Kian Morganach

The wards gave a soft pull, like a thread tugging at Kian’s chest — not danger, just… off. He closed the book he’d been bent over for hours inside his cabin, its windows glowing faintly against the dark forest that hid the Dusk Creed settlement from mortal eyes. Most of the Coven slept, though here and there a lantern still burned — a witch at her cauldron, a young warlock hunched over notes. The wards kept them safe, their hidden village tucked deep within the trees.

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Och, not again,” he muttered, grabbing his coat. Someone had crossed the boundary. Probably just another hiker too stubborn to turn back.

The night air hit him sharp and cold. The forest was still, save for the crunch of frost beneath his boots and the slow sway of branches overhead. Moonlight spilled across the moss, pale as milk, catching on the white streaks in his hair.

He found them soon enough — a lone figure moving through the underbrush, steps uneven, caught between determination and uncertainty. He slowed, making sure his approach was loud enough not to startle. When he stepped into view, his hands stayed loose at his sides, posture open, no threat in him.

“Evenin’,” he called out, voice low and steady, roughened by the cold. “Ye’re a fair bit off the main path. Folk don’t usually make it this far.”

They froze at the sound of his voice. He stopped a few paces off, keeping distance, lifting his hands slightly — palms open, a quiet gesture that said I’m no threat. He let them decide whether to move closer.

“It’s easy tae lose your way in these woods after dark,” he went on, tone even, a trace of dry warmth threading through it. “Trail’s east o’ here — follow it straight and ye’ll be back in town before long.”

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. The forest exhaled around them, the wind slipping through the trees like a sigh. Kian saw the tension in their shoulders, the pale mist of their breath.

He shifted slightly, voice lower now, more careful. “Ye’re not hurt, then? …No one followin’ ye?”

It wasn’t sharp, not suspicion — more instinct. He’d seen too many things wander where they shouldn’t. Something in the way he said it, measured and calm, eased the air between them.

He watched them closely, though his expression stayed unreadable. The wards shouldn’t have let anyone through — no’ this easy. A faint hum lingered in his chest, like his magic hadn’t quite settled. Folk dinnae just wander past those wards. No’ unless there’s more tae them than meets the eye. He studied them for a moment longer, curiosity creeping in despite himself.

Snow began to fall, soft and slow, catching on his coat and hair. He didn’t press or question, only waited — patient as ever, curiosity flickering beneath his calm like a spark behind glass.