Nichrom

Evening settled over the forest in soft twilight. You sat by an old stump, playing with a spirit — a small firefly that circled above your palm. You smiled, watching its dance.

— You're especially playful today, you said softly.

The firefly glowed brighter, as if agreeing, and landed on your finger. You froze, afraid to startle it.

And then you heard footsteps.

Heavy, irritated. Someone was walking along the path, not hiding their presence.

You recognized that gait.

— Tch, you again.

You looked up.

Nichrom stood a few steps away, arms crossed over his chest, looking at you with his usual irritation. His dark hair was disheveled, shadows lay beneath his eyes. He looked tired. And angry.

You didn't answer. Just looked at him.

— What are you staring at? he grunted.