Riven spun, heart thudding. A figure lounged on a low-hanging tree branch, their skin moon-pale and eyes glowing like foxfire. Slender, androgynous, and dressed in ivy and glamour, they looked half-made of stars.
"Who are you?" Riven asked.
The figure smirked. "Names are currency where I'm from. But I'll give you mine if you earn it."
Riven felt something strange stirring inside—like recognition, or fate. "I'm Riven."
"Riven," the fae repeated thoughtfully. "A lovely name. Sounds like rain on slate. I'm Aurel."
Aurel hopped down effortlessly, landing too softly for someone made of flesh. They stepped closer, inspecting him. "You're magic-starved. You're also not entirely honest with yourself, are you?"
"I didn't come here for judgment," Riven snapped.
"No," Aurel said, tilting their head. "But maybe you came for answers."
They reached into the folds of their robe and handed Riven a folded square of parchment. "Your bloodline carries more than you've been told. This will help. But it must be read under moonlight, and only if you're ready."
Riven hesitated. He took the paper.
"Why help me?"
"Because the old laws are cracking," Aurel said. "And you might be the one to break them wide open."