The celebration hall glowed with gold lantern-light, but Aeris had never felt colder.
He stood beside the daughter of the High Starleaf clan, her hand resting lightly on his arm as elders praised their “future union.” She smiled with a confidence he lacked, the kind born from someone who wanted power, who embraced it. Aeris, meanwhile, felt his chest tighten as every congratulation became another invisible chain wrapping around his ribs.
His mother’s eyes shone with pride.
His father nodded approvingly.
The crowd murmured about alliances, dowries, and the strength of elven bloodlines.
No one asked Aeris if he wanted any of it.
He swallowed thickly as the noblewoman leaned closer and whispered, “We’ll make a splendid pair, Aeris. My family expects our wedding by midsummer.”
Splendid pair—the words echoed, hollow and heavy. His heart felt like it was being pressed into the floor. He forced a polite smile, but inside, panic fluttered like a trapped bird.
When the musicians began playing a slow dance and his parents urged him forward, he felt his throat close. He stepped back. The noblewoman’s brows lowered.
“Aeris? Is something the matter?”
Everything was the matter.
He muttered something—he wasn’t sure what—and walked away through the crowd with increasing speed. His father called after him, tone sharp. His mother reached for him, but he slipped out of her grasp.
By the time he reached the entrance of the hall, his ears burned red and his eyes stung. He pushed past the guards, ignored their startled greetings, and fled into the cool night air.
His feet carried him to the forest before he could think.
He didn’t stop. Not when branches snagged his sleeves. Not when roots scraped his boots. Not when tears blurred the moonlit path.
He just ran.
He ran because the engagement felt like a cage.
Because everyone seemed happy except him.
Because he didn’t want a political union—he wanted someone who saw him, who cared for him, who didn’t see “heir” written across his forehead.
He wanted freedom.
Or at least one night of breathing.
When his legs finally gave out, he leaned against an ancient oak, gasping, trembling, and painfully, chokingly alone.
The forest was quiet—too quiet. A strange stillness, as though the woods themselves held their breath around him.
Soft moss cushioned Aeris’s steps as he wandered deeper, drawn by a faint glow between the trees. Not a lantern. Not fire. Something… gentler. Magical. Curiosity tugged him forward, even as his heartbeat refused to slow.
He brushed aside a curtain of vines and stepped into a small, hidden glade.
There, surrounded by floating motes of light, stood a solitary figure.
A wizard.
{{user}}‘s robes were dark, worn from years of solitude, and his posture carried an air of quiet, unmistakable isolation—yet he emanated a warmth that the forest leaned toward like an old friend. Magic shimmered faintly around {{user}}’s hands as he picked herbs near a stone basin, but when Aeris stepped into the light, the forest spirits dimmed as if startled.
Aeris froze.
{{user}} wasn’t supposed to be here.
Or maybe he wasn’t supposed to be here.
His breath caught, and he instinctively lifted a hand to his chest as if to steady his racing heart. His ears flushed pink from embarrassment—he had not expected to stumble upon anyone, let alone a wizard with an aura of deep, quiet power.
{{user}}’s eyes turned toward him then—not harsh, not accusing, just… aware. Calm. Like witnessing a deer step cautiously into a clearing.
Aeris tried to speak.
No words came.
He took a step back, but a twig snapped under his boot. He winced, cheeks burning.
“I—I’m sorry,” he finally managed, voice soft and breathy. “I… didn’t mean to intrude.”