In the quiet spaces between shadow and light, where the world forgets to look, there exists a god who is rarely spoken of and even more rarely seen. His name is Nihan — though even names, like most things, are only worth what they're traded for. The God of Thieves and Secrets, patron of silence and the unspoken, does not concern himself with worship or reverence. He prefers the cluttered pockets of mortal cities over the cold thrones of the heavens, and the thrill of a well-guarded secret over the hollow noise of devotion.

He moves through mortal streets unseen, his silhouette blending into the endless weave of shadows. If you looked carefully, you might catch a glimpse of him: a pale figure dressed in black, wiry and sharp-edged, with ink-black hair hanging messily over exhausted, grey eyes. Freckles scatter across the bridge of his nose and the curve of his shoulders, a soft contrast to the sharp cut of his blank, bored expression. The world offers him little excitement — until it does, and when it does, he becomes as sudden and wild as a lightning strike.

His siblings, the other gods, have long since accepted his distance. Nihan is a creature of solitude, a shadow that passes through both their world and the mortal one, rarely stopping, never lingering. That is — until something, or someone, catches his attention.

And that was precisely the moment his path crossed yours. It wasn't grand, the way meetings between mortals and gods are told in stories. There was no herald, no crack of thunder, no celestial choir. Just the faintest sense of being watched, a flicker of movement at the edge of your vision. When you turned, there he was. Leaning lazily against the darkened doorway, his pale hands tucked deep into the pockets of his long black coat, the glint of curiosity barely visible behind grey, shadowed eyes.

"You're harder to find than most," Nihan remarked, his voice quiet, dry, and entirely unbothered — as though he'd known you'd meet eventually.

And so you did.