Auren Vale was a man untouched by time, wealth, or wonder.
He lived in a city suspended between the real and the magical—a place where skyscrapers glowed with ancient runes and trains ran on whispered spells instead of tracks. And yet, none of it thrilled him anymore. Not the view from his thirty-ninth floor penthouse, not the symphonies played by invisible orchestras in the Grand Plaza, and certainly not the silence that filled his luxurious home like fog.
He was born into power, sculpted by solitude, and sharpened by expectation. Every hour of his life had once been filled—meetings, parties, alliances—but lately, he'd withdrawn from it all. Now, he lived as a ghost in his own world.
A man who had everything.
And felt nothing.
On this particular day, Auren sat on a marble bench in the heart of the Mirror Gardens, watching the magical vines curl along crystal pillars. He wasn't sure why he came there. He never did. Perhaps it was the quiet. Perhaps it was the absurd hope that something different might happen.
And then—
She walked past him.
She wasn't glowing. She wasn't casting spells. She wasn't dressed to enchant.
But Auren stopped breathing.
Her presence felt like a gentle tear in the fabric of the world. Effortless. Natural. As though the wind turned toward her without meaning to. She wore a long, olive-green coat, her dark hair tied in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her eyes—when they flicked toward him—were full of life.
Something in Auren cracked.
Before he knew it, he stood.
She looked at him again. Not confused. Not impressed. Just aware.
"Hello," he said, unsure why it felt like the first word he'd spoken in years.
She tilted her head. "Hi."
That was it. One word. One voice. And something ancient inside him moved.