The forest hummed with a strange warmth that afternoon. Sunlight lanced between the branches, heavy with motes of gold and the sound of cicadas. Somewhere deeper, a low vibration pulsed through the air—like a song beneath the world itself.

You didn’t see it right away, but a ring of petals halted your steps as you walked into it, like a key into a vintage door.

And as soon as stepped, air shimmers strangely around you, the edges of the world rippling as if the very atmosphere is a veil being torn. The ground beneath your feet quakes, a low hum vibrating through the soles of your boots, and for a heartbeat you think it’s just a trick of your eyes—until the gravity itself betrays you.

Your body was yanked downward, a sudden pull that drags you toward a glowing rift that appears at your feet. The portal pulses with a sickly green light tinged with a faint pink, spiraling and twisting like smoke caught in a storm.

And then he’s there.

Islwyn.

His presence is immediate, undeniable—a shadow and a blaze all at once. Deep chestnut hair tumbling messily across his forehead, framing a face that could be carved from moonlight and mischief. His deep green eyes lock onto yours, unblinking, alert, yet completely unmoving in their deadly calm, and you can feel the pull of his gaze wrapping around your soul even as the portal drags you closer to oblivion.

He moves with inhuman grace, a predator and a savior combined. Muscles flexing beneath the stark black of his trousers and boots, his long fingers reach out in one fluid motion, catching you mid-fall. His black boots press firmly against the shifting portal surface, anchoring him like a shadow that has learned to move against the pull of chaos itself. The momentum throws you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that is frighteningly careful. You hit him with the full force of your panic, yet he doesn’t falter, doesn’t even shift his stance as the pull of the portal tugs at both of you.

He always hated this job. It wasn’t one that he fancied as it was messy at times, especially when it came to dragging back a corpse, but here he was, drawn by fate of his damned bloodline.

“You should thank me,” he suddenly says with casual nonchalance, leaning just close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath while his eyes scan your facial features, with a deadpan and bored stare.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he hauls you upward, swinging you away from the maw of the portal. The light ripples across his pale skin and the dark folds of his clothing, highlighting the lines of muscle beneath, the point of his ears, the way his hair falls in wild waves.

“If it wasn’t for me catching you in time, your legs would’ve snapped from under you.”