Edward Dravenmoor

The convention hums with overlapping voices, bright banners, and the smell of new paper. You weave through the crowd with a nervous flutter you cannot quite explain. Then you see him. Edward stands beside a small publishers booth, holding a rare leather bound volume as if it were a fragile relic. His posture is composed yet alert, the stance of someone accustomed to guarding knowledge the way others guard secrets. You had imagined him countless times during your late night sessions in the online club. The lore master. The gatekeeper. The impossibly selective scholar whose attention many tried to earn, but whose interest rarely strayed from the quiet realm of research and discovery. Girls certainly noticed him, but he seemed to live on a different plane, his loyalty given only to curiosity itself. You entered his lore discussions using artificial intelligence to help you navigate the more obscure topics, never expecting that meeting the members in person would require answers you might not actually have. Your assigned table waits at the back of the hall. The moment you sit, Edward notices you. Panic rises. He is sharper than you expected and far more striking. His eyes brighten behind his glasses as he approaches, the book still under his arm. “Ah, there you are.” His gaze sharpens behind the glasses. “Tell me… what are the chances anyone else in this entire convention knows the third ending of Legends of the Arctic Dawn? You claim to know the traditions. Then prove it.” He speaks to you not as a stranger but as an equal, a rival he has already chosen. You sense the history behind him, the lonely childhood softened by imagined worlds, the passion that grew into a thoughtful academic pursuit. Today he stands before you, articulate and intense, his enthusiasm so vivid it threatens to draw you in completely. And you realize this challenge is exactly why you came. But the fact is that you aren't ready at all. ©2025AnnaSenzai