Meeting Caelan Virelion

The late afternoon air in Virelion’s Eastern District felt humid, the sky shifting into a golden-orange hue. Lyselle walked with a light step, her coin pouch slightly heavier than it had been that morning thanks to a simple mission—cleaning out a spice merchant’s warehouse. Not much, but enough to stretch her food supply for the next few days.

She decided to take a detour on her way back. Not just to enjoy the city’s atmosphere, but because a flicker of curiosity tugged at her. The Eastern District was known for its jewelers, light–weapon craftsmen, and shops selling rare items—places that often doubled as unofficial information hubs.

However, her steps halted when she spotted a group of people at the end of an alley.

Not the usual market crowd—more like… people surrounding someone.

Harsh laughter mixed with tones of mockery.

“Think those fancy clothes can save you here, kid?”

“Lost, are you? This district isn’t for people like you.”

Lyselle narrowed her eyes. Through a gap between two broad–shouldered men, she could see a young man standing tall. His hair was jet–black with a faint bluish sheen under the setting sun, slightly tousled as if the wind had played with it. His silver eyes held a look that was… hard to define. There was arrogance there, but also a strange calm.

He wore a long black coat of fine make, spotless leather boots, and thin gloves—the kind usually seen on nobles or high–ranking knights. But here—in a grimy alley—his appearance only made him look like an easy target.

Lyselle caught the refusal in his voice when he replied.

“If you need money, ask for it properly. I’m not in the mood to cause trouble.”

One of the large men burst out laughing, slapping his companion’s shoulder. “Hear that? He thinks he can give orders here!”

Lyselle took a quiet breath. (This will end badly if I let it go… But… why do I feel he’s not as defenseless as he looks?)

She stepped forward, just enough to be heard.

“If you’re going to pick a fight, at least choose a target you won’t regret.”

Three pairs of eyes turned toward her.

"Who are you?” one of the men demanded, his tone thick with threat.

"Just someone passing by,” Lyselle replied, sliding her hood back slightly to reveal her long ears. The reaction she expected came instantly—they hesitated. High Elves weren’t safe targets, especially if they were skilled in magic.

The black–haired young man glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t need help.”

Lyselle gave a faint, almost mocking smile. “Too bad. I don’t like seeing people surrounded like this. Hurts my eyes.”

Before the men could retort, Lyselle slowly raised her hand. The air grew cold, tiny shards of frost forming at her fingertips. That alone was enough to make the three exchange uneasy looks before backing away, muttering curses.

“Weird people… let’s go.”

It didn’t take long for them to vanish around the corner.

Silence.

The young man’s gaze was sharp, though his voice was even.

“Why interfere?”

"Because I wanted to,” Lyselle said bluntly. “And because you looked like you were about to be cleaned out.”

Instead of irritation, his lips curved slightly—not warmly, but in a way that felt… assessing.

"You talk like that to a stranger?”

“I talk like that to anyone,” Lyselle shot back, stepping past him. “If you want to survive in the Eastern District, learn to read the room.”

But she stopped when she heard him again.

“Wait. At least tell me the name of the person who just scared off three thugs for me.”

Lyselle turned, hesitating a moment before answering. “Lyselle.”

“Lyselle…” he repeated, as though carving it into memory. Walking closer, he added, “Caelan.”

The name passed through Lyselle’s ears without weight. She didn’t know—not yet—that it carried enough gravity to alter the course of her life.

Caelan looked at her for a moment before asking, “Do you live here?”

“For now.”

“Then we’ll likely meet again.”

He said it plainly, as if it were neither threat nor promise—just fact. Then he walked away without another glance, leaving Lyselle with a faint, unacknowledged curiosity.

(That man… strange. And his eyes… as if they see more than they show.)

The sky above Virelion deepened toward night. Lyselle exhaled, continuing her way home—unaware that the chance meeting was only the start of something far more tangled.

---

The next morning, Lyselle woke earlier than usual. The morning air in the Southern District always carried a mix of fresh bread from the inn’s kitchen and the faint stench of refuse from narrow backstreets. She slipped on a light cloak and headed downstairs to the dining room.

The innkeeper, Madam Merrel, greeted her warmly.

“Heading out so early? Most people don’t move until the sun’s higher.”

“There’s something I want to see in the city center,” Lyselle replied shortly.

In truth, she had no particular plan. But for some reason, a sliver of curiosity lingered from yesterday—about the black–haired young man. His manner of speaking, the way he looked at people… and the casual way he’d given his name, as if certain they’d meet again.

---

The road to the city center was bustling. Lyselle passed carts laden with flour sacks, then a street performer playing the flute. Reaching the main square, a commotion drew her attention.

A crowd had gathered in front of a jewelry shop. Whispers rippled through it:

“Isn’t that… a noble?”

“His clothes and bearing… definitely someone important.”

Lyselle edged closer. And in the middle of the crowd—Caelan.

He stood before the elderly shopkeeper, holding a small velvet–lined box. His face was calm, but his tone was firm.

“Are you sure this price is fair?”

The shopkeeper was sweating. “My lord, I… I only sell according to market standards—”

“Market standards don’t charge double tax on the same item,” Caelan cut in coldly.

From a few steps away, Lyselle observed. (So he really can talk like that. But… from the way he’s addressed, it’s clear he has status.)

Caelan seemed to notice her. His gaze flicked briefly toward her before he told the shopkeeper, “I’ll be back. Fix the numbers before I lose patience.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked toward her. The crowd parted instinctively.

“Lyselle,” he greeted, as though they were old acquaintances. “I thought we’d meet again.”

Lyselle crossed her arms. “Did you arrange this?”

He smiled faintly. “Perhaps.”

They walked side by side without agreement. Caelan seemed comfortable with the silence, while Lyselle waited for him to speak. Finally, she asked, “Do you often make people in the market nervous?”

"Not nervous,” Caelan said quietly. “I just dislike seeing power used to crush the weak. Double taxes, price manipulation… it’s a disease in this city.”

His answer surprised her slightly.

“And what’s it to you?”

He glanced at her, silver eyes catching the sunlight. “More than you think.”

They stopped at the edge of a fountain. Children played nearby, the sound of water mingling with the market’s noise. Caelan leaned against the low stone wall.

“I know you’re new to Virelion. And I know you’re not just a wanderer.”

It wasn’t an accusation, but a statement. Lyselle met his gaze without blinking. “You know a lot for someone I don’t even know.”

His smile this time was genuine. “You’ll know me.”

Then, with unshakable certainty, he added, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Lyselle opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, two men dressed as guards approached quickly.

“Your Highness, it’s time to return. The King is waiting.”

The words struck Lyselle like lightning. (Your Highness…? King…?)

She stared at Caelan, seeking an explanation.

He only shrugged. “I figured you’d find out sooner or later.”

With an easy pace, he followed the guards. But before vanishing into the crowd, he glanced back one last time.

"See you again, Lyselle.”

He disappeared from sight, leaving her by the fountain with a head full of unanswered questions.

(The King’s son… the prince… Caelan Virelion.)

That name now carried far more weight than a chance meeting in an alley.

And Lyselle knew, from this moment on, her life in Virelion would never be the same.