He’s striking in a way that doesn’t seem quite real. As he draws closer, I can see that his fair skin is marked with faint freckles. His hair catches the dim light as he walks, white-blond and tousled just enough to seem effortless. His dark brows and lashes frame curious, dissecting eyes.
He pulls to a stop a few steps away and tilts hishead. “It’s a bit backwards, I’ll admit,” he says, his voice silk and sly amusement, “but now that we’ve seen you naked…may we have your name?”
The question floats in the space between us, light as smoke, yet my throat tightens as if it’s suffocating me.
Do I trust them with the truth?
My mind claws for something–anything–but the emptiness inside me stretches wider.
“I…” The word frays in my mouth.
A different answer comes to my mind as I search. They could have hurt me. They could’ve left me to die like the others did. Instead, they offered kindness, in their own strange way.
If I’m to survive this world I don’t understand, I need allies, and who better to have than the ones that make others cower in fear?
I swallow my nerves and steel my spine, lifting my chin to meet their gazes.
“I don’t know who I am.”
For a beat, he merely watches me, like he’s studying a riddle that sits before him half-solved. Then, with graceful ease, he lowers himself to a crouch in front of me. His hand extends in invitation, palm up.
I hesitate for a breath before I place mine in his. He lifts it slowly, brushing a kiss across my knuckles while keeping his eyes fully trained on mine.
My heart rate jumps.
“It’s a good thing you stumbled upon the four kings of this world then,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice honeyed with amusement.
“The four kings?” I repeat, my mind blank and spinning.
His smirk deepens. “Fate seems to have quite the flair for dramatics…wouldn’t you agree, little echo?”
Chapter 2
Unknown
The large coat hangs heavily on my frame as I slide my arms through the sleeves, the fabric swallowing me whole. I hold it closed with trembling fingers before I slowly push myself to my feet.
The movement takes effort. My muscles protest, my ribs throb, and the air feels too thick as I rise. When I finally manage to stand, they all tower over me. No longer distant silhouettes but solid figures, imposing and far too real.
I tip my head back just enough to meet their eyes, and in doing so, I feel it–how small I am in their presence. Not just in stature, but in power. Whatever they are, whatever I might be…I am not their equal.
The mountain stands up and his golden eyes meetmine with a steadiness that continues to ground my nerves.
“I’m Torryn,” he says, voice low and rough, though not unkind. “That’s Sylvin.” He jerks his chin toward the white-haired one with the gleaming smirk and sharp cheekbones.
Sylvin gives a shallow, theatrical bow, lips curving like this is all a performance.
Torryn doesn’t acknowledge the gesture. He just continues, flatly, “Riven.”
The one who gave me his coat doesn’t speak. He watches me still, his red eyes fixed and hungry, like he hasn’t blinked since I stood.
“And the one back there pretending not to listen is Azyric,” Torryn finishes.
I turn to glance at him. Azyric hasn’t moved from his place at the edge of the group. Shadows cling to him like armor once again. He doesn’t even glance my way as he’s introduced.
There’s a beat of silence, heavy and taut as I swing my gaze back to look at them, noting the careful distance they each keep from one another.
They aren’t comfortable in each other’s company. That much is obvious. No camaraderie. No shared glances or trust.
