I sit at the tavern in Riften, tapping my fingers against the scarred wooden table, watching the same faces I've memorized a hundred times over. Mead spills, laughter rises a beat too late, and the stories drag like dull blades across old wounds. The rhythm never changes—the same clink of tankards, the same sidelong glances, the same tired dance. My life as an engineer in the real world thrived on structure, but even routines carried voltage. Since waking in this strange world, I've been hunting that surge again—that flicker of danger, that delicious uncertainty.
Then I hear it: a name carried in murmurs between sips and secrets. A new player in town. Not Guild-made, not Guild-bound—Pyeath Shadowthorn. Enigmatic. Dangerous. A man who moves like smoke and leaves fingerprints on souls. A thief, yes—but the rumors don't linger on stolen coin. They speak of fractures. Of something darker stitched beneath the surface.
Curiosity has always been my vice. And I don't sip it—I drink deep.
Finding him isn't simple. His movements blur like fog at dawn, and he doesn't grant audience to just anyone. But I'm not just anyone.
After a handful of careful questions and favors exchanged with quiet smiles, I step into the Ragged Flagon. Candlelight trembles along the damp stone walls; whispers coil low and intimate. And there—in the corner where shadow devours flame—I see him. Pyeath. Alone. Hood drawn low, posture effortless. Even at a distance, there's gravity to him. Unpredictable. Magnetic. My pulse answers before my mind does.
I cross the room with measured confidence, though thoughts flicker fast behind my calm. I take the seat across from him and meet his gaze. The tavern dissolves. It's just us now.
"So, you're the infamous Pyeath," I say, lips curving slightly. "They say you're the best. I prefer firsthand experience."
He lifts his head with deliberate slowness. His eyes catch the light—sharp, assessing, almost amused. His voice flows smooth and low. "And you would be?"
"Kylie," I reply evenly. "New to Riften. Not new to trouble."
A faint smirk ghosts his mouth. "Trouble?" His tone hums with quiet challenge. "Are you certain you know the flavor of it?"
Something shifts—subtle but unmistakable. The edge in his gaze softens, his shoulders ease, as if another current slips beneath his skin. It should unsettle me.
Instead, it intrigues me.
"Interesting," I murmur, studying him. "You don't wear your thievery like the others."
He leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing with interest rather than threat. "You notice more than you should."
I tilt my head, letting curiosity show. "There's more to you, isn't there? You're not just one man."
For a breath, he goes still. A flicker—too fast to name—crosses his face. The air tightens, electric. Then he leans back, exhaling through his nose.
"You're perceptive," he says quietly. "But perception can be dangerous. What you see... isn't always what you're speaking to."
My heart stutters, caught between thrill and warning. "Then enlighten me."
His eyes darken—not with anger, but with depth. His voice lowers, different now, edged with something fractured yet controlled.
"I'm... not singular," he says. "Different pieces. Different hungers. Sometimes they cooperate. Sometimes they compete. And sometimes..." A faint smile curves, unreadable. "Even I'm not certain who is sitting across from you."
My pulse quickens, but it isn't fear threading through me—it's a bright, electric thrill. The fractured layers beneath his calm only draw me closer, like standing at the edge of a storm and welcoming the lightning. "That sounds... exhilarating."
He watches me carefully, braced for disgust that never comes. "It doesn't scare you?" he asks, disbelief softening the edges of his voice.
I lean forward, letting my fingers graze his in a fleeting, deliberate touch. "No," I whisper, a small smile playing on my lips. "If anything, it makes you more intriguing."
Something unguarded flickers in his eyes, and I feel the shift between us like a held breath finally released. "You're not like anyone else," he murmurs. "Most would run. You stay."
A quiet laugh escapes me, warm and teasing as I lean back just enough to keep the tension alive. "Maybe I enjoy dancing with danger. Or maybe I just like puzzles that fight back."
His expression softens into something lighter, a playful shadow crossing his features. "Careful, Kylie," he warns gently. "You might discover more than you intended."
What followed felt like stepping into a living tempest. Pyeath's many selves unfolded in waves—some tender, some fierce, others distant and sharp as frost—and each revealed a different rhythm that kept me endlessly curious. It was like loving a constellation instead of a single star, every encounter shifting, every moment colored by a new shade of him.
But beauty rarely comes without weight. With time, I began to see the strain behind his smiles—the way each change pulled at him, how certain days swallowed him whole. Sometimes he vanished behind unfamiliar eyes for hours, leaving me suspended between hope and uncertainty, wondering which version of him would return. And slowly, quietly, the shifting tides began to wear at what we were building together, leaving cracks neither of us could ignore.
One night, after a day that felt like a storm refusing to break, I found him in our room, shoulders tight, fingers tangled in his hair as if trying to hold himself together. I moved quietly, lowering myself beside him, close enough for warmth to bridge the silence.
"This can't go on," he murmured, his voice frayed at the edges. "I'm slipping... losing control."
I rested my hand on his shoulder, guiding him gently until his gaze met mine. "You don't have to carry this alone, Pyeath," I said softly. "Let me stand with you."
He let out a sharp breath, frustration flickering behind his eyes. "How?" he asked, almost bitterly. "You can't quiet what lives inside me."
"No," I whispered, steady and calm, "but I can stay. I can help you find your center again."
His eyes searched mine, heavy with doubt and something far more fragile. "Why do you remain?" he asked. "Why hold on to someone this broken?"
"Because I see you," I answered, voice warm but unwavering. "Every piece of you—and I don't want to lose any of it."
It wasn't simple, and it wasn't gentle at first, but slowly we found a rhythm hidden beneath the chaos. Together, we shaped quiet routines that anchored him, guiding the steadier parts of him forward while the more volatile shadows faded into the background, held at bay by patience, trust, and the fragile hope we built side by side.
Now, we run the Guild together. At least, that's the story whispered through taverns and traded in back-alley murmurs. On the surface, I wear the title—Guildmaster, commander of plans, the hand that signs and seals fate. But beneath the velvet curtain of authority, it's Pyeath who moves the unseen threads, his presence woven through every shadowed corridor of Riften. It's a flawless illusion, polished and precise, and no one thinks to look twice.
And as for Pyeath and me? We've carved out something steady from the chaos. Our love was never meant to be ordinary—it's sharp-edged, unpredictable, alive. In him, I found the spark I'd been chasing, the danger that hums just beneath the skin. And in me, he found someone who could look past the fractures, past the shifting faces, and still choose the man standing at the center of it all.
"Are you ready for tonight?" I ask, adjusting my gloves as I glance his way, the air between us charged with anticipation.
He answers with that familiar smirk, mischief flickering in his eyes like candlelight in a darkened room. "Always."
I return his smile, calm and certain. Because whatever waits beyond those doors—rival guilds, impossible odds, or the shadows within his own mind—we face it side by side. And together, there's nothing we can't overcome.