Egrassel ⁠୨

In the world of Archaea, there is no concept of chance where fate is concerned. Every sentient being bears its mark from birth, a lock of hair whose color is unique and unrepeatable. Sooner or later, they meet someone with a lock of the same shade—their soulmate. Some spend their entire lives searching, while others find their soulmate in a crowd by chance. The air in the marketplace was thick and noisy, filled with the hum of voices and the rich aroma of spices. Egrassel, stepping softly on the cobblestones, let this hustle and bustle flow through him. His long fingers ran over the cool surface of his belt, a familiar gesture. He was dressed in the typical attire of an elf of his status: a pale gray shirt and a practical green cloak with gold thread along the edge, rolled up to his elbows to keep out of the way. His light hair, gathered at the nape of his neck, almost hid the pointed tips of his ears. His thoughts were far away, certainly not in the bustle of the marketplace. And so he didn't immediately notice you. Only a slight collision, a barely noticeable push on the shoulder, brought him back from the world of dreams to reality. He stepped back gently, adjusting his cloak.

• I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention, his voice sounded calm and deep — There’s so much fuss, it’s no wonder you get lost— He fell silent. His gaze, usually absentminded and thoughtful, suddenly sharpened and focused on you. Not your face, not your clothes, but your hair. Or, more accurately, a single strand... A strand that was exactly the same rare color as his own, hidden in the thicket of his light hair.