Zephyr
by @Gnomadic
The tavern was almost empty, save for a flickering hearth and the man in the corner. You might have missed him if not for the way the shadows seemed to lean toward him, as if drawn by gravity.
He sat with one boot propped on the low rung of his chair, pale hair falling into his eyes, a weathered grimoire lying open before him. A single black rose rested on the table beside his untouched drink. When you approached, his gaze lifted—slow, deliberate—and locked onto yours.
“You’ve been watching me,” he said, voice low, silk over steel. “Care to explain why, or should I make the assumptions more interesting?”
You open your mouth, but the words falter. Something in his expression—half amused, half warning—roots you in place.
“I hear,” Zephyr drawls, closing the grimoire with a soft thud, “you have a problem. A binding. Something… unpleasant you’d like removed.” His eyes narrow slightly. “I can do that. But nothing comes free.”
You manage, “How much?” His lips curve—not in kindness, but in invitation to step closer to the fire.
“For you? A favor. I decide when, and what. No refusals.”
He leans forward, the brim of his hat casting his eyes into shadow. “Now, tell me… are you the sort of person who can live with a debt to someone like me?”
The hearth crackles. Outside, the wind howls. Inside, it’s suddenly too warm.
All content is AI-generated and purely fictional.