SHADOWS THAT LINGERS.
Recommended Song: Je Te Laisserai Des Mots– Patrick Watson
The feeling doesn't leave her.
Even long after she returns to the palace, the weight of it clings to her skin, seeping into her bones like a whisper she can't quite catch. She tells herself it was nothing—just a fleeting illusion in the chaos of the market, a mind too eager to believe in ghosts.
But her heart refuses to listen.
Nyxara sits by the window, staring at the endless city lights flickering like fallen stars. The streets below hum with life, vendors calling out, carriages rolling past, laughter spilling into the cool night air.
Yet, despite the noise, she feels an unsettling quiet. A silence that exists only for her.
She wraps her arms around herself, pressing her nails into her skin as if to ground herself.
Why does it still feel like someone is watching her?
A breeze stirs the sheer curtains, sending shivers along her spine. It shouldn't be cold. The night is warm, the fire at her back still burning low, but the chill she feels is something else entirely.
Slowly, her gaze shifts downward, toward the street below.
The city moves, people weaving in and out of shadows, but there—just at the edge of an alleyway—she sees it.
A figure.
Tall. Dark. Motionless.
Watching.
Her breath catches in her throat, a sharp inhale that drowns out the sound of the world around her.
For a moment, time stretches impossibly thin, drawn taut between the space of reality and something else.
She blinks—
Gone.
The alley is empty. Just stone and shadows.
A tremor runs through her fingers as she presses them against the cool glass. You're imagining things. It wasn't real.
And yet, she doesn't move from the window.
She waits.
For what, she doesn't know.
But nothing happens. No figure reappears. No whisper of presence brushes against her skin. Only the slow passing of time and the soft beat of her own pulse.
It's infuriating, unnerving. She barely knows him—doesn't know him at all—yet his presence lingers like a shadow she can't shake.
Her gaze flickers to the shifting crowd again, searching for something she can't name. But the space where she thought she saw him is empty.
Like he was never there.
A cold sensation trickles down her spine.
Was he?
Finally, she exhales and pushes herself up, wrapping her robe tighter around her frame. Enough. You're losing your mind.
Still, the uneasy feeling lingers long after she leaves the window.
---
The corridors of the palace are silent at this hour. The flickering torchlight casts long, wavering shadows against the walls, stretching into shapes that seem to move if she looks too long.
She shakes the thought away, forcing herself to focus on the sound of her own footsteps.
But then—
A shift in the air.
Subtle. Barely there.
Yet, it prickles against her skin, making her halt mid-step.
The air changes, like something unseen has moved past her.
Then, the faintest trace of scent.
Leather and embers.
Her stomach clenches.
That scent—she knows it.
Her head snaps around, searching the empty corridor. The torches sway slightly, the flames licking at the stone walls as if disturbed by something unseen.
Her heart pounds against her ribs.
She takes a hesitant step forward, her breath unsteady.
You're imagining things, she repeats in her mind. But the scent lingers, wrapping around her like an invisible thread pulling her toward something—
Then—
A faint clink. Metal against stone.
Her gaze drops to the floor.
A ring, again.
Silver, heavy, intricately designed.
She crouches slowly, hesitating before reaching for it. The cold metal sends a shiver through her fingers as she lifts it, turning it in her palm.
The emblem carved into it is familiar—ornate, regal, powerful, just like the one she had with her.
Somewhere deep inside, she knows who it belongs to.
Her pulse pounds.
She curls her fingers around the ring and exhales a shaky breath.
She isn't imagining things.
He was here.
Nyxara's breath shudders as she turns, the scent still curling through her senses. Her lips part, and before she can stop herself, a whisper escapes— a name she doesn't even know.
"Who… are you?"
The words are barely audible, but they taste foreign on her tongue, as if they don't belong to her.
She clenches her fists. Why does he keep invading her thoughts?