Whispers out of Time

Chapter 2

─────⋅˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋅─────

The moment his presence registered, Amren's instinct kicked in. Her hand flew to the concealed dagger, a product of her unwavering self-reliance and meticulous self-defense training. She whirled around, blade pressed to the young man's throat, her heart a tempest of fear and adrenaline.

Recognition flickered in her eyes as she saw who it was. Elian, a familiar voice from her past, a fellow student skilled in stealth, often her rival in their youthful, strategic games.

Before her stood Elian, momentarily at her mercy. His features echoed the refinement of the upper city, yet a rebellious streak marked him as distinct. Tall and agile, his posture spoke of a life beyond mere academia.

His face, angular under the shop's dim light, had sharp cheekbones and subtly pointed ears. His hazel eyes, alive with intelligence and a mischievous spark, seemed to capture every detail, every nuance. His dark, tousled curls framed his face, adding to his roguish charm.

His attire was a careful blend of upper city formality and lower city practicality. His shirt, finely crafted but casually unbuttoned, and his well-worn trousers spoke of a dual life.

Annoyance replaced recognition in Amren's gaze. "What the hell are you doing here, Elian?" she whispered sharply, the dagger steady at his throat, a fine line between threat and recognition.

Elian met her gaze, mischief dancing in his eyes. "It's the lavender soap you use," he remarked, his voice tinged with humor. "Stands out down here."

Amren faltered, the mention of such a personal detail jarring her focus momentarily. She quickly recovered, her tone firm. "Why were you following me?"

"To make sure you didn't get into trouble," he replied, a mix of casualness and sincerity in his voice.

"That's rich," Amren shot back, her voice sharp as her dagger. "You could get caught. Ever think of that? Being in the lower city could get you expelled."

Elian countered, "And you? Aren't you risking the same? What drags you down here?"

Her annoyance deepened. Amren wasn't one to seek companionship; her journey was solitary, fueled by an insatiable quest for knowledge that few understood. Yet here was Elian, challenging her, seeing through her in a way that few ever managed.

Amren's frustration simmered as she sheathed her dagger, its metallic whisper a silent concession. "Just mind your own business," she muttered, her body turning away, signaling a yearning to resume her solitary search. Yet, Elian's intrusion had already shifted the tone of her covert pursuit.

Elian trailed her through the shop's aisles, a persistent, almost playful presence against her rigid focus. His steps were light, teasing, contrasting sharply with her intense resolve.

He grazed the ancient books with a touch both reverent and casual, like he knew the weight of such relics. Stopping to inspect a title, he'd return it to its place, his intrigue apparent amidst the wealth of knowledge.

At one juncture, he flicked a bottle filled with glowing liquid, eliciting a soft chime that resonated in the shop's hush. He observed it with a child's wonder, the light dancing in his eyes, before refocusing on Amren.

"Quite the collection, isn't it?" Elian's voice, a low hum, vibrated through the still air. "Ever wonder about the collector of these artifacts?"

Amren found herself in an unfamiliar scenario. Elian's unasked-for company, his relaxed manner, clashed with her typical isolation. Yet, his effortless courage, his ease in this shadowed realm, piqued her curiosity.