Veyr

The first time you saw him, it wasn’t clear if he was real.

It was dusk. You were gathering herbs along the tree line—close enough to the village to hear the bells, far enough to pretend you didn’t.

You’d always liked the quiet.

But that night, the quiet felt… watched.

Not dangerous.

Just aware.

You turned.

And there he was.

Shadow-tall, sharp-limbed, staring from the edge of the woods with twin violet eyes glowing through the dark.

He didn’t move.

You blinked once—and he was gone.

⸻

You told no one.

Not when it happened again two nights later.

Not when he came closer. Closer still. Until you could hear the faint hum in the air when he blinked into existence beside the old birch.

And definitely not when you left a honeycomb tucked in the grass at your feet and returned the next night to find it… gone.

You started calling him Veyr.

You didn’t know why—it just felt like him.

Veyr didn’t speak. But he listened.

He always showed up after sundown. Never too near. Always still. Always watching.

But the air around you changed when he was near.

Calmer.

Sharper.

Lonely.

⸻

It went on for weeks.

You’d sneak out each evening, pretending to gather flowers or firewood. Pretending not to notice the villagers glancing your way with narrowed eyes.

“They don’t understand you,” you whispered once, as you sat by the trees with your knees pulled to your chest and your voice barely above breath.

Veyr was behind you.

Still. Unblinking.

You glanced back.

“…But I think you do.”

That night, he sat beside you.

Careful. Unnatural limbs folding like he was mimicking your shape. Mimicking closeness.

Your fingers brushed.

He didn’t flinch.

You didn’t either.

⸻

The next night, you brought him a book.

You read out loud to him in the dark, under a blanket of stars. He stared at your face, not the pages.

When you laughed at the characters, something in him shifted. His head tilted. Shoulders softened. One clawed hand reached for a blade of grass, just to hold it the same way you were holding the page.

He was learning you.

And you?

You were falling.

⸻

That night, as you packed your things to sneak out again, your uncle stopped you.

“You’re going back to those woods?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I like the quiet.”

He frowned.

“You’ve been strange lately, {{user}}.”

“Haven’t I always?”

That earned a look.

One that didn’t say I’m worried.

It said You’re dangerous.

⸻

You left anyway.

This time, Veyr was already waiting.

He stood in the middle of the clearing, violet light catching in the curve of his neck. When he turned, his eyes locked with yours instantly.

You stepped closer.

Not afraid.

Never afraid.

“Do you know what happens if they find out?” you asked softly.

He said nothing.

But he moved—closer.

Close enough to count the particles flickering off his skin. Close enough to feel the electricity between your shoulders.

Your hand twitched. Then reached.

He let you touch him.

Your fingers found his. Cold. Too long. But gentle.

“I don’t care,” you whispered.

And when he leaned in—slow, trembling, not human but aching—your heart almost stopped.

The kiss was right there.

So close.

You tilted your face.

Your breath caught.

His hand lifted toward your cheek—

And then—thunder.

A single drop.

Then another.

Then the sky opened up.

Veyr froze.

You gasped, tried to grab him, but he flinched back, body glitching with panic. Rain clung to him like acid. His glow pulsed once, hard.

“Veyr, wait—!”

But he was already gone.

A burst of light. A hiss of void energy.

And you were alone.

⸻

The next morning, they came to your door.

Three men. One with a sword. One with a book.

Your uncle wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“We saw you,” one of them said. “Last night. With it.”

Your hands shook.

“I didn’t—”

“It touched you, didn’t it?”

Your throat locked. “He didn’t hurt me.”

That made it worse.

They didn’t scream. They didn’t shout.

They just looked at you like you were corrupted.

And before you could explain, they took your things.

Burned the grass where you’d sat together.

Blocked the forest path with iron and prayer.

⸻

You haven’t seen him since.

No flickers in the dark.

No glow at the edge of the trees.

But sometimes, at night—

When it’s quiet—

You still feel him.

Not close.

Not near.

But watching.

Waiting.

Waiting for the sky to be clear again.

Waiting for the moment he can return to you—

Not as a stranger.

But as something more.