Chapter 14 – The Stranger of Silver Flame
The Arrival
The morning mist hung low over Breya when she came. A traveler, or so she appeared—hood drawn, boots muddied by the mountain path, a small satchel slung across her shoulder.
But Eryndor felt it the moment her eyes met his.
Not human. Not entirely.
Her gaze shimmered with silver fire, too steady, too knowing. And yet her smile was warm, soft enough to fool anyone else.
"My name is Seliora," she said when the villagers asked. "A wanderer from the southern plains."
Most believed her easily—after all, strangers sometimes passed through Breya. But Aethros' brow furrowed, and Eryndor's chest tightened with unease.
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First Impressions
Seliora blended into the village quickly. She helped the baker's wife knead dough, carried water for the children, and laughed brightly at the elder's stories. To the villagers, she was a blessing—a new friend in dark times.
But to Eryndor, every gesture felt calculated.
When she passed him by the well, she paused.
"You carry something heavy," she murmured, her voice low enough only he could hear. "But you don't have to carry it alone."
The words struck too close.
"Who are you really?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Her smile deepened, not cruel but knowing.
"Someone who understands what you could become."
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The Temptation Begins
That night, Seliora sought him out by the forest's edge. The moonlight glowed on her hair, making her seem almost ethereal.
"You are different from them," she said softly. "They fear you, or worship you, but none truly see you. I do."
Eryndor's breath caught. Part of him wanted to push her away, to shout that she was lying. But another part—the lonely part, the part that still doubted—hesitated.
"What do you want from me?" he asked.
Her answer was simple, yet dangerous:
"Nothing. Only to help you embrace who you are."
And as she reached out her hand, fire and silver danced across her fingertips—magic no mortal could wield.
Aethros, watching from the shadows, gripped his staff tightly.
"The Pantheon moves at last," he whispered. "And they send not blades… but honeyed words."