Zaire's POV
Zaire walked through the cobbled streets of Eldermere with the same calm, unshakable composure he always carried. His coat was perfectly cut, his posture straight, and every step deliberate. His dark eyes scanned the surroundings without ever seeming too focused on anything, yet taking in everything at once.
It was the kind of quiet afternoon that felt like it could stretch into eternity, and Zaire liked it that way. His mind, always wrapped in a web of hidden thoughts, had found solace in the rhythm of the town. The distant chatter, the steady pace of life, and the way the fog seemed to cling to the edges of the town like a whispered secret, all calmed him.
But all that peace was shattered when a body collided with his.
A loud thud echoed in the street, and Zaire felt the sharp impact as a young man, no older than twenty, bumped into him. The man staggered back, looking flustered but not apologetic. His clothes were cheap, his hair messy, and his eyes were narrow with irritation.
"Watch where you're going!" the man snapped, shoving Zaire's chest with a scowl. "You think you're too good to pay attention to where you walk?"
Zaire paused for a moment, his expression unreadable. His gaze flickered over the man, the arrogance in his stance, the way his eyes refused to look down in shame. He could tell right away what this guy was about: brash, unwise, and dangerously unaware of his own limits.
Zaire's lips curled into the faintest of smiles, his voice smooth and calm. "You're the one who ran into me, friend."
The young man's face reddened. "I don't care who I ran into. Get out of my way next time."
Zaire took a slow step forward, his posture not changing, but the air around him suddenly thickened. "You've mistaken my silence for weakness."
The man's jaw clenched. "Are you trying to intimidate me? I don't give a damn who you are, step aside, or I'll make you."
Zaire tilted his head slightly, like he was observing something beneath his skin, before his lips twitched, but there was no humour in his smile. "You've got quite a bit of courage, don't you?"
Without warning, the young man swung a fist at Zaire's face, a desperate attempt to assert dominance. It was very sloppy and a predictable move.
Zaire did not move. Instead, his hand shot out, grabbing the man's wrist mid-swing, holding it in a vice-like grip. The man's eyes widened in surprise, trying to jerk his arm free, but Zaire's hold was unyielding.
"You've made a mistake," Zaire said, his voice low and calm, though there was a note of finality to it. He twisted the young man's arm with a fluid motion, forcing him to his knees.
The crowd around them had already begun to form, murmurs rising in the air. The young man cursed under his breath, struggling to break free, but Zaire was unmoved. His gaze remained steady, and his posture still, like a predator toying with its prey.
"Get off me, you freak!" the man spat, his arrogance crumbling into panic.
Zaire's eyes darkened slightly, and he leaned down to meet the man's gaze, his voice as cold as the autumn air. "You chose the wrong person to fight with. I suggest you take your pride and leave before I make things worse."
The man, realizing his mistake, scrambled back, fear evident in his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet, looking around as though searching for an escape route, his confidence long gone.
"I don't want any trouble," the man muttered, then darted off, disappearing into the crowd without a second thought.
Zaire remained still for a moment longer, his hand still open, as if lingering in the tension of the moment.
A voice drifted from the shadows, low and amused, completely unfazed by what had just happened. As the crowd began to thin, Sylen stepped into view.
"Well, that was one way to handle it," Sylen's voice drawled, his presence suddenly appearing behind Zaire.
Zaire didn't turn to acknowledge him but gave a small, almost light shake of his head. "I did not start," he said quietly.
Sylen circled to stand in front of him, raising an eyebrow with that same amused smirk that never left his face. "Sure, but you didn't mind finishing it either."
The corner of Zaire's mouth twitched as he exhaled slowly. "Not worth the effort."
"I don't know," Sylen said, leaning in closer with a teasing grin. "I think you enjoyed it just a little bit. You need to loosen up, my friend. There's more to life than… well, whatever it is you're doing."
Zaire glanced briefly at Sylen; his gaze was hard but with a faint glimmer of something. "I'll pass on your suggestion."
Sylen's smirk widened, clearly unfazed. "Fine, be the brooding, mysterious type. I can work with that." He paused, glancing toward where the young man had disappeared into the crowd. "Still, if you had a little fun with that, I wouldn't blame you. People like that need to learn a lesson."
"I'm not here to teach lessons," Zaire replied, voice colder than before. "But sometimes, people need to be reminded of their place."
Sylen's eyes gleamed with mischief, but he backed off, satisfied for now. "I'll let you be the judge of that. But hey, if you want, I can always find some trouble for you to get into. A little distraction never hurt anyone."
Zaire gave a nonchalant shrug. "Not today."
Sylen chuckled, shaking his head. "You really are a puzzle."
With a last glance at Zaire, Sylen began to walk off, but not before throwing a parting comment over his shoulder.
"Next time, I'll bring some popcorn for the show," he called out, laughter in his voice.
Zaire, now alone in the street, let the tension in his shoulders ease as he looked up at the grey sky. The small fight was over, but the echoes of it remained in the air, like a ripple in still water. It was a reminder, not just for the young man, but for anyone who thought they could challenge him.
The wrong person had picked a fight today. And Zaire never forgot when he was wronged.
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