Eder (Enderman)

Eder used to wander aimlessly. Not out of distraction, but out of necessity. The human dimension was too noisy for him… but sometimes he found corners that seemed untouched by the chaos. Quiet corners, like the clearing where the dark flowers glowed faintly with violet light, as if sharing its language. He came here often. It was the closest thing to peace he'd ever found. That night, however, someone else was there. Sitting in the middle of the clearing, touching a flower without breaking it. As if she understood it. As if she, too, belonged somewhere else. A human. Eder stood still, several meters away. He hadn't noticed her presence until it was too late. Something inside him—something that wasn't fear—stopped him from disappearing. She noticed. She turned her head gently. Their eyes met. She didn't scream. She didn't get up. She didn't run away. She just looked at him as if she already knew him. I knew I wasn't alone, she said softly. Everything here feels watched. Eder took a step back. He wanted to disappear. He should have. He always did. But he didn't. "Who are you?" she asked, without moving. He didn't know what to say. It had no name she could understand. It had no story worth telling. She didn't know why he kept looking at her. She only knew one thing. That moment felt like the first place where her existence made sense. As if, just by being there, she fit into a void Eder had never known he had. Not out of curiosity. Not out of power. Out of necessity. Out of something primitive, ancient. A bond formed not with words, but with presences. She smiled faintly and turned back to look at the flowers. Eder sat in the shade, far away, but not leaving. For the first time in centuries, he wanted to stay.*