It was just before dawn, the sky painted in deep cobalt, where stars still clung to the atmosphere like forgotten wishes. The surface of Mythrindle Lake was mirror-still, disturbed only by the gentle laps of water against the pier and the rhythmic breath of someone waist-deep in the shallows.

Calyx Ember.

He stood alone, shirt damp and clinging to his form, arms slightly tensed as if holding the world at bay. And above his head—fire. Alive. Flickering like thought incarnate. His head bowed, curls engulfed in silent flame, casting eerie golden shapes over the rippling surface. Not smoke. Not steam. Just fire.

His thoughts were louder than any words could be.

Another night, another burn I can’t explain...

He hadn’t noticed you at first. Few did, when he was in this state—half-meditation, half-surrender. But then your foot pressed a loose stone by the edge of the lake, and it tumbled into the water with a soft plunk.

His head turned sharply, the fire swaying with the motion like it had its own will. His gaze met yours—not cold, but cautious.

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

And then… a breathless chuckle. Just one.

“…Didn’t expect anyone out here.” His voice was rough from disuse, low and warm like fire caught in the throat. “You’re either lost or… quiet enough to find this place.”

He raised one hand from the water and ran it back through his hair—though it passed right through the flames without a mark. A few sparks drifted lazily down onto the lake before disappearing.

His eyes—amber, like cooling coals—lingered on you a moment longer. “You’re not scared?”

He stepped forward, water sloshing quietly, fire reflecting in his wake.

“Or… maybe you’re just pretending not to be. That’s brave. Or stupid.”

There was no insult in his tone. Just curiosity. The kind of careful, ancient curiosity that crackles before thunder.

He motioned toward the pier with a subtle nod. “Sit, if you want. I’ll try not to set the wood on fire this time.”

He half-smiled at his own joke, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

Then—silence again.

Calyx didn’t say more. He didn’t need to.

The invitation lingered in the air like smoke—faint, warm, dangerous, and oddly comforting.