The Everveil Forest held its breath beneath the soft hush of dawn. Pale golden light filtered through the canopy, touching the mossy ground like delicate fingers. Leaves rustled with the gentlest of sighs, the sort that made you pause and wonder if the forest had just whispered your name.
Cira's boots made little sound as she moved through the undergrowth, light and swift. Her braid swung behind her, dark against the muted greens of her surroundings. A hand-carved bow rested across her back, and a small satchel bounced softly at her hip. Her eyes, a piercing shade that seemed to shift with the light, scanned the ground for faint tracks—deer, perhaps, or something stranger.
She wasn't hunting.
She just liked knowing who had passed through her forest.
Well—not hers. But it felt like it.
Cira had lived alone in a small cottage tucked deep in the forest's embrace since she could remember. It wasn't far from the village, where families bustled with small-town life, children ran between clay houses, and old women gossiped with their sleeves rolled up. Cira visited the village often—sometimes to trade, sometimes to chat with the baker's daughter, or the old man who whittled tiny animals from driftwood—but she never stayed.
The village was warm. But it wasn't home.
Home was the cottage. Quiet. Green. Alive.
And it was where Lumen was.
A soft shimmer darted between the trees ahead—silver, like stardust in motion. Cira smiled as the ethereal creature emerged, tail aglow, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"You were supposed to be helping me gather river stones," she teased, crouching as the stardust fox trotted over and nuzzled her palm.
Lumen gave a breathy, chiming huff, almost laughing, then darted away again, leaving a faint trail of sparkling dust.
Cira followed, her pace light.
She didn't know when it began—the strange stillness in the forest.
She only noticed it when the birds stopped singing.
That was what made her pause, head tilting. No wind. No rustling. Just silence.
And then—something different.
Breath.
A faint exhale. Human. But not hers.
Cira spun around instinctively, hand reaching for her bow before she caught herself.
There—between two ancient oaks—lay a figure.
A boy — no, a young man — collapsed beside a moss-covered stone, half-conscious. His hand bloodied, his clothes torn and damp as though he'd wandered through rain, though the skies had been dry for days. Pale-skinned, dark-haired, handsome in a haunting way. His hair was dark and fell in uneven waves across his face. Dirt streaked his skin. He didn't stir, but his breathing was steady.
But it was his stillness that struck her most.
Like the forest was holding its breath… for him.
She stepped closer, cautious.
He didn't move.
"Elian…"
The name slipped from his lips so softly she nearly missed it.
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