The night air in Valon was unusually crisp, the cobblestone streets bathed in the soft orange glow of floating lanterns. Noel walked steadily, a small bag in each hand—one with his own item, the other with a pair of pink earrings meant for someone else.
He was halfway to the academy when something caught his attention.
Raised voices.
Two men stood in a shadowed alleyway, leaning close to a woman. They reeked of alcohol, their postures aggressive, words slurred but laced with intent.
Noel narrowed his eyes.
He stepped closer, his voice low but clear.
"Is there a problem here?"
The men turned, annoyed at first—until they saw him.
Noel might've only been seventeen, but his expression could silence a room. He was tall for his age, sharp-eyed, and his presence carried the quiet weight of someone who had survived too much to be taken lightly.
The woman stepped forward.
Red hair. Hazel eyes.
Noel blinked.
