The violet‑blue pulse lingered at the edge of her sight, but Maya forced her feet forward, the rhythm of the rain matching the thump of her heart. "Maybe later," she muttered, half to herself, half to the empty street. She turned left at the next corner, the familiar clatter of the 24‑hour market echoing behind her, and headed toward the narrow brick building she shared with Jess.
Inside, the hallway smelled of jasmine incense and fried plantain—Jess's signature "welcome‑home" combo. Maya slipped off her soaked sneakers, tossed her jacket onto the coat rack, and pushed open the door to the tiny studio apartment they'd turned into a makeshift art loft. Jess was already perched on the couch, a steaming mug of tea in one hand and a stack of art magazines in the other, laughing at something on her phone.
"Yo, you're drenched! You okay?" Jess called, eyes flicking up. "I was about to text you,there's a pop‑up gallery downtown tomorrow night, and I snagged us a spot. You bringing anything new?"
Maya smiled, feeling the tension ease. "Yeah, I'm good. Just… saw something weird again, but I'm ignoring it. Got a few sketches in the bag. Let's see if they're gallery ready." She dropped her satchel, pulled out the sketchbook, and flipped to the latest charcoal spread—soft ribbons of color swirling around a silhouette she hadn't yet named.
Jess leaned over, eyebrows lifting. "Whoa, that's… intense. Who's the subject?"
Maya hesitated, then shrugged. "Maybe nobody. Maybe… something I'll figure out later."
~
Damon leans against a cracked doorway, rain washing the street clean. A soft violet‑blue light leaks from his fingertips, like a slow tide he can't switch off. He's used to it—reading people's colors: teal means calm, amber means warm, violet means curious. Most folks never see those hues, but Damon does. He watches auras blend and split like ink in water, and he feels the faint thrum of blood beneath every skin.
When Maya walks by, her aura shivers—lavender with gold flashes—signs she's about to create something huge. He senses the moment she spots his glow, a flicker of recognition. He could call out, let the light pull her in, but he holds back. He's a watcher, a night‑crawler, afraid of scaring away what he wants to understand. A cold chill brushes his neck, his fangs prickling with the promise of a new hunt.
"I'll stay in the shadows a little longer," he thinks, the glow pulsing with his heartbeat. "I'll wait till she's ready to see more than colors."
Just then, a sudden splash of crimson erupts from the alley behind him, making him whip his head suddenly. It's something he hasn't seen in his 2 centuries of existence, something no one's ever seen before. What is it?
~
What is it?
The crimson sphere shudders, then everything freezez —rain drops hang in mid‑air, streetlights stay still, even the city's hum stops. Only Damon and the pulsing mist move. A single heartbeat thuds in his chest, then the world snaps back to motion.
When the mist clears, Damon's aura isn't just violet‑blue any more; a thin, inky black thread winds through his glow, like a new darkness sewn into his very light. His eyes stay the deep crimson they turned when the sphere burst, and his heart still pounds with that strange, lingering pulse.
He stands there, changed, unsure what the black thread means or what will happen next. But he knew he had to get maya and he had to get to her fast. He didn't know why but he knew she was the key….
~
A dark voice echoes "The city shakes under rain. I feel the Heart‑of‑Ruin beat in my chest. Every breath I steal feeds it. Damon thinks a girl can stop me. He's wrong. I hid the sphere in the old church tower. When the bell rings, it will break. The violet wave will drown everyone. I'll break free from these chains and stand on the ruins and rule the darkness."