The days following the encounter by the stream seemed to stretch into an endless blur. Hyacinthus couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed—something deep within him. He returned to his training and his duties, but nothing felt quite the same.
Every time he closed his eyes, the sensation of the stranger's lips on his lingered. Every time the wind shifted, he could almost hear the voice of the man—the one who had kissed him, who had made him feel things he hadn't known he was capable of feeling.
It was madness. Hyacinthus tried to dismiss it. He had kissed many before. But none had left him feeling this…alive.
He tried to distract himself with the affairs of the court, but the faces of his people and the weight of his title seemed to blur as his thoughts drifted back to the stranger. And then, one fateful afternoon, the winds changed again.
Hyacinthus stood in the meadow near the castle, the golden afternoon sun casting long shadows. He had gone to the field to escape the press of his obligations, to clear his mind. Yet, as soon as he stepped out, he felt it—the presence in the air.
The wind had shifted.
And in that moment, he heard it—the whisper of the same voice that had spoken to him by the stream.
"Hyacinthus…"
His pulse quickened, and he turned to find the same man standing at the edge of the meadow. His hair, wild and untamed, fluttered in the breeze, and his dark eyes locked onto Hyacinthus's. This time, however, there was no mistaking who he was.
The stranger was no longer simply a wanderer. There was something undeniable about him. His beauty, his grace, his presence—they were otherworldly.
Hyacinthus's heart skipped a beat. "You," he breathed.
The stranger, now standing before him, smiled softly, but with something dangerous behind it.
"I told you I would return," the man said, his voice like the echo of thunder on a distant horizon.
Hyacinthus felt his throat dry. "Why?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The stranger's smile deepened. "To see you again."
---
The days after the meeting in the meadow were filled with a strange anticipation. The mysterious man—the stranger—did not reveal his true identity to Hyacinthus, but he returned each day, always at the same time, always finding him when he was alone.
At first, Hyacinthus thought it a dream. But the sensation of the stranger's touch, the sound of his voice, was too real. He began to crave it.
Each meeting was the same. They talked, though their words were often sparse. Sometimes they simply stood in silence, sharing the same space, the same breath. But with each passing day, the tension between them built.
Hyacinthus had to admit it—he wanted more. He wanted answers. He wanted to know the stranger's name. He wanted to understand why his heart raced whenever he saw him. Why the air around him crackled with something so powerful, so dangerous.
The stranger knew this, Hyacinthus could see it in the way his eyes always darkened when their gazes met. It was like a game—a slow, deliberate dance that neither of them could fully control.
One day, as they walked side by side along the edge of the forest, Hyacinthus couldn't hold back any longer. He needed to know.
"Who are you?" His voice was firm, though his heart thudded in his chest. "You have to tell me."
The stranger stopped in his tracks, his expression unreadable. He looked up at the sky, as though considering the question carefully.
"I am no one you know," the man said finally, his voice soft but unwavering. "But you know me better than you think."
Hyacinthus frowned. "That doesn't make sense."
The man smiled, though it wasn't the warm smile he had once shown. This one was more complicated—almost sad. "Everything that's happening now has been set in motion for a long time. Longer than you or I have lived."
Hyacinthus felt the words reverberate through his chest, like they were meant to mean something far deeper than he could understand.
---
As the days wore on, Hyacinthus grew bolder in his pursuit of the mysterious man. His longing was no longer something he could ignore. And one evening, he found himself once more by the stream, where it had all started. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the sky was painted in hues of purple and gold.
He stood there, waiting, his heart beating steadily in his chest. He didn't know why he was waiting or what he hoped would happen. He only knew that he needed to know more.