Morning came with a pale light filtering through the curtains, soft and steady — too calm for the kind of night Aiden had.
He blinked awake slowly, the image of golden eyes still vivid behind his eyelids. It lingered there like the afterglow of a nightmare — the scales, the hiss, the way the figure had loomed by his bed like something dragged out of myth.
He sat up, rubbed his face, and forced a shaky laugh. "Okay," he muttered to the empty room, "definitely just a dream. Creepy old house, overworked brain, that's all. Need to cut down on caffeine."
It made sense — or at least, it was the only thing that did. The night had stretched too long, his mind too restless. Of course he'd hallucinated something strange. That was easier to accept than… whatever his imagination had conjured.
Still, his chest felt tight as he got out of bed. The air in the house seemed heavier somehow.
He moved through the hall toward the living room, yawning, still half-asleep. Maybe he'd make breakfast, open some windows, let sunlight and sanity in.
He turned the corner — and froze.
Every muscle in his body went rigid.
Someone was sitting in the armchair by the window.
A man.
Not from a dream, not from a painting, not from imagination. A living, breathing man, sitting as though he had always belonged there.
The morning light poured over him like gold on ivory. His hair — long, black, and glossy as silk — framed his face in soft waves, falling past his shoulders. His skin was pale, smooth, almost luminous, and his eyes — those same impossible, golden eyes — watched Aiden with cool detachment, half-lidded and knowing.
He wore clothes unlike anything Aiden had ever seen in person. A robe, deep emerald and gold, rich with ornate stitching and faintly shimmering thread. It looked royal — not just expensive, but ancient, like something from a temple painting. A sash hung across his chest, clasped with a dark gem that caught the light with an inner fire.
He sat with one leg crossed, back straight, calm and regal — utterly at odds with the cluttered, dusty house around him.
Aiden's breath caught in his throat.
No sound came out.
No thought either.
The stranger tilted his head slightly, the faintest glimmer of amusement touching his eyes. "Ah. You're awake."
Aiden just stared. His brain refused to form words.
The man's voice was deep and smooth — calm, melodic even, but with a weight beneath it that made the air feel heavier. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."
Aiden's lips parted, but the words that came out were useless. "You— I— what—"
"Breathe," the stranger said softly, tone almost patronizing, like one might use with a startled animal. "You're pale."
Aiden swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. "You're real."
"Mm." The man's lips curved faintly. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever notice."
Aiden stumbled a step backward, hand gripping the edge of the wall for support. "This— this can't be real. You— you were— in the painting—"
"In the seal," the stranger corrected gently, though there was a faint edge of arrogance beneath the patience. "A prison of sorts. Until you bled on it."
Aiden blinked rapidly, shaking his head. "Bled— I— no, no, that's not possible. You can't just— appear! I must still be dreaming. That's it. I'm asleep right now."
"You're not," the man replied simply.
His calm only made the whole thing worse. He didn't fidget, didn't blink. His golden eyes followed Aiden like a predator watching a frightened rabbit, curious and composed.
Aiden laughed weakly — a dry, nervous sound. "Right. Sure. Next you'll tell me you're some kind of—"
"Prince," the man interrupted.
That shut him up.
The stranger rose from the chair in one smooth, deliberate movement. He was tall — taller than Aiden, which was saying something — his presence effortlessly commanding the space. The robe shifted as he moved, the golden threads glinting like sunlight rippling over scales.
"I am Kael," he said, his tone soft but unyielding. "Crown Prince of the Naga. The one you awakened."
Aiden's mouth went dry.
"I— I don't— awakened?"
Kael studied him for a long moment before replying, as if deciding how much patience this human deserved. "My kind sleep in magic. Yours break things they don't understand." His voice was smooth again, almost teasing, but there was a trace of quiet scorn in it — like he found Aiden's disbelief amusing.
"I didn't— I wasn't—" Aiden stumbled over his own words, completely lost. "I didn't mean to— I was just—"
"Moving things around?" Kael supplied, raising one perfectly arched brow. "Yes. I gathered as much. Careless, but fortunate for me."
Aiden just stared at him, completely unable to keep up. "Fortunate—? You were trapped in a painting!"
"Mm." Kael's expression didn't change. "Better than trapped forever."
"I— this— this isn't happening."
"Your denial is tedious," Kael said softly, still not unkind, but clearly enjoying himself. "Do humans always panic this much?"
Aiden stared at him, words caught in his throat. His heart was hammering, but his voice came out small and unsteady. "You had a tail— you shouldn't be real."
Kael stepped closer, slow and graceful. His golden eyes caught the light, a shimmer like heat on metal. "And yet," he murmured, "I am."
Aiden flinched as the robe brushed past him — the faint scent of something ancient, warm, and strange lingering in the air. Sandalwood, maybe. Or something older.
Kael looked around the room, as if surveying a new kingdom he found disappointingly small. "The world has changed," he mused. "The air hums with strange power. But your walls are weak. Your furnishings—humble."
Aiden blinked, still half in shock. "...Thanks?"
Kael's lips curved again — a faint, almost human smile. "You don't have to thank me, human. Just try not to faint."
"I'm not going to faint," Aiden muttered automatically, though his knees were doing their best to prove otherwise.
Kael tilted his head again, studying him with mild curiosity. "You have courage, at least. Foolish, but… admirable."
Aiden pressed a trembling hand against his forehead, trying to steady his breathing.
None of this made sense.
And yet, standing there, staring at the regal, golden-eyed man in royal robes, Aiden couldn't bring himself to deny it anymore.
Whatever Kael was — dream, spirit, or something else entirely — he was real.
And Aiden had no idea what that meant for either of them.