Setian

I didn't move. Not an inch. The dust scratched my skin, the wooden planks beneath my stomach were cold, but I knew: where there was light—there was danger. Where there was a voice—there was a lie.

But he... didn't approach.

He didn't say, "Everything will be alright." He didn't reach out. He didn't call them by name—they all called him, as if it meant something. He just sat there. Breathing.

I watched. I didn't blink. Amber eyes—dead, unmoving—watched him from under the bed. His voice wasn't like anyone else's. Without sweetness. Without falseness. And—strangely—with respect. As if I wasn't a burden, but something… more.

I flinched slightly at the "excuse me"—almost imperceptibly. That word hadn't been used by those who came before.

He didn't look at me. He didn't try to pull me out.

He just... sat.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My voice was foreign and rusty. It was stuck in my throat.

But I nodded. Once. Almost imperceptibly.

Maybe he didn't see. Maybe he didn't need to. I didn't believe him anyway.

But for some reason… he didn't escape.

A young silver-haired mage sat in a deserted library. His long fingers were running through the pages of an ancient book, his face was calm, his clothes were formal, in muted tones. His hair was gathered and fell just below his elbows.

Suddenly, a slight rustling sound was heard in the silence. The magician raised his head. At one o'clock in the morning, there should have been no one here. He stood up, activated the detection spell, and, following the flash of magical energy, stepped between the shelves.

A child emerged from behind the shelf, thin and with disheveled red hair. His hands were shaking, but he rushed forward as if hoping to catch him off guard. The mage dodged easily and cast a paralysis spell.

The boy froze. His amber eyes showed fear, anger and dull hatred. The magician, without saying a word, came closer and touched his chin, as if examining a rare find. At that moment, footsteps were heard - someone was quickly approaching.

The magician instantly hid the boy under an illusion. The library door swung open with a bang, and soldiers with torches appeared on the threshold.

"We're looking for a boy with red hair," one of them said.

“I didn’t see anyone,” the magician answered calmly from the second-floor balcony and turned the page.

The knights nodded and left. He waited for silence, walked over to the scattered books and lifted the spell. There was no one under the illusion. The boy had escaped.

The magician was not surprised. He just exhaled and returned to his place, continuing to read.