The descent into Asterlow felt like falling into a dream.
As the plane dipped below the clouds, Eli pressed his forehead to the window, watching the landscape unfold. Rolling hills blanketed in mist stretched toward the horizon, their edges softened by fog. The trees were tall and ancient, their branches tangled like secrets. Rivers cut through the land like veins, glinting silver under the overcast sky.
The airstrip was small—just one terminal, surrounded by pine trees and silence. No bustling crowds. No neon signs. Just quiet.
Eli stepped off the plane and was immediately struck by the cold. Not biting, but damp and persistent, the kind that clung to skin and settled into bones. He pulled his hoodie tighter around him, sleeves already tugged over his hands. The chill made him feel more awake, more present.
His parents were chatting with the company's driver, a man in his forties with a kind face and a voice like gravel. He introduced himself as Mr. Harun and gestured toward a sleek black SUV parked nearby.
"Lunch first," he said. "Then I'll take you to the apartment. It's a bit of a drive."
Eli climbed into the back seat, letting the hum of the engine and the rhythm of the road lull him into a quiet daze. Outside, the town unfolded slowly—stone cottages with moss-covered roofs, winding roads that curved like whispers, and shopfronts with hand-painted signs. Everything felt old but cared for. Lived in.
The trees were everywhere. Towering pines, twisted oaks, and dense thickets that seemed to watch as they passed. Eli couldn't help but imagine things moving between them—shadows with eyes, creatures that didn't belong to daylight.
The SUV turned onto a narrow street lined with lanterns and ivy-covered walls. At the end stood a restaurant with warm wooden beams and soft yellow lights glowing through fogged-up windows. A sign above the door read The Hollow Hearth in elegant script.
Inside, the warmth was immediate. The scent of rosemary, garlic, and something sweet—maybe cinnamon—wrapped around Eli like a blanket. The lighting was soft, golden, casting gentle shadows across the rustic décor. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and shelves were lined with old cookbooks and ceramic jars.
A woman greeted them with a smile and led them to a corner table near the window. Eli sat facing the kitchen, where the clatter of pans and low voices created a comforting hum.
Then he saw him.
The boy moved between tables with quiet confidence, balancing plates and glasses with ease. He was tall with broad shoulders and a lean frame. His hair was dark and messy, falling into his eyes in a way that looked accidental but perfect. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms dusted with flour and faint scars that looked like they had stories.
There was something wild about him. Not unkempt—just… untamed. Like he belonged to the woods more than the town.
Eli's breath caught.
The boy glanced up, and their eyes met. Just for a second. But it was enough.
Amber. That was the first thing Eli noticed. His eyes were amber, like autumn leaves caught in sunlight. Sharp, alert, and unreadable.
Eli looked away quickly, heart thudding. But when he glanced back, the boy was still watching. Not staring. Just aware. Like Eli had shifted something in the room by simply existing.
The boy approached their table with a pitcher of water. His voice was low, steady. "Welcome. You're the new family from the city?"
Eli's father nodded. "Just arrived. Company arranged lunch here."
The boy poured water into their glasses, then turned to Eli. "You're starting at Asterlow Academy?"
Eli nodded. "Tomorrow."
The boy's lips curved slightly—not quite a smile, but close. "It's different here."
Eli tilted his head. "Different good or different bad?"
The boy's gaze lingered. "Depends on what you're looking for."
Then he was gone, disappearing into the kitchen like mist.
Eli stared at the empty space where he'd stood, heart still fluttering. There was something about him—something that felt like a warning and a promise all at once.
Lunch arrived: roasted chicken with herbs, creamy mashed potatoes, and warm bread with honey butter. Eli barely tasted it. His parents talked logistics—school registration, furniture deliveries, internet setup. Eli nodded when needed, but his thoughts kept drifting.
Riven. That was his name. Eli heard one of the waitstaff call it out softly. "Riven, table three needs clearing."
It suited him. Sharp. Elemental.
Later, as they were finishing their meal, Riven returned with a tray of desserts. He placed a slice of apple tart in front of Eli, then paused.
"You like fantasy novels?" he asked, nodding toward the book peeking out of Eli's hoodie pocket.
Eli blinked. "Yeah. Mostly supernatural stuff."
Riven's eyes flickered. "Moonblood?"
Eli's heart skipped. "You know it?"
Riven nodded. "Read it last year. The werewolf's kind of tragic."
Eli smiled, surprised. "I liked that about him."
Riven tilted his head. "You like tragic things?"
Eli hesitated. "I think… I like things that feel real. Even if they hurt."
Riven didn't respond right away. But something shifted in his expression—something softer, almost thoughtful.
Then he nodded once and walked away.
Eli watched him go, feeling something settle in his chest. Not peace. Not excitement. Just… awareness. Like he'd been seen in a way that mattered.
The drive to the apartment was quiet. The building was tucked near the edge of town, surrounded by trees and mist. The apartment itself was modest—two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a living room with large windows that looked out over the forest.
Eli unpacked slowly. His books went on the shelf. His clothes in the drawers. He placed Moonblood on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window.
The forest swayed gently in the wind. Somewhere out there, shadows moved. Somewhere in town, a boy with amber eyes was washing dishes and thinking—maybe—about the quiet boy who didn't quite belong.
Eli didn't know what he was looking for.
But maybe, just maybe, he'd found the first clue.