The city never truly slept.
Even past midnight, Nocturne pulsed like a living heart — its alleys humming with neon and secrets, its air thick with rain and smoke.
Riven Solas stood beneath a flickering streetlight, clutching the strap of his sketchbook. He'd missed the last train again. The buses didn't run this late, and walking home meant cutting through the old district — the part of town people said wasn't safe after dark.
He told himself he didn't believe in those stories.
But the whispers that sometimes followed him home made him wonder.
He exhaled, watching his breath curl white against the damp air.
That's when the streetlight above him buzzed violently — then went out.
"Great," he muttered.
The darkness thickened around him like smoke. The silence that followed wasn't natural. The usual hum of the city — cars, voices, distant music — was gone. Only the sound of his own heartbeat remained.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, echoing softly on wet pavement.
Riven turned.
A man stood at the end of the alley, tall and motionless, half-hidden by shadows. The faint glow from a nearby sign painted his features — pale skin, dark coat, and eyes that shimmered an unnatural shade of crimson.
For a second, Riven forgot how to breathe.
Something about that gaze — ancient, sad, and searching — struck a place in his memory he didn't know existed. It was like déjà vu and heartbreak colliding all at once.
The man took a step closer.
"Are you lost?" The voice was low, smooth, too calm for a place like this.
Riven forced a laugh, even as unease prickled his skin. "No, just walking home. You should probably find somewhere better to lurk — this alley's creepy enough without you adding to it."
The man smiled faintly. "You shouldn't be out here alone."
"Yeah, well," Riven said, taking a step back, "I didn't really plan this."
The man's eyes glowed a little brighter. "Still… you came here."
Before Riven could respond, something moved behind him — a blur of motion, a growl that was too deep, too animal. He barely had time to turn before a clawed hand slashed toward him.
He stumbled back — but the attack never landed.
A flash of light — silver and red — filled the alley. The creature screamed as it burst into ash.
And there, standing between Riven and the fading dust, was the stranger — his eyes burning, his fangs glinting faintly beneath the streetlight that flickered back to life.
Riven's heart raced. "You—what the hell was that!?"
The man turned to him slowly. "You shouldn't have seen that."
"Yeah, well, too late!"
They stood there, the silence heavy again — only this time, it wasn't fear that held Riven still. It was that strange pull, that impossible recognition that made no sense.
"Who are you?" he asked quietly.
The man hesitated, like he was weighing centuries before answering.
"My name," he said finally, "is Azael."
Riven swallowed hard. "Right. And… thanks, I guess, for saving me from—whatever that was."
Azael's gaze softened for just a second. "You don't remember, do you?"
Riven frowned. "Remember what?"
The vampire's expression turned unreadable, like a storm barely held in check.
"Nothing," Azael murmured, stepping back into the shadows. "Forget this night. For your own sake."
And before Riven could say another word, the man was gone — vanishing like smoke into the rain.
But as Riven stood there, heart still pounding, something burned faintly on his wrist — a mark he'd never seen before, glowing with light and shadow intertwined.
And in his mind, a whisper that wasn't his own:
> You've found him again…