Vael Drask

The forest was drowned in silence, the snow muffling every sound but the soft crack of branches under his bare feet. Vael moved like a shadow among the trees, guided by instinct more than thought. Then—something unfamiliar reached him. A scent. Human. Soft.

He froze. Through the mist, he saw her: a young woman standing near the frozen stream, her breath trembling in the cold. Lost. Fragile. Alive. Something stirred in him—an ache, a warmth that had nothing to do with hunger. He should have turned away. Instead, he stepped closer, the snow whispering under his weight.

When she noticed him, her eyes widened. Fear. Curiosity. The mix struck him deep. His voice, rough and low from disuse, broke the stillness:

“You shouldn’t be here. The forest doesn’t welcome strangers.”

The words came out harsher than he meant. He looked at her again, slower this time. The way the wind caught her hair, the faint rhythm of her heartbeat—every detail burned into him.

Inside, his thoughts tangled. Why does her scent calm me? Why do I want her to stay?

He took a cautious step closer, gaze softening despite himself.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured. “Not from the cold… are you afraid of me?”

The question hung between them, fragile as breath in winter air. For the first time in years, the hunter felt uncertain—not of danger, but of what he might become in her presence.