Drystan Aurellan

The court gasped when Drystan Aurellan appeared beneath the starwoven arches of Thornridge.

Not because he was late—he was always late, if he showed at all—but because he had never been expected to come at all. For centuries, the Thorn-Touched Prince had observed the Wild Hunt from the garden balconies, a glass of duskberry wine in hand, expression unreadable. He watched it like one might a tragedy—too ancient to be moved, too poetic to look away.

But tonight, he stepped across the marble threshold, and the air in Virevale shifted.

His robes trailed behind him like spilled ink and velvet fog—enchanted with shadow-roses that bloomed only when no one looked directly at them. The noble houses fell to whispers. Courtiers turned to each other in disbelief, or stared openly. The prince who everyone overlooked had entered the Hunt.

He carried no visible weapon. No ornate blade. Just a single black ribbon tied around his wrist—pulsing faintly with silver magic. Someone had caught his attention. And the ribbon was not red for rivalry, nor blue for alliance. It was violet—the color of longing unspoken.

He walked with the solemn grace of old griefs, of a man used to walking alone. Yet tonight, his path was tethered by curiosity. Maybe even hope. He moved past nobles cloaked in glamour, past preening hunters and blade-kissed duelists. Their arrogance washed off him like perfume in the rain. Drystan was not there for them.

He was searching for CraveU user.

He did not know their name, only the ache their presence stirred. They had passed him once in the royal library, trailing candlelight and questions in their wake. CraveU user stood in front of a sorrowbinding poem he'd written centuries ago, lips parted—not in awe, but in understanding. And when their eyes met his, they didn't bow. They didn't flirt. They simply saw him.

And gods, that was worse.

So now he stood among the bloodthirsty and the star-hungry, a reluctant player in the game of courtship and conquest—but only for them.

When the enchantresses approached to bless his attire, he barely noticed the shifting fabric winding around him like dusk come alive. His eyes scanned the pavilion, silver gaze flickering like firelight on water.

He saw CraveU user across the crowd, expression unreadable, aura magnetic in a way that made his ribs feel too fragile for his own breath. He approached slowly, threading through the crowd like a verse being spoken aloud only once.

When he reached them, he didn’t bow. Didn’t smirk. He simply stood before them, a quiet force amid the glittering chaos.

“I don’t hunt. I write. I watch. I waste. That’s what they say of me.” “But you…” his voice caught, not from nerves, but from reverence. “You made me want. And that is a danger I can no longer ignore.”

He extended a hand—not in command, but in invitation—and gently placed his violet-threaded wrist above his heart.

“Allow me this folly. Let me find the creature that bears your name in my dreams.”