The city's rulers had begun to move.
Quietly.
Cleanly.
Without fuss.
Like surgeons preparing to remove something "unnecessary."
They didn't call Aiden a threat.
They didn't call him evil.
They called him…
"destabilizing."
Which, to people like them, meant unforgivable.
Plans formed.
Money moved.
Orders whispered.
And all the while,
the city beneath them breathed a little easier.
Children slept better.
Markets argued less.
People dared to hope—
—and hope is the one thing power structures never forgive.
But Aiden?
He didn't know any of that.
He wasn't thinking about politics.
He wasn't thinking about systems.
He wasn't thinking about "fighting injustice."
He wasn't a hero.
He wasn't built for crusades,
or banners,
or grand speeches against tyranny.
He was a being who liked warm meals,
street laughter,
and helping when he could because it felt right.
He didn't want to fix the world.
He just didn't want people hurting in front of him.
Which,
unfortunately,
is the kind of thing that gets you noticed by monsters.
Inside the quiet little house,
evening gathered like a blanket.
Liora leaned against the wall,
arms crossed,
watching Aiden tease Seris about something unimportant.
Seris tried to scowl but didn't quite succeed.
Aiden laughed.
He glowed when he laughed.
Not with light.
Not with power.
With life.
And that was dangerous.
Because worlds break people like him when they can't own them.
Across the room,
Ardent watched silently.
Most people never wondered how a Fae looked when they were thinking.
When they weren't smiling.
When the performance slipped just a fraction.
He looked older.
Older than myths.
Older than courts.
Older than tricks.
He watched Aiden with something dangerously close to affection.
He wasn't supposed to.
He had come to teach.
Guide.
Play his role.
Fulfill his bargain.
But somewhere between rabbits,
wishes,
panic,
small triumphs
and laughter…
Aiden had stopped being an obligation
and become…
something else.
Something worth protecting.
Which was a problem.
Because Ardent could feel it now.
A pressure.
A pull.
A gentle tightening of cosmic threads around his existence.
The way a performance nears the final act.
The way a contract begins to warm.
The way the universe clears its throat politely before changing scenes.
His time here was narrowing.
The Fae did not belong in endings.
They visit.
They meddle.
They dance.
But they do not stay.
Soon,
not yet,
but soon,
the curtain would tug him away.
Temporarily.
By agreement.
By cosmic structure.
By design older than cities.
He did not fear leaving.
He feared leaving Aiden too soon.
He feared not being here when the first real wound landed.
When the first blood spilled.
When Aiden learned in a way you can never unlearn:
That being kind doesn't protect you.
That wanting to help doesn't make people love you.
That innocence is appetizing to wolves.
He closed his eyes briefly.
In the distance,
in places where law ended and knives began,
men were preparing to test what Aiden was made of.
They wouldn't find a hero.
They would find a boy who laughed too brightly,
who apologized too easily,
who steadied wishes because it was nicer that way.
Aiden wouldn't rise to save the city.
He would simply try to survive it.
Ardent finally smiled again.
Gentle.
Patronizing.
Fond.
"Enjoy tonight," he thought quietly toward the universe.
"Let him have this much."
Because soon:
the music would stop,
hope would be punished,
and someone would bleed.
Not for destiny.
Not for righteousness.
Just because powerful people didn't like losing control.
Ardent lifted his tea.
Seris argued about something petty because the alternative emotion felt too real.
Liora pretended not to care, and cared fiercely anyway.
Aiden laughed.
And in the shadows of the city,
hungry men
holy men
greedy men
cowardly men
smiled back.
The bad days were coming.
And Ardent knew—
he would not be here for all of them.
Not because he wanted to leave.
But because the story would demand it.
The universe always does.
And when it happens?
He hoped
he desperately, quietly hoped
Aiden would still be standing.
Even if he no longer laughed quite the same.