confusion.
"You… what?"
Ashen didn't flinch. "You're wondering why I'd do this. What I gained." He leaned in, ensuring only Eren heard his next words. "I did it to save both of you."
Eren's breath hitched.
"You thought you loved her," Ashen continued, "but what you felt wasn't love. It was attraction—lust, obsession, ownership. You never tried to understand her. Never asked what she wanted. You even bet her like she was a prize to be won." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Is that how love works, Whitehound?"
Eren's fists clenched, but no rebuttal came.
Ashen stood, addressing the silent arena now. "This stupid nobility game ruins everything. Wives fighting for status. Children raised in cold palaces. Generations of misery, all for power." He glanced at Sasha, then back to Eren. "Real love? It's sacred. One person, chosen not by bloodline, but by fate. It changes you. If you truly loved someone, you'd follow them into hell itself—not drag them into yours."
The weight of his words hung in the air. Eren's tears fell harder, but something in his gaze shifted—anger giving way to something raw and uncertain.
Sasha stepped forward, her voice barely audible. "Ashen…"
He didn't look at her. "Figure it out, Eren. Before you destroy yourself and her."
The arena remained silent as Ashen's voice softened, his gaze distant as if seeing something far beyond the scorched battlefield.
"Let me tell you all a story," he said, turning to Layla, Noora, and the others. "A real one."
He crouched back down, his shadow stretching long across the cracked earth.
"Once, in a remote village, I saw a woman. Half her face was burned away, her hair gone on one side. Ugly by the world's standards. Yet she was smiling, holding hands with a slim, ordinary-looking man as they picked wildflowers together."
Ashen's fingers absently traced the scars on his own knuckles.
"An old woman told me their story. That burned woman? She was once considered the most beautiful in the entire village. Men fought for her attention, offered fortunes for her hand. But she chose that slim boy—someone 'not even 10% as handsome as her'—because they'd laughed and cried together since childhood."
His voice grew quieter.
"Then, just before their wedding, a rejected suitor threw acid on her face. The village had no health potions—too poor, too far from cities where they're sold. By the time help came... it was too late."
"She was bedridden for days," Ashen continued, his shadow flickering like candlelight. "Wouldn't let anyone see her ruined face. Just screamed whenever someone came near. Then one day, she called for her lover."
"The man came rushing, tried to hug her. She refused. 'You should move on,' she told him. 'Look at me—I can't even stand to see my own face. How could you want this? What will the world think?'"
"He said, 'I don't care about the world—'"
"She cut him off. 'Leave me. It's over. You deserve better.' Then she pushed him out. Both cried that night."
Ashen's voice dropped to a whisper.
"The next morning, the man forced his way into her room. She gasped—his forehead was bleeding, his hair shaved off. He'd smashed his head against rocks until it matched her scars."
"'Do I deserve you now?' he asked. 'Is this what it takes?'"
"She reached for him, trembling. 'Why? Why go so far?'"
"His answer was simple. 'Because I can't imagine life without you. And this?' He touched his wound. 'Small price to pay.'"
"She wept. 'I never wanted this!'"
"He smiled. 'I know you'd never wish me harm. But how could you think—even like this—you'd ever be anything less than beautiful to me? I fell for your soul, not your face.'"
The silence that followed was heavier than any blade.