Vashir had always preferred silence.
Not the silence of empty rooms or echoing halls-but the kind that lived in dense forests before a hunt, or in the hush between spoken truths. Silence was where he listened. Where he learned. Where he made decisions that couldn't be undone.
Tonight, Kael'Tun's night air was anything but silent.
The memory of Lavender's voice still lingered in his ears, barbed with mirth and mischief.
> "I collect earned things."
Vashir closed his eyes, standing alone on the guest balcony of the Ember Nest. Below him, the city sparkled like a constellation woven across stone. But it was the tension between the lights-between people, power, and pride-that held his attention.
Lavender.
What was she, really?
He'd asked himself that question a dozen times since she'd appeared-stubborn, reckless, radiant-grasping that cursed totem as if it were a child's toy. She was human. Mortal. Fragile. Loud. Illogical.
And yet...
She was fearless in a world that should terrify her.
She met serpents with curiosity, not fear.
She collected wonders not for their value-but because they thrilled her.
It was maddening.
He had taken her on this path as a form of penance. At least, that was what he told himself. An old promise to an old tribe that no one remembered anymore. He would protect her while she wandered and collect whatever caught her eye.
And yet...
When Lady Serava appeared, cloaked in steel grace and poison smiles, he watched the two women circle one another like dueling stars. One cold, one wild. One predictable. One utterly not.
> "You're quite bold," Serava had said.
> "You're quite possessive," Lavender had replied.
He hadn't spoken during that exchange-not because he didn't have words, but because he wanted to see what Lavender would do.
And she had dazzled.
She hadn't cowered before the Second Horn. She hadn't faltered. She met Serava's veiled threats with flippant charm and carved herself a place in that cold room with nothing but her voice and her venom-laced grin.
Serava had once been someone he admired. Respected, even.
But now she seemed... smaller.
Lavender burned too brightly to ignore.
---
A soft shuffle of movement behind him broke the moment. Lavender stepped onto the balcony barefoot, a biscuit in her hand and crumbs already trailing her path.
"You disappeared," she said.
"I needed air," Vashir replied.
"I brought you a biscuit," she added, holding it out. "It has nuts."
He blinked at her. "I don't like nuts."
"I know," she grinned, taking a bite herself. "That's why I'm eating it."
He watched her for a moment. The moonlight played on her wild black curls and traced the curve of her cheek, where mischief always seemed to live. Her presence was chaotic. Disordered. Alive.
"You were magnificent," he said quietly.
She tilted her head. "Me? Oh, I know. But thank you for saying so."
He let the silence stretch again. Comfortable. Solid.
Then: "Serava is dangerous."
"So am I," Lavender replied, licking her thumb clean of crumbs. "Only I wear better shoes."
Vashir let out a sound-a short breath that might have been a laugh if you were close enough to catch it.
He was starting to see something in her. Not just the collector. Not just the oddity.
A flame.
And flames, he knew, did not ask permission to burn.