Veylor stood at the bleeding edge of the candlelight. He was translucent, his form faintly luminous like moonlight trapped in water, wearing the same simple, travel-worn field clothes he had been clad in the last time Iris had seen him breathing.
He looked impossibly fragile, yet he possessed a terrifying solidity that defied the laws of nature. The moment his pale and luminous eyes found hers, his entire expression shattered. His face broke open with a raw, naked disbelief so profound it acted like a sledgehammer against Iris's carefully constructed emotional defenses.
"Iris," he said.
The sound of his voice transmitted a physical shockwave to her. It didn't sound like a normal human voice; it was layered, echoing as though it were arriving from a vast distance while simultaneously vibrating inside her own skull.
It was the sound of a memory trying to become flesh again.
"I am here," Iris gasped.
