Acrilis

The Visit

Salvor steered his mom's car toward another junction, Acrillis seated beside him as they set off towards the boutique store. Since it now seemed she might be staying longer than expected, it would be absurd for her to keep borrowing his wardrobe. She needed clothes of her own—something that could bring out her femininity rather than the boyish air his shirts and jackets draped on her. They pulled into a gas station, and Salvor stepped out to fill the tank.

He returned from the cashier with the receipt folded neatly in his palm. He slid the card back into his wallet and walked toward the car where the pump already waited. He fitted the nozzle into the tank and pressed the lever, watching the numbers roll on the digital meter with that half-distracted look every driver seemed to carry at a filling station.

Inside the car, Acrillis shifted impatiently, then lowered the window with a soft click. She leaned halfway out, her elbows resting on the glass edge, slender fingers curling over the frame as though she were a child fascinated by a carnival. The faint evening breeze tugged at her hair, and her smile—quiet, almost secret—lit her features in a way that caught Salvor’s attention.

He turned his head, brows raised.

“What’s with that grin?” he asked, his voice cutting through the hiss of flowing fuel.

“Nothing,” Acrillis replied smoothly, shaking her head with a little shrug. Her tone was casual, almost too casual, the kind one used when hiding a thought too curious to share.

Salvor narrowed his eyes briefly, but let it pass. He returned to watching the pump, waiting for it to click to a stop. What he didn’t notice was the faint shimmer in the air around Acrillis’ hand, still resting on the window frame. Invisible to him, her energy pulsed gently, weaving itself into the rhythm of the pump. The gasoline that should have stopped at the precise amount paid for continued pouring seamlessly into the tank, the counter unbothered, the attendants oblivious.

By the time the pump clicked and Salvor replaced the nozzle, everything seemed perfectly normal. Acrillis had retreated back into her seat, wearing an expression of serene innocence. He climbed in, started the engine, and drove off, thinking nothing of it.

It wasn’t until they had merged back onto the road, the city slipping behind them, that he glanced at the fuel gauge out of habit. His eyes widened. The needle wasn’t just where he expected—it was higher, impossibly so, nearly brushing the “full” mark.

Salvor frowned, glancing once at the meter, then at the road ahead.

“That’s… not right,” he muttered under his breath. He knew exactly how much he’d bought, and this wasn’t it.

Beside him, Acrillis sat with that same quiet smile, her gaze turned outward toward the fading horizon, as though she hadn’t heard a thing.

"Did you…?” Salvor turned towards her while her gaze still fixed on the slipping landscape outside the window.

“Acrilis!”

At the sound of her name, she finally turned to him, her eyes glinting with a blend of innocence and mischief.

“What did you do?” he asked, keeping his attention mostly on the road, unwilling to risk being disarmed by those beautiful eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I mean…” She paused, her fingers winding absently through the soft curls of her hair, tugging and twisting them as if searching for the right words. “I might have… helped with the transportation.”

Salvor let out a slow sigh, weighing her intention against the act itself. She had only wanted to assist, but—

“It’s not help if it’s stealing,” he said at last, casting her a meaningful glance before fixing his eyes back on the road.

“Oh.” Acrilis’ voice fell flat, and she drew inward, shrinking back into herself.

Salvor caught the shift in her expression with a quick side glance.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “You didn’t mean any harm. Just promise you won’t do it again—at least not without my permission.”

Her hazel eyes lifted toward him, curious and unyielding. “Is that like an I’ll never do such a thing again kinda thing?” She tilted her head and mimicked his concerned expression almost perfectly.

“Um… yeah, something like that. But you’ve got to stop doing that,” he said, eyes back on the road.

“Doing what?” Acrilis asked—but this time, her voice carried the same cadence, the same weighted emotion as his, echoing him so precisely it was as though his own feminine side had spoken aloud.

Salvor shook his head, half-amused, a crooked smile breaking across his face. “You really are something.”

-----

They pulled up before a signpost that read Velour Lane. Salvor had been here many times with his mother, watching her choose pieces with an eye sharpened by years of style and fashion. Every taste, he often thought, seemed to have an antecedent to its essence.

There were the formal suits and tailored gowns she reserved strictly for office hours and high-stakes meetings. Then came the occasional wears—sleek cocktail dresses, elegant dinner gowns, and those glittering ensembles perfect for the kinds of parties that left her sneaking back home at midnight. And, of course, there were the casual pieces—soft blouses, fitted skirts, and those alluring outfits she wore only when his father was around, garments that left Salvor pretending he was clueless of their charm and essence

But today was different. He hadn’t come with his mother. In fact, he had arrived with someone far stranger—someone not even of their world.

“I’m a visitor,” Acrilis said suddenly, breaking into his little trance, her brow raised in gentle mockery.

“Hey! What did I say about privacy?” Salvor retorted.

They found a space to park, stepped out, and walked together into the boutique.

Salvor pushed open the glass door, holding it just long enough for Acrilis to step in after him. The faint hum of the air conditioner and the soft chime above the entrance greeted them as they walked inside. Together, they moved past the doorway and into the boutique, the quiet murmur of shoppers and the neat rows of clothing racks unfolding before them. Salvor guided Acrilis past the first aisle of carefully arranged racks. Fabrics of every shade and texture hung neatly—silks, cottons, denim, chiffon—each one carrying the quiet promise of transformation.

“Here’s how it works,” he explained, stopping by a section of casual wear. “You pick what catches your eye, take it into the dressing room, and try it on. Whatever feels like you—that’s what we go with.”

Acrilis tilted her head, curiosity written across her face. “Feels like me?”

“Yes.” Salvor nodded, gesturing toward the racks. “Not just anything random. Clothes aren’t only about covering yourself—they say something. You’ll know when it fits… not just the body, but you.”

For a moment she studied him, her hazel eyes reflecting a question deeper than his words. Then, with a small shrug, she reached out and plucked a soft lavender dress from the rack. Without another word, she drifted toward the dressing rooms.

Salvor leaned against a nearby wall, arms folded, scanning the boutique casually while he waited. When the door clicked open again, he turned—and nearly forgot how to breathe.

Acrilis stepped out, the lavender fabric flowing around her like liquid light, cinching at her waist and falling just above her knees. It wasn’t just the dress—it was the way it framed her, as though she had been sculpted for it.

Salvor’s jaw slackened before he caught himself. “Oh… wow,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I mean—yeah. That’s… that’s something.”

Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “So… does it feel like me?”

“Feels like… it’s made for you,” he said honestly, his voice dropping before he shook his head, half in disbelief. “I wasn’t ready for that.”

She chuckled softly, then twirled, the fabric fanning around her. “Then I’ll try another.”

And so it went. She disappeared behind the curtain, only to return moments later in something new—sleek trousers paired with a satin blouse, a glittering evening gown, even a playful sundress. Each time she stepped out, she presented herself before him like a performer awaiting judgment.

“Well?” she’d ask.

Salvor, struggling not to betray how stunned he was every time, gave what measured responses he could. “That one’s too formal.” Or, “Perfect for dinner, not for every day.” Or, with a reluctant grin, “That looks dangerous—you’re not getting that one.”

By the third change, he had resorted to biting the inside of his cheek just to keep from staring too long.

Finally, after what felt like an entire fashion parade, they gathered the chosen pieces into neat piles—dresses, casuals, and a few elegant outfits. Salvor carried the stack to the cashier while Acrilis lingered beside him, still glowing from the little show she’d put on.

The cashier scanned the clothes, folding them into glossy shopping bags. Salvor handed over his card, signed the receipt, and offered a polite nod before collecting the bags.

As they stepped out of the boutique, the glass door chiming shut behind them, Acrilis looked up at him, amusement dancing on her lips.

“You looked more surprised than I expected,” she teased.

Salvor exhaled, adjusting the bags in his hand. “You don’t make things easy, you know that?”

Her laughter, light and playful, followed them out into the sunlight as they headed back to the car.

“Salvor!”

A familiar voice rose from behind, and both he and Acrilis turned at once.

“Mrs. Donald,” Salvor replied, his voice betraying surprise. He recognized his mother’s old high school colleague instantly. She worked as a stylist in the mall and was notorious for flooding his mother with endless gossip whenever they visited her stall for their habitual pick-ups. But today was the wrong day to be spotted by this unsettling woman.

“What are you doing around here?” she asked.

“I—” Salvor began, but Mrs. Donald was already shifting her gaze toward Acrilis, her lips curling into a sly smile, the kind that looked equal parts curious and intrusive. She followed it with a knowing glance at Salvor.

“If it weren’t for your mother’s charisma—and your occasional regality—I’d say she’s out of your league,” she quipped.

“Uh… right,” Salvor muttered, quickly taking hold of the shopping bags still in Acrilis’ hands. “We’ll be on our way, then.”

“Just a minute,” she called after them, halting their steps. “Salvor, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to help me check out some new styles in the shop. Your mother might find them appealing.”

He sighed, already searching for an excuse. “I’d really love to, ma’am, but I’ve got—”

“Don’t be such a square,” she interrupted with a teasing lilt. “I’m sure your girlfriend won’t mind me borrowing two minutes of your time. Besides, your mother might not be too pleased if she learns you were here and ignored her most respected souvenir.” Her words came wrapped in a playful tone, but the undertone was clear: gentle blackmail.

“Don’t worry, Sal,” Acrilis said softly, touching his arm. She looked up into his eyes, her voice reassuring. “I’ll be fine.”

He hesitated, reluctant, but her gaze dissolved his resistance. “Fine. Wait for me in the car—I’ll join you soon.”

She nodded, gathered the bags, and walked off. Salvor watched her retreating figure for a moment before turning back to Mrs. Donald. His lips curled into a feigned smile.

“Shall we?”

-----

Mrs. Donald’s “two minutes” had mysteriously stretched into half an hour. For every tedious moment, Salvor was shoved from one rack to another, forced to endure a parade of labels and designs he couldn’t care less about. He muttered vague comments—“looks fine,” “maybe,” “not bad”—all while reminding Mrs. Donald that he was running out of time. His thoughts had long drifted back to Acrilis, sitting alone in the car, her figure lingering in his mind like a weight.

“I have to go now, Mrs. Donald,” he finally blurted, sharper than he intended.

“But this—” she began.

“If you have any curious inquisition about my mother’s sense of fashion, I think you should ask her directly,” he cut in, his voice tightening as he fixed her with a steady look. “But I have to leave.”

She sighed dramatically, raising her hands in surrender. “Fine! I’m sorry, I kept you longer than I meant to. But do let your mother know—floral maxi dresses are on their way out of trend. She ought to visit soon, before she’s left behind.”

“Sure. No problem,” Salvor said curtly, though he wondered for the hundredth time what his mother ever saw in this vain, over-painted woman.

“Send my regards to the blondie,” Mrs. Donald added with a sly wink.

Salvor didn’t bother with a reply. He turned on his heel and hurried off, eager to shake her perfume-heavy presence from his senses and return to Acrilis.

-----

Salvor pushed through the boutique doors and strode across the lot, eager to shake off Mrs. Donald’s perfume-cloud and the cloying weight of her chatter. But as he reached the car, his steps slowed. The passenger seat was empty. Acrilis was nowhere in sight.

His chest tightened.

He circled the vehicle once, twice. Nothing. “Acrilis?” he called under his breath, as if she might suddenly appear. No answer. He scanned the mall entrance, then hurried back inside, weaving through crowds, peering down aisles and corners, his nerves prickling with unease. Still no trace of her.

Outside again, his search grew frantic. He checked behind the building, down the narrow strip where service doors lined the wall, then around toward the shaded walkways by the fountain. His breath came fast, frustration mounting—until his eyes caught her.

There she was. A few steps across the street

Acrilis stood beneath a spill of afternoon light, her silver hair aglow as though it belonged to the sun itself. And opposite her—was a man. Not merely a man, but something otherworldly. His hair, a cascade of molten gold, seemed spun from starlight; his features so impossibly flawless they belonged more to a painting than flesh. His countenance was beauty itself, ethereal and unearthly, like he had stepped out of some forgotten myth.

Salvor froze, breath caught in his throat.

Then it happened. The stranger’s eyes shifted. What had been warm, golden embers flared into something alien, iridescent, like liquid amethyst laced with obsidian. The glow was sharp, terrifying. Acrilis recoiled, her own hands rising instinctively—light pouring from her palms, glowing like the birth of fire itself, ready to strike if need be.

The air trembled between them.

And just as suddenly, the man exhaled and let go. The dangerous brilliance in his gaze softened, returning to its embered gold. His shoulders sagged as if something inside him had given way. Acrilis lowered her hands slowly, though her eyes remained guarded.

He saw her point out something to the man in hush wording. Salvor couldn't pick up what it was but he felt the impact it made on the strange man.

The man’s perfect face wavered, as though tiredness—no, resignation—had finally caught him. He looked away, the brilliance of his beauty dimmed by a weariness that seemed older than his years.

It was then Acrilis turned. Her hazel eyes widened as she noticed Salvor's eyes on her. Relief barely had time to soften her face before she darted off the curb, her focus only on him

She didn’t see the lorry.

Salvor’s body jolted with instinct. The thunder of the oncoming truck tearing through his resolve just as his voice cried out, raw and desperate:

“ACRILIS!”

He ran forward and lunged, his shoulder slamming into her, shoving her clear across the street. Acrilis staggered, but landed safely on the opposite side.

Salvor wasn’t so lucky.

The world spun as metal roared past him, its gust tearing at his clothes. He hit the pavement, palms and elbows scraping hard against gravel, the sting of bruises flaring across his skin.

Silence followed. Then—

“Salvor!”

Acrilis was at his side in an instant, her hands trembling as she reached for him. Her eyes, usually calm silver pools, were now swimming with emotion—gratitude, fear, and something softer, deeper. Something that made Salvor’s chest ache more than the pain of his bruises.

She helped him up, steadying his faltering steps.

“You’re hurt,” she said, grasping at his arm where blood seeped through his sleeve in dark, uneven patches.

“I’ll be fine,” Salvor groaned, forcing his body upright, his senses slowly registering the chaos around him. Passersby had begun to gather, whispers darting through the air. His ear caught the sharp edge of someone calling, “911.”

“We need to get out of here,” he muttered, slipping his arm from her grasp. His gaze shifted, searching—and there he was. The alien figure hadn’t moved. His eyes—still glowing with that ember-gold hue but laced with something piercing and unrelenting—were fixed on Salvor, as though examining him under a lens, like he was less a person and more a rare specimen caught in the wrong place. I might as well have stumbled into some forbidden rivalry

When they were finally back on the road, the hum of the city thinning around them, Salvor turned to her, questions etched across his face.

“So,” he said flatly, “who’s the new guy?”

Acrilis’s face shifted, her expression paling as if tugged back into some painful memory.

“Néth’ad,” she whispered, the word curling in her mouth with an ancient weight, almost foreign to her tongue. She turned to him and forced a smile, but he caught the hurt buried in it.

“Ne… what?” he asked.

“He was my best friend.” Her voice was quiet, final, as she turned her eyes back to the road, unwilling to press further.

Salvor let the silence settle. Whoever this stranger was, he carried a mark on Acrilis—her sigma, her scar—and Salvor knew he would resurface. If he had traced them to a mall, he could trace them anywhere. Even to Salvor’s home.

His arm throbbed, the sleeve clinging wet to his skin, blood trickling in slow, stubborn lines. Every pulse of pain was a reminder, hot and insistent, that “safe” might have already lost its meaning.

But he forced himself to smile through the ache. Cheer up, Salvor. You were the one who wanted a touch of fantasy and mystery. Looks like your dreams are finally coming true.