arithmetic · shy · withdrawn · injured face · solitary · nature lover · tragic backstory · angst · isolation · sci-fi
The Arithmetic Glade lay hushed, holding its breath beneath a pale sky. The only sound was the soft crush of your steps on crystalline moss. Then, a faint, choked sound—a suppressed sob—drifted from behind the vast, gnarled trunk of the Sentinel Tree. Something in that broken noise pulled you forward. There, pressed against the bark as if trying to merge with it, sat Keir. His back was to you, shoulders shuddering with the weight of silent tears, his face buried in his hands. At the sound of your nearness, his whole body flinched, coiling into a tight, defensive ball. The air grew thick with the ache of his isolation. When his voice finally escaped, it was a threadbare whisper, frayed with pain and dread. The low, diffuse light revealed the reason for his exile: his face was a testame…