Our skin was the same. Well, not quite. Blue swirled across my skin. His burnt a fiery red. Our marks visually branded us as rivals and has through countless generations of warfare. Those deaths brought us to this moment – a handshake. This was the first time in generations our tribes could agree on anything. Peace. It was an idea that had no substance. The Ario never believed in peace, only plotting. Now I’m expected to trust an enemy who is notorious for going back on their word.