Mr Wyvern was twenty-five. In his years, he had only known the old man for 15 of those 25. Those long nights and labour-filled days had meant that wherever the old man went, Wyvern was sure to follow. To most, they would assume that Mr Wyvern had worked for the Gambit due to his connection with the old man, that the old man's status and guidance is what led to his spot as one of the Gambit's favourite hires, but that was not the full story. Yes, the old man was truly like another father to him. He had lost his dad at eight and by ten he had gained a new one, but that leaves a question: who was with him in the years in-between? Who helped him survive those 2 years before he had met the old man?
The name of his saviour, the person who kept him alive, was a woman named Violet Vasquez. At the time she was twelve. Wyvern's father had just passed and his home was raided.
In the sector they lived in, the other rich and wealthy took pity on the poor boy, but none could be asked to raise or provide for an orphan, none but a young girl.
Violet had been spoiled, but she was not spoiled. A beautiful sight, a girl who had been given it all, but wouldn't mind giving it all away. The rich called her humble, the poor called her a saint, a young girl who had the heart of a worker and lived the life of a queen.
She lived her life waking up, heading to school, then off to extracurricular classes, then private tutoring, and despite a slight late bloom, she too unlocked a power. At the age of ten she was the Kingdom sector's IT girl, the daughter every noble family yearned for.
It must've been her birthday. The sky was clear, cake, friends, family, the lot. But looking out the window she saw her father talking to a strange man. She could not see his face, but his body was built and firm. His frame was not large but far from small, silver hair flowing back to his shoulders as he placed his hand on her father's shoulder.
Curiosity got the best of her. She left the party to use the bathroom, and once inside a purple mist erupted from her skin, the view of her father's balcony fresh in her mind, and as she took a step the mist swallowed her whole and she appeared on the ledge of the balcony, looking down at her father and the strange man as the mist seeped back into her skin.
"Ah, the poor lad, I do hope Nexus helps him find a new home. I was quite good friends with his father. It's a shame both his parents were only children with no known relatives." Her father's voice came out low and tired as he yawned into his palm. "You know, my daughter has been excelling pretty well in her classes recently. Then again, she does take after her mother." He laughed.
Then something changed. His face twitched as he looked at the strange man. Violet tried to get a better look but she couldn't see his face no matter what angle she tried to look at. Then the man reached out and shook her father's hand. "Well, it was nice talking to you, Mr Vasquez. Please do let me know if you find that boy and I'll make sure to let Nexus know." His voice came out slow, deep, and raspy.
Her father's face twitched again, the light in his eyes draining for a second, but he shook his head and smiled. "Of course, my good man. Oh, what was your name again?"
Her father froze, and the strange man walked off, and once he was out of view her father blinked and headed back inside. Violet spun round as mist once again erupted and she walked out of the bathroom to join the party.
A few hours later, as the sun began to set, the 8-year-old Alexander ran through hedges, jumping over fences, panting. He couldn't stop. 2 days ago he had gone home, his father's body dangling from the chandelier. The next second Nexus barged in, collecting him and his father's body, dragging them away. Something was wrong, very wrong. His fingers twitched and a strange hum came from his chest as he cried, being dragged away. He gripped the door handle on the way out and it melted around his hand into a glove. He swung his fist and the metal flew off, clasping around a Nexus employee's mouth, causing the man to fall back and squirm on the floor, clawing at his mouth. He ran. Alexander Wyvern ran for 2 days straight, back and forth through his sector. He had asked a neighbour for help and they called Nexus, and in fear he ran again.
And on this day, as the sun began to set, he saw fireworks light up the night sky. He dove down behind a bush, looking around. There were people, too many people. Why were they here, he thought, and then he saw Violet standing in her birthday dress blowing out her candles in her garden. The fountains that were scattered around the area shot out different drinks as kids cheered and ran around eating sweets and drinking more or less flavoured water dumped with sugar, going hyper, having a blast.
All except Violet. She remembered her father's words. She remembered the strange man, his posture, his voice. She then looked back, why, well for no reason at all, and that's when she saw him, Alexander Wyvern, hiding behind bushes, tears in his eyes.
She had met him once before. She had gone to the same school in the sector, but she was 12 and he was 8. They never shared a class nor a lunch. They had simply met once during a school fair. She had heard of his father's death from her parents and other adults at the party.
She almost called out to her father, or her mother, or anyone at all, to let them know the poor boy was here and safe. They would call Nexus, find him a home, perhaps he would be ok. But then she remembered the strange man's voice. His words were simple and kind but his tone hid a secret. Her voice paused. She looked closer. He was crying. He was dirty. He was scared and most importantly he was all alone.
When no one was paying attention she walked over, crouching, crawling behind the bush. "Hey, are you ok, Alex?" but he didn't respond. He instead jumped back and slipped on mud, face planting into the ground as he picked himself back up to look at her.
He didn't speak. Violet didn't know if it was because he was tired, maybe mute, or perhaps scared. What she did know was that this boy was alone, and after witnessing that strange man, she felt a strong urge to ignore it, to not tell her parents, to not call Nexus.
Purple smoke erupted from her skin, encasing them both. Alexander looked around, scared as he blinked, now in a forest, trees towering, blocking out the light of the moon. Down a dirt path were small huts with candles out front.
This was a place Violet knew well. The first time she used her powers she could only remember the trip her family had gone on a while before, the beautiful view of the plane from the planet, and as such she had sent herself miles high somewhere into the air as she plummeted towards the ground. Luckily she was nearby this village, a demi-human village, outcast from the wealthier sectors but also turned away from the poorer sectors. A man who had noticed her descent shot off the ground, grabbing her out of the sky as he slowly floated them down.
The village had become a second home to her those past 2 years. The demi-humans were different from what she was taught, but they were truly powerful. To think these creatures, seen as rejects by most, held a more common power gene, it was fascinating. With her memory she would occasionally visit when she was free at home, and now she knew that this place would be safe for Alexander. Why? Simply because the people of this village were not the kind to turn humans away even if humans turned on them.
The purple mist swirled lazily around them for a moment longer before sinking back into Violet's skin like water into dry earth. Alexander stood frozen, small chest heaving, eyes wide as they darted from the towering pines to the soft glow of candlelit windows ahead. The air here smelled different—cleaner, sharper, laced with pine sap and woodsmoke and something faintly sweet, like fermenting berries left too long in the sun.
Violet crouched so she was level with him. "You're safe now," she whispered. "No one's coming for you here. They won't even know where to look."
He didn't answer. He never did. But his shoulders dropped a fraction, the tight line of his jaw easing just enough that she noticed.
A low wooden gate creaked open farther down the path. A tall figure stepped out—broad-shouldered, furred ears twitching forward, tail swaying in slow arcs behind him. Lirien, one of the first to greet her after that disastrous first teleport. His eyes, amber in the low light, flicked from Violet to the trembling boy at her side.
"Another stray, little mist-walker?" His voice carried the rough purr common to his kind.
Violet stood, brushing dirt from her ruined birthday dress. "He needs somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one asks too many questions."
Lirien studied Alexander for a long beat. The boy stared right back, chin lifted despite the way his hands shook at his sides. Something passed between them—silent, unreadable. Then Lirien dipped his head once.
"Come, then. There's stew on the fire and blankets that don't smell of city smoke."
He turned and walked back toward the huts without waiting. Violet gently nudged Alexander forward. After a hesitation he followed, small shoes scuffing the dirt path.
That first night she stayed only long enough to see him settled. A kind-faced woman with feathers instead of hair tucked a thick quilt around him on a low pallet near the hearth. Alexander curled into it immediately, face half-hidden, but his eyes tracked Violet until she stepped outside.
"I'll come back," she promised the night air more than anyone else. "Soon."
The mist rose again and carried her home.
***
The visits began irregularly at first.
A stolen hour after lessons. A weekend afternoon when her parents thought she was at the library. Each time she arrived with small offerings: a pouch of candied citrus peels, a warm wool scarf pilfered from her mother's wardrobe, once even a tiny mechanical bird that chirped when wound. The villagers never asked where the gifts came from. They simply accepted them with quiet thanks and added them to the communal stores.
Alexander grew taller—slowly, stubbornly. The hollows in his cheeks filled out. His hair, once matted and dull, began to catch the firelight in streaks of pale gold. He still didn't speak, but he learned the village rhythms quickly. He helped Lirien carry firewood, small arms straining under logs that should have been too heavy. He sat beside old Mara while she wove baskets, watching her fingers until one day he picked up reeds and tried it himself. The baskets were crooked, but no one laughed.
Violet watched it all in fragments.
One spring she found him knee-deep in the stream behind the mill, patiently untangling a fish trap that had snarled itself on roots. Water plastered his shirt to his back. When he saw her he froze, then slowly lifted a hand in greeting—nothing dramatic, just fingers raised for a second before returning to the knots.
She laughed, bright and startled. "Look at you. You're practically a river spirit now."
He ducked his head, ears pink, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Another time, in early winter, she arrived during a light snowfall. The village was quiet, blanketed white. She found him sitting on a stump outside the communal hall, staring at the flakes as they drifted past. His breath puffed in small clouds. When she sat beside him he shifted closer—just enough that their shoulders brushed.
She didn't speak. Neither did he. They watched the snow until her fingers grew numb and she had to leave.
Each departure grew heavier.
"I'll be back next month," she would say, or "before the solstice, I promise."
He never waved goodbye. He simply watched her until the purple mist swallowed her whole, then turned back to whatever task waited.
***
Two years slipped past like water through fingers.
Violet was fourteen now, taller, her features sharpening into something more certain. School had become harder—tutors stricter, expectations higher—but she still carved out time. The village felt less like a secret hideaway and more like the only place she could breathe properly.
Alexander was ten. Lean, quiet, still wordless, but no longer the frightened animal she had first brought here. He moved with purpose. The villagers spoke of him fondly, in low voices, as though saying his name too loudly might summon misfortune.
"He's got steady hands," Lirien told her once while they walked the perimeter trail. "Helped me fix the mill wheel last week. Didn't flinch when the gear slipped."
Violet smiled. "He's tougher than he looks."
Lirien's tail flicked. "Most of us are."
She laughed softly. "I know."
That day she stayed longer than usual. They sat by the central fire pit while the evening meal cooked. Alexander helped Mara stir the pot, then carried bowls to the elders first—something he had started doing without being asked. When he handed Violet hers their fingers brushed. He paused, eyes flicking to hers, then away again quickly.
She pretended not to notice the warmth in her chest.
When night fell she stood at the edge of the clearing as always. Mist gathered at her feet.
"I'll see you soon," she said.
He nodded once—small, certain.
The mist rose.
***
She returned three weeks later.
The village looked the same at first glance: same candle flames flickering in windows, same scent of pine and bread. But something felt off. Quieter. The usual bustle along the main path had slowed to a murmur.
She found Mara first, sitting on her porch shelling nuts with slow, deliberate movements.
"Mara," Violet greeted, crouching beside her. "Where's Alexander?"
The older woman's hands stilled. She looked up, eyes soft with something that made Violet's stomach drop.
"He's gone, child."
Violet blinked. "Gone where?"
Mara sighed, setting the bowl aside. "An old man came through. He passes every few seasons, trades herbs and stories, never stays long. This time… he stayed longer."
Violet's mouth went dry. "And?"
"He watched Alexander for days. Quietly. Never pushed, never demanded words. Just… observed. The way he helps without being asked. The way he listens. The way he never flinches from hard work." Mara's voice gentled further. "On the fourth day he spoke to Lirien and me. Said the boy was important. Said he would teach him things no village could."
Violet's heart thudded unevenly. "And you let him go?"
"We asked Alexander." Mara reached out, resting a weathered hand on Violet's arm. "He looked at the old man for a long time. Then he looked at us. Then he walked over, picked up his blanket—the one you brought him that first winter—and followed."
Violet stared at the ground. The dirt suddenly seemed very interesting.
"He didn't… say anything?" she asked, even though she knew the answer.
Mara shook her head. "Didn't need to. His eyes said enough."
Silence stretched between them.
Violet swallowed. "Did he seem… scared?"
"No." Mara squeezed her arm once. "He seemed ready."
Violet exhaled slowly through her nose. A strange mixture coiled in her chest—sharp, like loss, but softer around the edges. She pictured him sitting beside the old man on the creaking cart, blanket bundled in his lap, watching the trees slide past. No tears. No hesitation. Just forward.
She thought of the strange man at her father's party years ago. The way his voice had made her skin crawl even when the words were kind. This felt different. The villagers trusted few outsiders, but they had let this one take one of their own.
That mattered.
She stood, brushing her hands on her skirt. "Thank you for telling me."
Mara tilted her head. "You're not angry?"
"I'm…" Violet searched for the word. "Sad. But mostly I'm glad. He was never meant to stay hidden forever."
Mara smiled—small, knowing. "He'll find his way. Boys like that always do."
Violet nodded. She looked around the clearing one last time: the mill wheel turning lazily, the smoke curling from chimneys, the faint laughter of children chasing each other between huts. It looked peaceful. It looked complete, even without him.
She took a breath.
The purple mist rose around her ankles, cool and familiar.
Before it swallowed her completely she whispered to the empty air, "Be safe, Alex."
Then she was gone.