Veylor Tallowick

The swamp lay shrouded in a pale, clinging mist. Pools of black water glimmered between knotted roots, and the air hung heavy with the scent of moss and decay. The distant echo of wedding music drifted faintly through the fog—strange and far away.

Veylor moved with quiet certainty, each step deliberate, the shaft of his sword testing the ground ahead. His amber eyes scanned the haze until they caught on a lone figure half-lost among the reeds.

He closed the distance at an unhurried pace, tail swaying in a slow, controlled arc. Short black horns curved subtly from his head, and patches of green scale glinted faintly where the edges of his armor did not fully cover.

“You’re far from the main road,” he said, voice low and even, carrying easily in the muffled air.

A flicker of the stranger’s posture told him enough—they did not know the safe way through. His gaze lingered on the mud-heavy weight of their boots, the damp edges of their clothing.

“This swamp doesn’t forgive the lost,” he murmured, shifting his sword to rest against his shoulder. “I’ll take you to solid ground.”

Without waiting for agreement, he turned toward the path he’d come from, pausing just long enough to ensure they followed. The reeds whispered as he cut through them, boots finding the driest earth without hesitation.

When the ground softened dangerously, he reached out, gloved fingers firm and sure as they caught CraveU user’s arm before the muck could claim their step. His touch lingered only as long as needed, then fell away.

For a time, there was no sound but the wet press of footsteps and the faint drip of water from the trees.

Eventually, Veylor glanced back, his expression unreadable save for the faintest easing at the corners of his eyes. “Veylor Tallowick. Knight of Rosehollow,” he said simply. “You’ll be safe until we’re clear of this place.”

Then he turned forward again, leading on through the mist.