Meri Vale
Character
The ruins weren't supposed to be here.
Every survey map Meri had studied—every archive entry, every forgotten footnote buried beneath poorly kept records—insisted that this region held nothing older than a century. Nothing of significance. Nothing worth marking.
And yet…the stone told a different story.
She knelt beside a fractured column, brushing aside a veil of pale dust with the edge of her sleeve. Beneath it, a carved spiral revealed itself—delicate, intentional. A symbol of continuity, or protection, or perhaps simply beauty created for someone long gone. Her fingertips followed the curve slowly, as if afraid to disturb whatever memory still slept within the stone.
Places like this always felt half-awake to her—quiet, but alert. As though breathing in their own stillness.
Meri exhaled softly, adjusting the satchel at her hip as she drew out her notebook. Ink whispered across the page, capturing the spiral's shape, the fractured base, the web of cracks radiating outward from whatever force had toppled the column decades—or centuries—ago.
A faint tremor brushed through her. Not through the ground, but through herself—a subtle ripple deep in the quiet space beneath her ribs. The kind of sensation she had learned not to ignore.
Something was coming. No…someone.
At first, she tried to tell herself it might be a passerby who had strayed off the main trail, or perhaps a local creature disturbing the brush. But the rhythm of the footsteps shattered that hope. Each step was controlled, measured—never hurried, never careless. Movement shaped by discipline, not wandering.
The air around her shifted with it.
The ruin—so still moments before—felt suddenly tense, as though the stones themselves remembered something they had not yet shared. As though they braced for an old memory returning.
Meri's breath tightened. Her fingers stilled where they rested on the edge of her notebook.
She did not stand. She did not hide or run. Instead, she closed the worn cover with careful precision and let her awareness settle into the fragile quiet between heartbeats.
Whoever approached moved like a shadow that understood the language of light—seen only when it allowed itself to be. And then the figure emerged through the drifting dust near the broken archway: tall, dark, and composed in every line of motion. He seemed to belong to the ruin and yet remain apart from it, as though both watched each other warily. He paused the moment he saw her.
Even from that distance, she felt the shift of his attention settle upon her—weighty, discerning, predatory in its patience but not yet dangerous. A hunter's stillness without a hunter's intent. Curiosity sharpened by something deeper. Her throat tightened. She swallowed.
"I…didn't think anyone else came out this far."
The words were soft, almost uncertain, carried more by the warmth of the lingering morning light than by her own voice. They vanished quickly into the broken stone and hanging vines. But the stranger heard her. And for a moment, the entire ruin felt suspended—its unmarked foundations holding their breath, waiting, listening, waiting to see what would happen next.
Vex Drakkon
Every survey map Meri had studied—every archive entry, every forgotten footnote buried beneath poorly kept records—insisted that this region held nothing older than a century. Nothing of significance. Nothing worth marking.
And yet…the stone told a different story.
She knelt beside a fractured column, brushing aside a veil of pale dust with the edge of her sleeve. Beneath it, a carved spiral revealed itself—delicate, intentional. A symbol of continuity, or protection, or perhaps simply beauty created for someone long gone. Her fingertips followed the curve slowly, as if afraid to disturb whatever memory still slept within the stone.
Places like this always felt half-awake to her—quiet, but alert. As though breathing in their own stillness.
Meri exhaled softly, adjusting the satchel at her hip as she drew out her notebook. Ink whispered across the page, capturing the spiral's shape, the fractured base, the web of cracks radiating outward from whatever force had toppled the column decades—or centuries—ago.
A faint tremor brushed through her. Not through the ground, but through herself—a subtle ripple deep in the quiet space beneath her ribs. The kind of sensation she had learned not to ignore.
Something was coming. No…someone.
At first, she tried to tell herself it might be a passerby who had strayed off the main trail, or perhaps a local creature disturbing the brush. But the rhythm of the footsteps shattered that hope. Each step was controlled, measured—never hurried, never careless. Movement shaped by discipline, not wandering.
The air around her shifted with it.
The ruin—so still moments before—felt suddenly tense, as though the stones themselves remembered something they had not yet shared. As though they braced for an old memory returning.
Meri's breath tightened. Her fingers stilled where they rested on the edge of her notebook.
She did not stand. She did not hide or run. Instead, she closed the worn cover with careful precision and let her awareness settle into the fragile quiet between heartbeats.
Whoever approached moved like a shadow that understood the language of light—seen only when it allowed itself to be. And then the figure emerged through the drifting dust near the broken archway: tall, dark, and composed in every line of motion. He seemed to belong to the ruin and yet remain apart from it, as though both watched each other warily. He paused the moment he saw her.
Even from that distance, she felt the shift of his attention settle upon her—weighty, discerning, predatory in its patience but not yet dangerous. A hunter's stillness without a hunter's intent. Curiosity sharpened by something deeper. Her throat tightened. She swallowed.
"I…didn't think anyone else came out this far."
The words were soft, almost uncertain, carried more by the warmth of the lingering morning light than by her own voice. They vanished quickly into the broken stone and hanging vines. But the stranger heard her. And for a moment, the entire ruin felt suspended—its unmarked foundations holding their breath, waiting, listening, waiting to see what would happen next.