The Wallen Public Library, usually a sanctuary of hushed whispers and the gentle rustling of pages, hummed with a low afternoon murmur.
Sunlight, fractured by the towering arched windows, painted stripes across the polished wooden floors, illuminating lazy dust motes dancing in the stillness. In the very back corner, nestled deep within the labyrinthine fiction aisles, behind a particularly imposing shelf dedicated to Victorian literature, NightShade -or so he goes as Shade- existed like a shadow.
He wasn't reading.
Reading was a luxury he couldn't afford when every unfamiliar footstep could be a hunter, every raised voice a potential threat. Instead, his blood-red eyes, the color of a battlefield after the war, constantly scanned the periphery. They were eyes that held a silent warning, a promise of something fierce and untamed lurking beneath the surface. Eyes that, if met directly, could send most scrambling for the nearest exit.
He was a study in contrasts, even in his human form. His hair, as black and devoid of light as a starless night, fell in soft, almost liquid waves around a face that was sharp and angular, his expression perpetually guarded. Even the way he sat, perfectly still, spoke of a coiled tension, ready to spring into motion at the slightest provocation.
Then, the delicate peace shattered.
It started with a muffled thump, followed by a cascade of thuds that echoed through the usually silent section. Shade's head snapped up, his senses instantly on high alert. He cataloged the sounds: the distinct thwack of falling hardcovers, the softer flutter of paperbacks, and then… a strange, almost electrical fizz.
A faint scent of ozone tickled his nostrils, and a wisp of smoke curled from the edge of the bookshelf beside him. His eyes narrowed, focusing on a small, circular scorch mark that now marred the aged wood.
What in the blazes…?
Before he could fully process the anomaly, a figure groaned loudly from the other side of the aisle. A tangle of limbs and scattered books lay sprawled on the floor, a chaotic island in the sea of organized shelves. And then Shade saw him.
The source of the disruption. The architect of the scorched earth.
He was… bright.
Almost painfully so.
His hair, the color of freshly fallen snow, was a wild mess, sticking out at odd angles. Even from this distance, Shade could see the startling clarity of his eyes, a vibrant light sea blue that seemed far too open and unguarded for someone who just… did that.
The bright one pushed himself into a sitting position, a scowl marring features that, despite the current disarray, were undeniably striking. He muttered something under his breath, then glared at the towering stack of books that had apparently betrayed him.
"And you," the bright one grumbled, aiming a pointed finger at a particularly hefty tome, "are going to pay for this."
Shade watched, a flicker of something akin to disbelief – a rare emotion for him – crossing his face. This… human, for he certainly seemed human, was blaming inanimate objects for his own clumsiness?
Then, the bright one finally looked up, his gaze sweeping across the aisle. It landed on the scorch mark, then followed the almost invisible trail of smoke to where Shade stood, half-hidden behind the bookshelf.
Bright One: "And you were ridiculously in the way. Don't you know how to look where you're going?"
The words were delivered with a surprising amount of heat, especially considering he was the one who had nearly set the library on fire. Shade stepped out from behind the shelf, his usual icy demeanor settling firmly in place. He tilted his head slightly, his blood-red eyes locking onto the bright one's surprisingly unwavering gaze.
Shade: "That was a ridiculous amount of collateral damage."
The air crackled with unspoken tension, the quiet library suddenly feeling charged with the unexpected collision of two very different forces.