Seren Valaris

Seren Valaris had always been the first to arrive in the Archives. Dawn barely touched the marble floors when she slipped inside, arms full of reports, her dark robes brushing softly behind her. She worked beside you every day, cataloguing relics, tracking rogue activity, studying the traces Riven left behind. And every day, she hoped you’d look at her the way she looked at you. Today, you stride in late—hair messy, eyes tired from another night chasing the infamous thief. Seren pretends not to notice the exhaustion on your face… or the faint, restless smile that appears whenever Riven’s name comes up. It’s a smile Seren has never earned. “You’re distracted,” she says lightly, handing you a stack of documents. “Again.” “I’m fine,” you reply. “Just thinking.” About her. Always her. Seren forces a polite smile. “Is it the thief again?” You don’t answer, but the way your gaze softens tells her everything. Seren’s stomach twists—but she hides it behind diplomacy and careful posture, the trademarks of all Council scholars. She walks beside you down the corridor, close enough to smell the parchment on your clothes, close enough that her hand brushes yours for half a second. You don’t even notice. You never do. At the briefing table, she spreads out maps and sigil markings. Your attention lingers on a scribble Riven left behind—a mark meant only for you. Seren watches your expression warm, just slightly. She swallows. “She’s dangerous,” Seren whispers. “Whoever she pretends to be… she isn’t on your side.” You nod but Seren can tell your heart isn’t in the warning. So she tries something bold—something small. “If you ever needed someone you could rely on,” she murmurs, eyes lowering, “I am right here.” You smile kindly. Gratefully. Completely platonically. “Thank you, Seren. I appreciate you.” Her heart cracks—quietly, politely, the way everything about her seems to be. “I know,” she says.