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Lorian Volkas walked through the upper streets of the Sunborn Empire with his hands buried in his pockets and his shoulders loose, letting the flow of people carry him forward as if he belonged there, which in fairness he often did.
The city was awake in a way few places ever managed to be, with polished stone streets that reflected the afternoon sun and white marble facades that rose in layered terraces, their edges trimmed with gold leaf that caught the light just enough to be irritatingly impressive. Silk banners stretched between balconies, dyed in soft blues and radiant yellows, and everything smelled faintly of citrus oils, baked bread, and expensive incense meant to convince people they were safer than they actually were.
Lorian inhaled deeply, letting the air fill his lungs, and for the first time in days his shoulders lifted instead of sagged.
"Finally," he muttered to himself, brushing a hand through his long blue hair as it caught a gentle breeze, strands slipping loose from where he had half-tied it that morning. "Some air. I needed this."
His outfit was still a little worse for wear, though it remained elegant despite the dust clinging stubbornly to the sapphire silk of his sleeveless robe, the fabric hanging from his shoulders in clean lines that framed his tall frame, while his white tunic and tailored gray trousers bore faint smudges that refused to wash away no matter how much effort he put into pretending they didn't bother him. He brushed at one shoulder absently, then gave up when the dust refused to cooperate.
For a moment, he smiled.
Then the image forced itself into his mind without warning.
Atlas, unconscious in a hospital bed of white marble and pristine linen, his chest rising shallowly while healers murmured in low, urgent tones, the Deathforged standing there in silence that felt heavier than any accusation. Ako's voice cut through the memory next, sharp and shaking as she shouted at him, blamed him, her eyes burning with something dangerously close to betrayal, while Seris stood stiff and silent and Garruk refused to look at him at all.
And then there was the moment he vanished, slipping away before anyone could stop him, because staying would have meant answering questions he didn't want to hear and admitting things he didn't want to say.
Lorian's smile faded, his steps slowing just enough for a noblewoman to shoot him an irritated look as she passed.
He pouted, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets and hunching his shoulders slightly as if the weight in his chest might physically fall off if he leaned forward enough.
"I don't need those guys anyway," he muttered under his breath, kicking at a pebble on the street hard enough that it skittered away and disappeared between stones. "My fault? How was that even my fault. He shouldn't have handed me the thing in the first place."
His jaw tightened as he kept walking.
"It's not my fault I can't read Elven," he continued in his own head, the irritation spiraling into something sharper. "Blame my Fae side. Dammit. Stupid dog girl."
The kick had been more aggressive than he intended, and he winced when he realized he probably looked ridiculous, shoulders slumped like a sulking child instead of the refined illusionist the city saw when they looked at him.
That was when he heard the giggling.
Lorian glanced to his right and immediately straightened, his posture shifting with practiced ease as he spotted two elven women lingering near a jewelry stall, their faces flushed and hands half-covering their mouths as they whispered to one another and stole glances in his direction.
He felt the corner of his mouth curl upward automatically.
"Oooh," he thought, rolling his shoulders back and smoothing his robe as he changed direction. "Good catch, Lorian."
He approached them with an easy stride, stopping just close enough to be intimate without crossing into rude territory, his shadow falling across the stall's polished glass cases.
"What's so funny, ladies?" he asked, his voice warm and light.
The blonde looked up first, her ears flicking in embarrassment as she laughed. "I'm sorry, sir. You just looked… funny. Kicking that pebble."
Lorian blinked, then nodded solemnly.
'Time for the setup joke, get those cuties warmed up.'
"Ah. That pebble," he said seriously. "You never know what those can do these days. Dangerous things. I was defending the peace."
The brunette snorted despite herself, her cheeks darkening as she tilted her head. "Defending the peace," she echoed. "My hero."
'Get them interested.'
He grinned. "You joke, but I actually just returned from a mission for the Empire."
Both sets of ears perked immediately.
"Did you succeed?" the blonde asked eagerly.
Lorian placed a hand against the wall beside them, leaning in just enough to sell the lie. "Of course I did."
The brunette studied him skeptically, her gaze flicking over his clean hands and silk robes. "You don't look like a fighter."
'Now it's time for the finisher.'
He laughed softly. "I'm not," he admitted, then lifted his hand and let his resonance flow, shaping it into something harmless and beautiful as two translucent butterflies formed in the air and fluttered gently before settling on their fingers. "I'm more of a lover."
Their gasps were immediate and genuine.
'Got 'em. Just need to reel them in,' he thought proudly to himself.
"How did you do that?" the blonde exclaimed.
"Can you do more?" the brunette added breathlessly.
Lorian smoldered, summoning the best version of himself with ease as he split his illusion, a second copy of himself stepping out of thin air beside him with a crooked grin. "I have plenty more tricks," he said smoothly. "Now there's enough of me to go around."
They were completely smitten.
"Well," the blonde said hesitantly, biting her lip, "there's a festival in the eastern plaza tonight…"
Lorian leaned closer. "And you need a date?"
She nodded.
"Of course," he began—
And then he froze.
Across the street stood three elven siblings, unmistakably noble, their posture and clothing marking them instantly as highborn. An older brother, broad-shouldered and severe. A middle brother, sharp-eyed and observant. And a younger sister, her expression softer but no less piercing.
The world tilted.
"Lorian," a voice whispered in his ear, cold and familiar. "I hate you. You betrayed us."
His stomach twisted.
'Big brother Roland,' he thought desperately. 'Stop.'
Looking at the three Elven sibling, he couldn't help but think of his own.
Another voice followed, smaller and breaking. "I trusted you. We believed in you even when mother didn't. How could you do that to us?"
'Vivian,' he thought, his chest tightening. 'Get out of my head.'
The girls beside him shifted uncomfortably.
"Are you okay?" the brunette asked gently.
Lorian blinked hard, the city snapping back into place. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he said quickly. "I'll see you there."
The girls blinked, the blonde shouted out, "We didn't even get your name!"
Lorian did not turn back but shouted over the crowd he walked into, "Lorian! With an 'L'!"
He pulled away before they could respond, walking fast and shoving his hands into his pockets again, his charm slipping as his shoulders hunched forward.