The fire crackled softly, its glow dancing in the boy's dark eyes as he stared into its depths. A soft breeze stirred the forest, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and blooming nightflowers. For a moment, the world seemed still. Then, without warning, a gust of wind rushed past, extinguishing one of the smaller flames.
The boy felt the air shift—a presence he couldn't mistake. Before he could react, a blur of motion appeared at his side, silent as a whisper.
"You're brooding again, Aren," came a smooth, lilting voice, rich with amusement.
Aren flinched, his heart jolting. He turned sharply to see the source of the voice: a figure who seemed almost too perfect to belong to the mortal world.
Standing beside him, his arms crossed casually, was Kiran. He was strikingly beautiful, with sharp, angular features that seemed carved from alabaster. His skin was flawless and pale, glowing faintly in the firelight, and his hair—a cascade of pure white—flowed like silk over his shoulders, catching the red and silver hues of the twin moons.
But it was his eyes that held Aren's attention. Crimson, deep and intense, they glimmered with a faint inner light, as though they contained secrets untold. And when Kiran spoke, his lips curved into a faint smirk, revealing elongated canines that gleamed like polished ivory.
"How many times do I have to tell you," Kiran said, lowering himself gracefully onto a nearby log, "if you sit by the fire and stare at it like that, people will start to think you're plotting something nefarious."
Aren exhaled sharply, trying to shake off his irritation. "Kiran, do you always have to make an entrance? One of these days, you're going to give me a heart attack."
Kiran tilted his head, his smirk deepening. "You mortals and your fragile hearts. It's a wonder you've survived this long."
"I'm not mortal," Aren shot back, his tone sharp. "Not entirely, anyway."
Kiran's expression softened slightly, and he regarded Aren with an almost imperceptible flicker of curiosity. It was fleeting, gone before Aren could fully register it, replaced by Kiran's usual air of amused indifference.
"Ah, yes," Kiran said, leaning back and propping himself up with one arm. His movements were fluid, almost languid, yet there was a controlled grace in everything he did—like a predator at rest. "You're... something else, aren't you? Not from here. Not like me."
Aren's brow furrowed, his grip tightening around the necklace in his hand. He hated when Kiran brought that up. The vampire always seemed to know more than he let on, yet he never gave answers—only cryptic remarks and teasing jabs.
"Why are you here, Kiran?" Aren asked, his voice heavy with frustration.
Kiran chuckled, the sound low and musical. "Always so serious. You wound me, Aren. Can't I visit my dear friend without an ulterior motive?"
Aren gave him a flat look.
"Fine," Kiran relented, waving a hand dismissively. "I was passing through and thought I'd check on you. After all, it's not every day you're left alone. Where's the old man?"
Aren gestured toward the forest, his expression sour. "He wandered off. As usual. Left me with more questions than answers."
"Hmm," Kiran murmured, his eyes flicking toward the dark treeline. For a moment, his playful demeanor slipped, and his gaze turned sharp, as if he were searching for something hidden in the shadows. Then he blinked, and the mask was back in place.
"You know," he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, "you should be grateful. Not everyone gets a cryptic old man to guide them through life. Some of us had to figure things out on our own."
There was a hint of something in his voice—a flicker of bitterness, quickly masked by his usual charm.
Aren caught it, but he didn't press. Instead, he sighed and looked down at the necklace in his hands. "It's just... I don't get it, Kiran. None of this makes sense. The stories, the magic, this entire world—it's like I'm supposed to know something, but I don't. I feel like I'm... missing a piece of myself."
Kiran's gaze softened, and for a brief moment, his crimson eyes held an emotion Aren couldn't quite place. Sympathy? Understanding?
"You're not missing anything," Kiran said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. "You're just... not ready. Not yet."
Aren looked up at him, his frustration giving way to confusion. "What does that mean?"
Kiran smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It means you'll figure it out when the time is right."
Aren groaned, throwing up his hands. "You sound just like him."
Kiran laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Maybe the old man's rubbing off on me."
The two sat in silence for a while, the fire crackling between them. Despite his irritation, Aren found comfort in Kiran's presence. For all his teasing and cryptic remarks, the vampire had become one of his closest companions—someone who understood, in his own way, what it felt like to be different.
As the firelight flickered, Aren stole a glance at Kiran. The vampire's expression was thoughtful now, his crimson eyes fixed on the flames. There was a depth to him—a quiet intensity that Aren rarely saw.
"Hey, Kiran," Aren said softly.
Kiran didn't look at him, but his lips curved into a faint smile. "Yes, Aren?"
"Thanks. For being here."
Kiran's smile widened, and he finally turned to meet Aren's gaze. "Always, my friend. Always."
Kiran stood fluidly, a motion so smooth it was as if the very air around him had parted to accommodate his elegance. He brushed nonexistent dust from his pristine white shirt, his crimson eyes flickering back to Aren, who sat cross-legged by the fire, still gripping the necklace.
"You know what?" Kiran's voice broke the comfortable silence, his tone light but mischievous.
Aren raised an eyebrow, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and exasperation. "What now, Kiran?"
Kiran leaned forward slightly, the firelight reflecting in his sharp eyes as his smirk widened, revealing the tips of his fangs. "Why don't I cheer you up?"
Aren's frown deepened, his suspicion immediate. He set the necklace down and crossed his arms. "Cheer me up? How exactly? If this is another one of your ridiculous pranks—"
Before Aren could finish, Kiran's grin turned devilishly playful. "Oh, you'll love this, I promise," he said, his voice dripping with a charm that somehow made Aren even warier.
"Kiran," Aren said slowly, already inching back, "whatever you're thinking, don't—"
But Kiran was already moving.
With an elegance that defied the laws of nature, Kiran closed the gap between them in an instant. One moment, he was standing by the fire, and the next, his hand was on Aren's arm, pulling him upright with surprising gentleness. Aren barely had time to protest before the world around him blurred into a rush of shadow and wind.
"Kiran!" Aren shouted, his voice half indignation, half panic. His words were snatched away by the wind as the forest became a swirling blend of green and black around him.
Kiran's laughter rang out, clear and musical, as he darted through the trees with Aren in tow. His movements were impossibly fast yet precise, each step calculated to avoid roots and branches as if the forest bent to his will. He held Aren effortlessly, his grip firm but not harsh, his pale hand cool against Aren's wrist.
"Relax, Aren!" Kiran called over his shoulder, his tone almost mocking. "You might actually enjoy this if you'd stop flailing like a newborn calf."
"I am not flailing!" Aren snapped, though his attempts to wriggle free said otherwise. His heart pounded, partly from the sensation of being carried at such unnatural speed and partly from the infuriating smirk he knew Kiran wore.
Kiran glanced down at him briefly, the moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face. "Could've fooled me," he teased, his voice as smooth as silk.
The wind whipped through Aren's hair, and he finally stopped struggling, realizing it was pointless. Instead, he focused on his surroundings—or at least tried to. The forest was a blur of towering trees, their leaves shimmering under the twin moons. The air smelled of pine and damp moss, and the occasional flash of starlight filtered through the canopy above.
After what felt like an eternity, Kiran slowed, his speed diminishing until he came to a graceful halt in a clearing. He released Aren, who stumbled slightly, his legs unsteady from the sudden stop.
Aren glared at him, brushing himself off. "What was that for?"
Kiran's smile didn't falter. Instead, he gestured around them with a sweeping motion of his arm. "Look."
Reluctantly, Aren followed his gaze. The clearing was breathtaking. The ground was carpeted with soft grass that shimmered faintly, as if dusted with starlight. In the center stood a cluster of crystalline flowers, their petals glowing in hues of blue and violet. A gentle stream trickled nearby, its surface reflecting the twin moons like liquid silver.
Aren's irritation faltered as he took it all in. His expression softened, and his arms dropped to his sides. "What is this place?"
Kiran leaned casually against a tree, his crimson eyes watching Aren closely. "One of my favorite spots," he said simply. "I thought you could use a little... perspective."
Aren turned to him, suspicion creeping back into his voice. "Why? What's the catch?"
Kiran chuckled, the sound low and warm. "No catch, Aren. Just thought you needed a reminder that not everything in this world is questions and chaos. Sometimes, it's just... this."
For once, there was no teasing in Kiran's tone, no playful smirk. He looked almost solemn, his gaze distant as he stared at the glowing flowers.
Aren studied him, his frustration melting into something else—gratitude, perhaps, or understanding. He sat down near the stream, letting the cool, soothing sounds wash over him.
Kiran remained standing, his arms crossed as he watched Aren. For all his antics, there was a quiet satisfaction in his expression, as though he'd achieved exactly what he set out to do.
"Thanks, Kiran," Aren said softly, surprising even himself.
Kiran's lips curved into a small, genuine smile. "Anytime, my friend."
And for a while, they simply sat in silence, two souls from different worlds finding a rare moment of peace in a world that offered so little of it.