---
They'd been walking aimlessly for a while now.
Not quite sightseeing, not quite wandering—just moving. The cobbled streets of the capital bustled in that late afternoon haze, where nothing important seemed to happen but everything felt alive. Warm light spilled across rooftops. Market stalls clattered in the breeze. A stray dog trotted past with something definitely-not-food in its mouth.
Veyle trailed a few steps behind Seren, arms crossed loosely. Her hair caught the sunlight in faint glints as she walked ahead, scarf fluttering behind her.
She turned suddenly and signed, quick and confident:
"You were supposed to buy soap, remember?"
Veyle blinked, then gave her a sheepish look. "No I wasn't."
"You literally said, 'Seren, remind me to buy soap.' I reminded you."
"I thought I said, 'Remind me not to spend more money today.'"
Seren rolled her eyes.
"You spent ten yoni on a fake crystal that smells like soup."
"It does smell like soup," Veyle muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the faintly glowing trinket. He sniffed it. "…Still smells like soup."
She smiled without sound, hands flying again:
"You're a mess."
"Tell me something I don't know."
They walked a few more paces. A bell rang faintly in the distance. A vendor called out about spiced pears. A breeze swept through the alley and rustled the flags hanging above the plaza.
Seren signed again:
"This is nice. It feels calm here."
Veyle glanced at her, a little surprised. "Yeah… it kind of does."
"Feels like it won't last, though."
He frowned, but said nothing.
She glanced back at him, halfway through a new sign.
"Anyway—"
Then it happened.
Mid-gesture, she froze.
One hand lifted, mouth slightly open. Her hair hung in the air, suspended.
Veyle blinked.
Everything had stopped.
The flags no longer fluttered. The breeze had vanished. The sounds were gone.
No carts. No voices. No bell.
He turned slowly in place, heartbeat ticking loud in his ears.
The city was gray.
Colorless.
Silent.
Seren stood inches away. Still. Frozen.
He whispered, "Seren?"
And something deep inside him understood:
She couldn't hear him.
Because time itself wasn't listening anymore.
---
Veyle's breath caught in his chest as he reached for Seren, his fingers trembling as they brushed against her arm.
"Seren?" he whispered, voice shaking. "Hey, wake up."
But there was no response.
The world around him had completely frozen. No sound. No movement.
It was as if time itself had stopped.
His heart began to race, but there was no sound of his pulse, no air filling his lungs—everything was still. His hands were cold, his thoughts scrambling, as if the world had turned to stone.
He shook Seren again, his eyes wild.
"Seren, come on… please."
Still nothing.
The silence was deafening. The city—once full of life, warmth, and sounds—had turned to an eerie, paralyzing quiet. The flags no longer fluttered. The breeze, gone. Not even a breath of air disturbed the stillness.
Veyle took a step back, his body moving like it was made of lead. The emptiness around him was suffocating. His eyes darted left and right, desperate for any sign that something, anything, was real.
And then—
He felt it.
A presence.
It wasn't just a shift in the air—it was something that gripped his very soul.
Veyle slowly turned his head, his body frozen in place, unable to move faster than a slow, agonizing crawl. There, standing in the midst of the frozen city, was a figure.
Tall, slender. Draped in black and violet fabric that seemed to ripple in the absence of time.
A face half-hidden behind a porcelain mask. A grin twisted unnaturally wide, stretching impossibly.
The voids where eyes should be—black as the deepest space—swirled with distant stars, galaxies within them.
The being tilted its head, and then the laughter came.
It didn't begin as a sound—it was a presence. Growing in every direction, wrapping around him. It filled the stillness, a laugh not born from joy, but from something darker, older. It rang out across the frozen city, sending a chill through Veyle's very bones.
Veyle couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe.
Frozen in place, his mind screamed, but no words came out. The figure's grin only grew wider as it spoke, voice low and haunting.
"I know I said I wouldn't intervene again for a while," it said, its tone playful yet dripping with something far more unsettling. "But your relationship with little Seren? Wayyyyy too cute for me to ignore."
Veyle's heart pounded in his chest, but still, no sound came. It felt as though the air had been sucked from his lungs, leaving only a crushing weight of pure terror.
The figure stepped forward, its voice now soft, almost affectionate in its cruelty.
"Don't worry," it purred. "I'm not here to ruin it. Just couldn't resist commenting on how lovely it all is."
A long pause.
Then, as if savoring the moment, it added, its voice now cryptic and final:
"Steel-clad lions sleep in stone,
Where fire waits to crack the bone.
Find the heart that does not yield,
The roaring blade, the silent shield.
To stop the flame from sky to floor,
Seek the fang who guards the core."
With those final words, the figure slowly began to walk away, its back fading before the fade reaches its face. the laugh echoing one last time in the frozen stillness, leaving nothing but the silence that felt deeper than anything Veyle had ever known.
The world remained unchanged. Cold. Empty.
Veyle was still frozen in place, his body unable to move, his mind too overwhelmed to process what had just happened.
--
The figure was gone.
No flash.
No ripple.
No echo.
Just… gone.
And then —
Time returned.
The banners above resumed their gentle flapping.
The warm afternoon sun spilled across cobblestones again.
The distant market bell rang once more.
Footsteps, chatter, life.
And Seren moved.
Her fingers picked up the rhythm of their conversation like nothing had changed.
"Anyway—"
"I think we sho—"
She turned mid-sign and blinked.
Veyle wasn't beside her.
Her hand reached out instinctively.
He wasn't there.
Her heart jumped.
She whirled around — and gasped silently.
Veyle stood a few feet behind her, knees locked, arms slack at his sides.
Eyes blank.
Expression frozen.
Face pale.
And he wasn't breathing.
A murmur swept through the square.
Someone pointed.
A woman screamed.
A vendor dropped his basket of fruit.
The soft thud of pears hitting stone barely registered.
People were gathering now — staring, whispering. Some backed away.
"Get help!" someone shouted.
"He's not moving!"
"The boy—he's dying!"
Seren dropped to her knees in front of him, grabbing his arms. Her hands moved fast — frantic signs, trembling fingers.
"Veyle! Veyle, look at me!"
"Come on—come on—wake up, please—"
No response.
His chest didn't rise. His lips were slightly parted, eyes staring through her as if he were caught between moments that no longer existed. The look on his face wasn't fear. It was emptiness.
A void.
He wasn't scared. He had simply… forgotten how to breathe.
She signed wildly, looking to the crowd.
"HELP! PLEASE! GUARDS—ANYONE!"
The people hesitated—unsure, stunned—until a voice cut through the confusion like a blade through fog.
"Out of the way!"
Boots thundered on stone.
The crowd parted instantly as a man approached, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence commanding.
He wore armor etched with countless battle scars, each mark a story. A lion's jaw was emblazoned on his chestplate — proud, ferocious.
Golden blond hair was tied back in a long, coarse ponytail. A thick beard framed a face chiseled by years of war.
This was Harun, Captain of the Lion Core.
He knelt beside Veyle without hesitation, his gauntlets clinking as he moved.
"Kid's not breathing," he muttered grimly. "Collapsed clean. Didn't even fall."
Harun pressed two fingers to Veyle's neck. Waited.
Nothing.
Then he acted.
He yanked off his gloves, braced Veyle's head, and began chest compressions with steady, practiced force.
"Count for me!" he barked to no one in particular. A nearby guard began counting aloud.
"One—two—three—"
Seren knelt beside them, her hands clutched together, eyes wide with tears she refused to let fall.
Harun kept going. Sweat built on his brow.
"Come on, kid…"
Veyle's body jolted slightly with every press.
Then —
A sputter.
Veyle's mouth twitched.
His eyes blinked.
And suddenly — he gasped.
A sharp, rattling sound tore from his lungs as his body remembered what it had forgotten.
He coughed violently, hands clenching into the fabric of Harun's chestplate, before collapsing forward into the captain's arms, wheezing, dazed.
Harun held him up, firm but careful.
"You're alright now, son," he said in a low voice. "You're alright."
Seren moved in, gripping Veyle's arm, eyes shining with relief. Her hands trembled as she signed slowly.
"You… okay?:
Veyle didn't answer.
He stared past them both, eyes hollow, lips parted. The air filled his lungs again, but there was no focus behind his gaze.
Harun looked at Seren, voice softening. "Sign language?"
She nodded slowly.
Harun exhaled. Then, as he helped ease Veyle down gently against a stone bench, he muttered almost to himself—
"Never seen anything like that, a kid forgetting how to breath…"
---