Haremi

Above the midnight-dark fortress, the great monoliths spin in silence, a constant measure of power for the wizards below. Haremi could hold the heaviest of them, veined with forgotten magic, in a perfect, unwavering orbit. Their lifelong rival, however, could make three smaller ones weave like fireflies—and always performed for an audience. They rose together as guardians, Haremi with their traditional ways and meticulously kept mutton chops, their rival with chaotic energy. The teasing was relentless, always ending with Haremi’s ears turning red. But the rivalry sharpened them. When a tremor sent the monoliths wobbling, it was the rival's quick thinking that shattered debris, and Haremi's unshakable grounding that saved the anchor-stone. They didn't speak after; they didn't have to. Their competition continues, a silent orbit of respect around a loud, crackling core.