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I yelp and stumble up to my feet as my heart beats a thousand miles an hour.
Was he always there?
"Yes. The whole time." The man ignores me as he tries to light his cigarette again. There is a tense quiet between us, only the click of his lighter speaking.
I am still plastered against the door like a deer in headlights, watching his figure in the dark. The clicking stops, and the faint glow of orange from the fire illuminates his face. My breath hitches at his features. This has to be the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Well, from what I can see.
His eyes are cast down, hidden beneath long, full lashes that have me subconsciously reach up to my face. His lips that hold the thin cigarette, though curled, are plump and pink, reminiscent of a rose.
He is so beautiful that it makes me angry. A face that launched a thousand ships.
"Helenia*..." I breathe out before I realize. He pauses, then looks up at me, and the fire sways to the intensity I see in his eyes before flickering out. The soft glow of the cigarette is my only clue to where his perfect mouth is.
The darkness surrounds him like a cloak, and the feeling of forboding strengthens as I gaze at the strange man.
"Who gave you access to this room? Only three people are allowed in here." I might be losing it, but I swear his eyes glow a rusted gold before dimming. I am not surprised if I am losing my mind.
"Mm, is that so? I must be one of the three people allowed up here, because they just let me waltz right in." He shrugs his shoulders after wryly answering. He takes a drag from his cigarette, the glow intensifying with the pull.
"Just like that?" I clasp my hands behind me as I watch him reposition and sink into the couch. "I'll have to talk to John about that," I mutter under my breath, confused as to how he got here.
My eyes linger on his tall, imposing frame as I shuffle back to my seat. If I can't beat them, I'll ignore them. He seems quiet enough, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.
It doesn't take long for me to forget his existence. I take quick peeks at him, but he rarely shifts or fidgets. He is just smoking the same cigarette, which is suspiciously not getting smaller. Did he switch to a new one when I was not paying attention?
Shrieks from downstairs draw my attention, and I turn to look down at the crowd through the floor-to-ceiling window. I spot the bride from earlier, now on a counter, dancing sloppily.
She tilts her head back in wild abandon and shakes her head, auburn locks flying everywhere. Her hair reminds me of Marie's.
As soon as her name crosses my mind, her usual smiling visage overlaps with her bloodied one from my nightmare.
Those dreams always felt real, but this one felt too close to home. Seeing my loved ones hurt took me back to the past, when Mom and Dad died a similar bloody death.
Finding out that the only people who cared about you were stabbed and left to die broke me for a long time. I thought I had finally found my family, but like all things I come in contact with, they disappeared. Even though they were my adopted family, it did not hurt any less.
In fact, the pain raged even more knowing I was the cause of their deaths, knowing I was the reason Marie was an orphan.
To this day, no matter how many times Marie consoles or reassures me, saying that it isn't my fault, I will never believe her.
If Marie were not by my side as we supported each other, I would not be nearly as functional as I am now. She is my sister through and through in this life and the next, blood relation be damned.
Even now, the relentless ache of missing them consumes me.
My attention drifts back to the stranger here with me. I might as well try to find out why he is here and what he's about.
"Hey, what's your name?" He turns to my direction, his face still shrouded by the darkness and residual smoke. He does not move, and for a second, I think he will not answer.
Time drags, and I begin to feel self-conscious; thankfully, my face does not give me away.
"Cael," Kael. I like it. The name stirs something in me, making me pause for a second. "Cool, that's a nice name." I nod to myself, painfully aware of the awkwardness of the situation. I open my trail mix to occupy my hands and alleviate the tension.
"And yours?" Kael stands up, and I watch him apprehensively as he saunters over and sits next to me. He is close enough that I can feel the light coolness of what I now know is his leather jacket. I try to remain as nonchalant as he looks, focusing on what he said instead of his nearness.
"Selene." Kael turns to me, one of his long arms resting on the back of the couch. I can see his features clearly now, and my earlier irritation was definitely warranted. His lashes, which look fuller than they did earlier, frame beautiful almond-shaped eyes, the color of molten gold.
"Mmm. Selene, after the high priestess of the moon?" I furrow my brows at the mention of the deity everyone always assumes I am named after. His eyes reveal his curiosity about my reaction as he awaits my answer.
"No, everyone thinks it is, but it's just Selene." Kael tilts his head slightly as if he is waiting for me to continue. My assumption is proven true when he gestures with his hand for me to keep speaking. I shrug, then continue. "I don't care for anything supernatural, superstitious, or spiritual."
And I never will. People who seek external justification for things they are responsible for rub me the wrong way. Some things aren't God's fault.
"Not even God?" Kael's full lips quirk up slightly in jest. I shake my head no, then reach for a handful of trail mix. "That's interesting, ironic even." Kael leans back slightly, observing me with an amused smirk this time.
"How is it ironic? Do you believe in God? Or Gods?" He nods and purses his lips when he sees the displeased expression on my face. "You don't look religious." I take this time to look at him.
Now, he is sitting facing me completely. His legs are spread ajar, showcasing his strong thighs that flex with each small movement, even in his black jeans. His tall frame seems imposing, despite his relaxed demeanor.
His low shirt showcases his collarbones, wrapped in rippling muscles. I follow the curve of his neck to a strong jaw that shows signs of a beard coming in. How does he look that good?
"So, which God or Gods do you worship?" I am not even curious about the question, but it seems polite enough to ask. Besides, I didn't mind hearing him talk. Purely for aesthetic purposes, of course.
Kael's gaze drifts up as if he's thinking about his answer, then he replies. "I only like one God- Goddess in particular. She's a niche one; sometimes I think I am her only believer." I am intrigued by his answer. A woman?
"It's rare for a man to worship a woman. What's her name?" I am skeptical about his answer, but eager to hear who this Goddess is.
"Her name is V-" A scream from downstairs startles me, and I snap my head to the window to see what is happening. The dancing bride from earlier is on the floor with her left leg bent at an odd angle. The music stops and the lights brighten, signalling the end of the night.
I rise to get closer to the glass as the crowd shifts uneasily around her, partially blocking her. I mutter to myself, "That has to hurt. How the fuck did she even break it?"
The door opens, and John enters. He pauses subtly when he sees Kael, something off with the way he looks at him. "Need something, John?" John turns to me, his puzzled expression melting.
"Seth is closing shop for the night, Code 12." I nod, then gesture to the window to let him know I saw what happened. John gestures 'ok' then leaves. I turn to see Kael leaning on the wall near the door.
"It was nice to meet you, Kael. If it's fate, we'll meet again." I put my snacks away, then walk towards Kael. He lifts himself off the wall, maintaining eye contact with me.
"The pleasure of meeting you was all mine." He does an exaggerated bow, and I fight the small smile on my lips. "May we meet again." Despite saying this, neither Kael nor I attempted to exchange numbers. I leave him there in the room, admittedly feeling better than I did before I came in.
After walking down the stairs, the previously noisy crowd is dispersing. When I make it to the door, the night air is like a curtain, freezing my face as I step outside.
The sidewalk is littered with drunk people congregating in groups, sloppily leaning on each other. I dawdle amongst the group, not so eager to head home. Nothing good was there anyway.
Straight ahead, I notice the frail figure of a bald elderly man standing still in the crowd. He stands motionless amidst the crowd, his figure apart from the living tide that ebbs and murmurs around him.
The people give him space without knowing why, their glances skimming past as if their eyes refuse to rest on him too long. His robes, once perhaps fine, now hang heavy with mud and travel-stained dust, the frayed edges dragging like roots in the dirt.
In his hand, he is holding a wooden staff crooked, age-warped, and gnarled with veins like an old man's hand. Its tip spiraled upward, curling into a claw that grasps a black jewel no larger than a heart's knot.
The stone pulses faintly, not with light, but with the suggestion of depth. It is as though a fragment of night is torn from the sky and trapped there.
I reach for the first person I can grab, which happens to be a very drunk man. "Do you see-" But when I look back, he's gone. Panic cracks through me like lightning. I whirl and he's there, right in front of me.
The world narrows to his face: pale, ageless, eyes hollow and fathomless, as if behind them something vast is waiting. My body freezes, and before I can move, before I can scream, his hand clamps around my arm.
The cold of it isn't natural. It isn't a temperature so much as a memory of cold. His thin fingers sink into my flesh, like a snake seeking warmth. The air vanishes. The sound vanishes. A sudden pressure builds in my chest.
Then comes his voice.
It isn't spoken so much as breathed through me. A howl and a whisper, layered atop each other, that permeate my very being. The sound reverberates through me until I'm certain I can taste it, hear it, and feel it in my bones.
And with the haunting wail, images I have never seen bombard my already fragile mind.
Flashes. Visions of life I could not have possibly lived appear.
I am not me. I am a child, coughing in a house of smoke. I am a warrior, bleeding out beneath a blood-red sun. I am a woman at the sea's edge, screaming a name the tide will not return. I am burning. I am drowning. I am being born again and again and again.
Each life flickers like a candle in a raging storm, and I feel them all, centuries collapsing inward until I cannot tell which breath belongs to which self.
The jewel on his staff glows with a dull, pulsing light. I feel its rhythm in my heartbeat. His face leans close, his voice wrapping around me like smoke, whispering words I somehow already know.
"You have walked these roads before, through ash, through birth, through a closing door. The stars grow blind, their memory fades—You carry what the end forbade.
Remember flame, remember rain, remember love, remember pain. What sleeps in you will soon awake. Remember now, before it's too late."
The world snaps back. Sound returns in a rush: the murmur of the crowd, the honk of a car, someone laughing nearby.
But he's gone.
Only his touch remains, a ghostly ache beneath my skin. And somewhere inside me, something stirs, something older than this life, older than this century, whispering.
Remember.
I don't remember walking away from the bar. One moment, the old man's hand is burning into my skin; the next, I'm standing in the street, breath shallow, heart tearing through my ribs like it's trying to escape.
The people move around me, a blur of faces rushing past me, none of them seeing what just happened.
Maybe… maybe nothing did happen. Maybe... I imagined it.
I hug myself, a feeble attempt at soothing myself. I tell myself that, over and over, as if the words can be true.
Yet my skin prickles where he touched me. The echo of his voice still coils in the back of my head, letting me refuse to ignore the truth.
I hurry away from the bar entrance, my head spinning. The lights blur together as I walk, the street humming under my feet.
The night feels wrong, too still, as if the city is holding its breath. Then the whispers start.
The whispers persist, slithering into my ear like a wet, cold tongue. They disturb the quiet, sharp and snarling, intermingling with each other.
"Remember."
"He is coming."
"Wake up."
"Wake up."
"What the fuck is happening now?" I am near my apartment, and the street lights that are normally blinding are dim and flickering. The wind picks up, howling and clawing at my skin as I approach the alley leading to my building's private entrance.
The air feels colder there. The hum of the city fades until all I hear is my own breathing.
That is when I see her.
A woman stands at the far end of the alley, her body wrapped from head to toe in a black shroud. The fabric clings to her like a bandage, layered and tight. She is barefoot, her feet pale against the wet pavement. Her head tilts slightly to one side, and though I can't see her face, I know she is watching me.
The whispers return the longer I look at her, softer this time, rippling like the edge of a storm.
The woman begins to move toward me. Her steps are slow, deliberate, each one leaving a faint red shimmer in the air. When she speaks, her voice is calm, almost kind.
"Find him, before it is too late."
My breath catches. She turns her head, as if someone behind her has called her name. Then, without a sound, she steps sideways into nothingness. The space around me ripples like a broken reflection in water, then she is gone.
I stand there, numb. Unsure of what to make of it. My migraine returns in a rush of pain behind my eyes, white-hot and blinding. A well-needed reminder that I am alive and here in the moment. I clutch my head as the familiar throbbing tension builds, and stumble the last stretch home.