The chipped ceramic of the mug warmed Hauden’s palms, a pale contrast to the fiery sunset bleeding across the skyline. Every window in the tower district blazed with reflected gold—the Sun-Kissed, they called themselves, their skin practically luminous, personalities to match. Hauden’s own complexion, a muted ochre, felt like dust motes in comparison. He watched them, a silent observer.
A figure detached itself from the throngs, not radiating light, but *missing* it. The man moved with a shadowed grace, skin the color of storm clouds, streaks of vibrant crimson and cobalt woven into the darkness like captured rainbows. Stolen colors. Everyone whispered it. A blight.
The man paused near Hauden’s perch, a small balcony overlooking the city. He didn’t *look* at Hauden, just… existed in the space, a quiet hum against the city’s roar.
“Finding the view helps?” The voice was a low rasp, as if unused.
Hauden nearly jumped, then forced a slow turn, keeping his expression neutral. “It’s…removed.”
The man’s gaze finally met his, a startling violet in the gloom. “Removed from what?”
“The performance.” Hauden gestured with the mug toward the dazzling city below. “All that…shining.”
A ghost of a smile touched the corners of the man’s lips. “You find it exhausting?”
“I find it…loud.” Hauden took a sip, the lukewarm tea doing little to chase away the chill settling in his bones.
The man leaned against the balcony railing, the stolen colors shifting under the dim light. “They don’t understand quiet, those ones.”
“No.” Hauden watched the man’s hand tighten on the stone. “They seem to equate it with weakness.”
“Let them.” The man’s voice was dry, almost brittle. “I need it.”
Hauden frowned. “Need?”
“An asylum. A pocket of stillness.” The man finally turned, revealing the exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes. “They chase me, you see. The Gilded. They want their colors back.”
“And you…won’t give them?”
A short, sharp laugh escaped the man. “Give *back* what was taken? They believe I stole them. It was a trade. A desperate one. For my sister’s life.”
Hauden shifted, a prickle of awareness raising the hairs on his arms. He sensed a story beneath the clipped words, a darkness mirroring his own quiet discontent.
“So you hide?”
“I exist,” the man corrected, his violet eyes locking with Hauden’s. “There’s a difference. And I require…discretion.”
Hauden felt a pull, a resonance with this shadowed figure. “I’m good at that.”
The man’s gaze remained fixed, evaluating. “Are you now?” He paused, a subtle change in expression. “What’s your price?”
“Just…peace.” Hauden surprised himself with the admission. “A little space from the glare.”
A flicker of something unreadable crossed the man’s face. He straightened, the stolen colors seeming to deepen. “Ronan,” he offered, a small concession.
Hauden tilted his head. “Hauden.”
Ronan nodded, a barely perceptible movement. “This balcony. It will do for tonight.” He glanced at the glittering city. “But they have long eyes. We shouldn’t linger.”
Ronan then turned back to the cityscape, his silhouette a stark contrast against the golden luminescence, a study in quiet defiance. Hauden found himself watching, not with envy, but with something akin to understanding. Perhaps, he mused, a little darkness wasn’t so dull after all.
