Koen stood stiffly as Bellius spoke, arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his biceps as he listened. The way Bellius spoke—"That’s a strong name. I like it."—sent an odd shiver down his spine. It wasn’t threatening, exactly, but it was still unsettling. Like the weight of those words meant something more here than they would’ve back home.

And then came the introductions.

Bellius. Sayla. Rhiot.

Koen kept his face neutral, but his mind worked quickly, turning over the information, storing it. Institute. Head of Arcane. Head of Viper. He had no damn clue what any of that meant, not yet, but it sounded like some kind of hierarchy. Bellius ran this place. Sayla dealt with magic. Rhiot… Viper. Whatever that entailed.

He didn’t react outwardly to any of it, just nodded once in acknowledgment. But the moment Sayla spoke, his jaw clenched.

"Pardon my informality here, but what the literal hells, Bellius."

Her voice was sharp, edged with irritation, and Koen felt himself instinctively straighten, shoulders squaring as tension crackled between them. He didn’t know the full scope of their argument, but he could read people well enough. Sayla was pissed. Bellius, for all his composure, was holding firm.

Koen should’ve been more concerned with whart they were actually saying—what problem Sayla thought he might pose, what Bellius thought about all of this—but instead, all he could focus on was the sheer, suffocating sensation of being talked about. Right in front of him.

Like he wasn’t even there.

Like he was some specimen they had to analyze and decide what to do with.

It hit a nerve, one that had been worn raw long before he woke up in this place.

And Rhiot was staring.

Koen caught it out of the corner of his eye—the way the pale-haired fey’s red gaze lingered on him, th flicker of something unreadable in his expression. It wasn’t just curiosity. It was study. Those eyes were pretty, but not when they lingered on Koen like he was some kind of new animal no one had ever seen before.

Koen turned his head slightly, meeting Rhiot’s gaze dead-on for a moment. If he was supposed to flinch away under the scrutiny, he didn’t. He just held it, let his exhaustion temper the sharpness in his own green eyes.

Then, finally, Bellius gave an order. And Koen wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or irritated when he was handed off to Rhiot like some kind of package.

Rhiot, for his part, seemed amused by the whole thing.

Koen didn’t like that.

He liked it even less when Rhiot started walking, and he was expected to just follow along like some lost kid. But what choice did he have? Wandering off in an unfamiliar place like this would be stupid, and Koen wasn’t stupid.

So, he walked.

Koen’s jaw tightened as he walked, the fey’s presence irritatingly palpable. There was something about him—something smug, or maybe just too self-assured—that made Koen’s skin itch. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Rhiot kept looking at him, all sharp-eyed and studying, or the way he spoke, like he was playing at being polite but didn’t actually care about the answer. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was just the fact that Koen didn’t like being paraded around like some kind of curiosity.

Still, he forced himself to keep his expression unreadable, or as close to it as he could manage. He’d already given too much away with the way he’d tensed when Bellius and Sayla had been arguing. He wasn’t interested in giving Rhiot more ammunition to pick him apart.

The fey’s comment was met with nothing but a slow exhale from Koen’s nose. He didn’t even glance at him.

It wasn’t that Koen didn’t want to respond. He did. He wanted to say something dry, maybe bite back at the casual way Rhiot was treating this whole thing. Like Koen hadn’t just woken up in another world, like he wasn’t standing in the middle of some ornate, unfamiliar hall, surrounded by creatures that could probably kill him if they felt like it.

But he didn’t have the energy for that right now.

His body still felt wrong. Not weak, exactly—more like his muscles weren’t reacting the way they should, like something was slowing them down, making everything just a little too sluggish. If he had to fight, he wasn’t confident he’d be at full capacity. And that pissed him off.

No, I don’t want a drink, he wanted to snap when Rhiot offered. Instead, he barely inclined his head, his voice flat. “I’m fine.”

The truth was, he didn’t trust anything they had here. He didn’t trust them. Not yet.

His gaze flickered briefly over the spread of food, eyes catching on the glistening fruits, the fresh bread, the thick, cured meats. It smelled good—too good. Like something out of a fairytale, which was exactly why Koen wasn’t touching any of it. He might not know much about fey, hadn't even known they existed, but he knew enough. Eating or drinking the wrong thing in a place like this could go bad fast.

Rhiot’s smirk didn’t help. That smug little curve of his lips, the way he watched Koen, like he was waiting to see what he’d do. Koen hated it.

“You’re really enjoying this, huh?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them, his exhaustion making him reckless. He met Rhiot’s red-eyed gaze, his own unreadable, but something simmered beneath it. “Playing tour guide. Watching me stumble around trying to make sense of any of this.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The weight behind it was enough.

Then, as if deciding the conversation wasn’t even worth lingering on, Koen turned away from the food, from Rhiot’s too-interested expression, and rolled his shoulders. He could still feel Rhiot’s eyes on him. Watching. Assessing.

Koen had dealt with people like this before. People who looked at him like they were trying to figure him out like he was some puzzle they just had to solve.

He never let them.

Koen exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw tight as he forced himself to stay focused. His entire body was coiled with tension, like a wire wound too tight, ready to snap. Every word out of Rhiot’s mouth only grated on his nerves more, from the mocking curiosity to the casual way he tossed around the fact that humans weren’t exactly welcome here. Like it was just another amusing little fact, nothing to be concerned about.

Koen wasn’t stupid. He’d picked up on the way people looked at him, the way Rhiot kept watching him, even when he acted like he he wasn’t. The Fey moved with a certain grace, but there was something snake-like about him, something that made Koen’s skin itch. He wasn’t sure what it was—maybe it was the easy arrogance, or maybe it was the way he carried himself, like he was above it all, like Koen was a curiosity, a mystery to be picked apart.

Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

Still, he wasn’t about to show that. He didn’t trust this place. Didn’t trust these people, no matter how much they were pretending to be helpful. He’d played this game before, navigating unknown territory, sizing up people who could be threats. He needed to stay calm, needed to keep his head clear.

So he exhaled again and gave Rhiot a sharp look. “Yeah, well, I don’t particularly care what a bunch of monsters think about me being here.” His voice was flat, edged with something dry and biting. “I didn’t exactly ask to be here, did I?”

Koen rolled his shoulders, trying to push off the heavy exhaustion creeping into his bones. His whole body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry, his nerves raw and frayed. But he wasn’t about to slow down. Not here. Not when he didn’t know what the hell was going on.

Then the other one arrived.

Koen’s sharp gaze flicked to the small creature scurrying up to them—hooves clicking against the stone floor, horns catching the dim light. They weren’t threatening, but they weren’t exactly comfortable either. There was something jittery about them, something nervous.

The moment they looked at him, Koen felt his anxiety rise. It wasn’t much—just a flicker of uncertainty in their expression, like they were trying to decide if he was safe. If he belonged.

That was enough to piss him off—but it also made his temper defuse, as well. The look in their eyes.. like they were almost scared of him.

Maybe that was just Rhiot.

He hoped?

"Sayla is attempting to distract... you know who... and has requested you speak to her immediately."

There were way too many layers to this bullshit.

Koen barely had time to register that before the air shifted again. Rhiot’s entire demeanor changed in an instant. The irritation, the tension, the way he suddenly coiled like a predator scenting something foul in the air. Koen wasn’t sure what the hell was going on between these people, but he could tell when someone was getting ready for a fight, even if it was just with words.

And for some reason, that made his skin crawl. He felt the sudden urge to jump out and protect the poor thing from his glare. It only made him resent the pale Fey more.

The creature—Cinna, apparently—shrank udner Rhiot’s stare and hurried away, and Koen had to force himself not to scoff. Fucking weird place, weird people.

And now they were dragging him off to someone else.

Again, Koen didn’t have a choice.

So he followed.

The walk was quiet. The kind of quiet that had weight to it, something just barely restrained beneath the surface. Koen’s boots scuffed slightly against the floor as he walked, and he kept his arms loose at his sides, trying to shake the tension from his shoulders. He didn’t trust how calm Rhiot was acting now. Didn’t trust anything about this.

Then they arrived at the observatory.

Koen’s breath hitched, just for a second.

He wasn’t the kind of guy to be impressed easily, but there was something about the way the glass panes caught the light, the way the whole space felt open, almost untouchable, that made something tighten in his chest. It was the first thing in this godforsaken place that didn’t immediately feel hostile.

But then his gaze snapped to the woman standing at the table, arms crossed, looking pissed. Sayla.

Koen felt that same damn tension settle back into his bones.

The conversation that followed barely registered at first—he was too busy trying to get a read on her, on the room, on whatever the hell they’d dragged him here for. He caught the way Rhiot prodded at her, the sharpness in her response, the weight of whatever unspoken things were hanging between them.

But none of it mattered.

Because then he stepped closer.

And the artifact reacted.

Koen didn’t even realize what had happened t first. Didn’t want to realize. The shift in the air, the faint hum, the way something unseen but powerful stirred the second he got too close.

He stopped cold.

His stomach dropped.

No. No, no, no. This is not supposed to be happening. I wanted a calm, normal life with Drew.. this was not.. I didn't..

His breath came sharp through his nose as he stared at the carving. The bird, simple and small, glowing just barely, like it had taken a breath for the first time in decades. It looked new. Fresh. Alive.

And it had done that the second he got near it.

He didn’t move at first. Didn’t reach for the damn thing. Just stared at it, wariness coiling deep in his gut.

“This… is the first sign the magic hasn’t died.”

Sayla’s voice held something fragile. Something dangerous. Hope was dangerous. Koen had learned that young, learned that hope had a way of twisting itself into a knife when you let it in too deep.

His gaze flicked from the carving to Sayla, then to Rhiot. He didn’t like the way they were looking at him. Like he was something now. Something else.

His stomach churned, a sick feeling crawling up his spine. He swallowed it down, forced his voice steady, even as unease tightened his throat.

“What,” he said slowly, carefully, “the fuck does that mean?”

He didn’t reach for the artifact. He didn’t want to. Whatever just happened, it had nothing to do with him. Couldn’t.

He wasn’t special.

He was just a guy who got dealt a shit hand and woke up in a world that wasn’t supposed to be real.

And now they were staring at him like he was the answer to something.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails pressing into his palms as his pulse hammered in his ears. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like any of this.

And he sure as hell wasn’t about to pick up that fucking bird.