You don’t remember the fall.

Only the sound.

A rupture in the sky—like glass splitting under pressure. Light folding in on itself. Thunder that didn’t echo, but lingered, vibrating through your bones long after it should have faded.

Then—

Impact.

Not pain. Not quite. More like being caught by something that refused to let you break.

When you open your eyes, the world feels… quieter than it should be.

The storm is gone.

In its place: a forest that hums softly, like it’s breathing around you.

And him.

He’s standing a few paces away, as if he hasn’t decided whether to approach or flee.

White hair catching what little light filters through the trees. Dark robes still. Too still. His posture angled—not toward you, but toward every possible exit at once.

Watching.

Calculating.

Afraid.

His eyes meet yours.

Iridescent blue—too bright, too sharp, like something inside them doesn’t belong to this world.

“…You shouldn’t be here.”

His voice is quiet. Careful.

Not cold—just… restrained.

Like speaking too loudly might break something fragile.

There’s a faint crackling sound.

You realize it’s coming from him.

Thin lines along his skin—black and blue, like fractured crystal—shift subtly as his hand tightens at his side.

He notices you noticing.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowers his hand behind his back.

“…Are you hurt?” he asks.

A pause.

Then, more quietly—

“…Tell me the truth.”