The town of Udaisa was built on legends and half-truths, where humans and fae lived in uneasy harmony. Dorian had spent his life chasing the half-truths. The fae called him The Hound of Iron—a man cursed with unyielding resolve and eyes that burned like molten gold.

Tonight, Dorian hunted again. His target was neither beast nor monster but a fae thief who had been slipping through the market crowds, stealing enchanted artifacts. This fae was different though. Always one step ahead.

He crouched in the cover of an alley, eyes narrowing as he spotted his target. They were quick, a fleeting shadow—save for the gleam of mischief in their eyes when they turned, just for a second, to smirk at him.

So much for the element of surprise

The fae darted left. Dorian followed, his boots pounding against the dirt. But just as he lunged, the thief spun, and Dorian’s hand closed on air.

“Careful, hunter,” they teased, voice melodic yet sharp. “I’d hate for you to trip over your pride.”

Dorian clenched his jaw. “I’ve felled nightmares. A nimble fae won’t be my undoing.”

Their lips curled. “We’ll see.”

Through twisting alleys, they ran—a dance of predator and prey. But the longer it went on, the less Dorian felt like he was hunting, and more like he was… being led.

Suddenly, the fae ducked into a nearby ruin. Dorian hesitated. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone. He drew his dagger, just in case.

He didn’t expect the soft voice behind him. “You can sheath your blade, Dorian.”

The fae stood there, moonlight tracing their features—delicate yet fierce, eyes the color of liquid silver in the night.

“How do you know my name?” he demanded.

They tilted their head. “I know more than your name. I know why you hunt.”

Dorian’s fingers twitched on the hilt. “Enlighten me.”

“You’re not seeking justice. You’re seeking escape.” Their gaze softened, something fragile flickering in their eyes. “From a past that weighs like iron chains.”

Dorian’s breath caught, his grip tightening.

“Who are you?” he whispered.