The Renâdorei stepped quietly into one of the libraries on the grounds of the Ravenâs Nest, his movements measured, deliberate - each footfall placed with care, as if he hoped the silence would grant him anonymity. He made his way between the towering shelves, eyes sweeping over the rows of bookcases, pausing at the polished iron plaques affixed to their edges. He was searching for a particular section. One that dealt in the obscure and often unwelcome.
It was a rare thing, seeing Aelsar here. He wasnât known for his studious habits, nor for a taste in anything more than mischief, battle and liquor. To most, he wore the mask of a man who lived lightly, without weight or worry. Or perhaps one without much thought between his eyes. But here, in the quiet hush of old paper and older secrets, that mask slipped if only slightly.
Drawing in a deep breath, he hesitated - almost turning back the way he came. He could have found some of this knowledge elsewhere, back among his peers in the Rift. But he couldnât be there right now. Not as often as some of them might have liked.
Despite the progress heâd made, despite the way the Void bent a little more easily to his will, comfort remained elusive. The magic still wasnât his, not truly - not when another entity within him gleefully held all the cards in its hands. Yet the chaos of it no longer tripped him as often. His missteps had quieted, his control steadied. And in the stillness that followed, he noticed something else: his mind, once blurred at the edges, had begun to sharpen - filling in the corners he used to leave soft and unexamined. Perhaps even forgotten.
âNeed assistance looking for anything in particular?â
The voice came from just beyond the next bookcase. It was smooth, poised, and unmistakably that of Shenâdralar Starweaver. It carried that same calm authority that had always made him feel about two inches shorter even though he was much shorter than her than that. Graceful, yes, but with an edge of precision that suggested she already knew the answer.
Aelsarâs breath caught. The back of his neck tingled, and heat rushed uninvited to his cheeks. Of course it was her. She had that effect; disarming in a way that felt unfair, like the room itself gravitated toward her when she entered. And now she was speaking to him.
Theyâd barely exchanged more than a handful of words before. Brief, professional, and easily forgettable. At least, forgettable for her. He, on the other hand, remembered every detail; quietly captivated by her and perhaps he surely couldnât have been the only one. She was someone heâd only ever observed from a distance, through the safety of silence. And now that distance closed. She was like moonlight perfected to him.
Saedre quirked a long, silvery brow as she stepped around the corner, a worn leather-bound book clutched effortlessly to her chest. Her voice struck him again; velvet-wrapped steel that was both cool and commanding. His name had never sounded so dangerous to him before.
Her robes, elegant and precise, molded to her frame like they were tailored by hand and possibly magic. The fabric shimmered faintly in the low light, catching at every motion. A high slit revealed the long line of one leg, smooth and poised with each step, and he felt his eyes betray him before he could look away. Every inch of her moved like an intention.
Aelsar swallowed hard. His brain scrambled to remember how words worked, âDamn⌠thatâs a nice dress!â He found himself suddenly blurting out. This, of course, made her tilt her head at him curiously, long white hair spilling over a shoulder. Confused even.
âPardon?â she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly, though her tone remained unreadable as her silver hair spilled over her shoulder.
It was like a spell had been cast over his brain. Whatever coherent thought heâd come in with had long since dissolved, replaced by a warm, useless fog. His nerve had vanished without warning and scattered like ash.The entity that lived within him stirred, amused. It offered no help, only a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated through his chest.
But Aelsarâs gaze had already betrayed him, locked helplessly on the smooth curve of her exposed thigh. He swallowed hard. And then because silence to him is a vacuum that awkwardness rushed in to always fill, he blurted, âIt hugs everything so perfectlyâŚâ
Saedre blinked once, slowly in disbelief. The books in her arms shifted as her grip tightened. She didnât blush. Instead, her mouth twitched just slightly - a flicker at the corner, as if something had slipped through her composure. Annoyance, perhaps. Or something colder.
âIf youâre not here for a book,â she said, voice now edged sharply, âThen turn on your heel and be about your business. My clothing is none of your concern.â
Her words cut clean and exact, like the snap of a closing tome.
His mouth hung open a moment too long as he finally looked up at her face. It was stern and unreadable. And then the panic finally caught up with him. He snapped his jaw shut with an audible click and turned on his heel so fast it nearly spun him in a circle.
âYeah. No books for me⌠not right now,â he mumbled over his shoulder. Then, more loudly, perhaps a little too loudly, he added, âBut that dress looks damned good on you. Respectfully!â
He didnât wait for a response. His boots scuffed across the stone floor as he made a beeline for the exit, eager to vanish from existence entirely. The words just fell from his mouth as they always had before he had time to catch them.
Something hard struck the back of his head, knocking his head forward a little with the force. He stumbled forward, blinking stars from his vision.
A book. Sheâd actually thrown a book at him! Aelsar turned just enough to glance over his shoulder, half in disbelief, half in admiration before he ran like hell from the library and passed a silent laugh from her familiar, Aveem - his shoulders bouncing up and down gleefully.
âNext time,â Saedre called back at him with disappointment, arms folded over her chest, âTry leading with the respectfully.â
