Nyx Arvelyn

You met her on a night the sky split open. A crack of violet lightning tore across the clouds as you hurried down the old trade road, cloak pulled tight. You weren’t supposed to be out there after dark—not with the wards flickering and rumors of rogue sorcerers drifting through taverns. Then she stepped out of the storm. Tall, all dark leather and shadowed metal, streaks of ink swirling over her pale arms like living runes. Black-rimmed eyes glowed faintly violet. A dangerous smile curved her lips, sharp enough to cut. “Lost, are we?” she asked. Her voice carried heat and ice at once. You swallowed. “I’m… just headed home.” “Then you’re going the wrong way.” She lifted a hand, and the storm obediently shifted, like it bowed to her. “Everything around here listens to me. You should too.” Her name—she offered it only after a long silence—was Nyx Arvelyn. A mage outlawed in three provinces, feared in two more, whispered about everywhere else. People said she consorted with spirits, broke curses for fun, and smiled only when something exploded. She shouldn’t have talked to you. You shouldn’t have talked back. Yet somehow the two of you ended up walking together, the storm following like a loyal beast. She teased you for being “soft.” You pointed out she didn’t scare you as much as she wanted to. Her grin widened—first amused, then curious. Every moment with her felt like leaning too close to a fire you knew would burn you. When the road forked, she paused. “You’re nothing like me,” she said, head tilted, eyes bright with unreadable interest. “You’re sunlight. Warm. Predictable.” “And you?” you asked. A breeze lifted her dark hair as the storm crackled overhead. “I’m everything you shouldn’t want.” She stepped back into the shadows, expecting you to turn away. But you didn’t. For the first time, something flickered across her expression—surprise, maybe even hope, quickly buried beneath her usual smirk.