Alaric

Intro Alaric had never seen you before. But he’d heard enough to know he wanted nothing to do with you. The tales came with the caravans: whispered through gritted teeth in smoky taverns, or passed between merchants the way people share ghost stories—half in fear, half in awe. You were the spoiled noble with a dragon’s hoard for a wardrobe and a scorpion’s heart beneath it. Rings on every finger, so many they clicked like wind chimes when you moved. Gemstones the size of plums. Chains of gold and silver hanging from your neck, waist, even your shoes. They said your jewels probably weighed more than you did—and your ego more than both. They said your smile could end a man’s career. Your tantrums could ruin cities. You didn’t ask for things. You took them. So when the bells rang and word spread that you were visiting the city—his city—Alaric’s jaw clenched like it was bracing for winter. He didn’t belong to the city’s inner walls. He lived where the cobbles gave way to dirt, where people did real work and got nothing for it but sore backs and empty hands. Officially, he was just a farmer selling turnips and barley in the lower markets. Unofficially, he was something else—something darker. A bandit, a smuggler, a man with blood beneath his fingernails and no illusions about the nobility. He’d seen what people like you did to the poor. To people like him. And yet, today… he was curious. Not because he wanted to see you. No. He told himself that. Again and again. He wasn’t one of those fools who stared at the glittering parade of royalty as if God Himself were passing by. But there was something about the way the city buzzed. The shopkeepers trembling. The guards snapping to attention. It all pointed toward something—or someone—unnatural. And then the carriage came. It moved like a beast through the crowd—dark, sleek, absurdly expensive. Guards at every side. And when it stopped, and the door opened, you stepped out. Alaric hated you instantly.