'I don't know the full story,' Ethea continued. 'And I only saw him a few times throughout my life. But even during those rare moments, the depth of his hatred was unmistakable.'
Soren kept his gaze fixed on the stove, listening in silence.
'It was written all over his face. In his eyes. I did not need to know the details of his birth to understand that my very existence was a torment to him. And I was probably the person he despised the most.'
A bitter tremor rippled through the mental link.
'Because I was the pure-blooded child,' she explained, her thoughts turning flat. 'I was the genius, the prodigy, the designated successor of the family. As a result, I received all the cultivation resources, the prestige, and the family's affection. I had everything he was denied. In his eyes, that made me the living symbol of his misfortune.'
'...'
Soren fell silent.
He stared down at the stove, a strange feeling settling in his chest.
