Lyra leaned back on thes couch, her fingers pressed against her temples.
Her voice dropped to a mutter. "Where the hell is it? Who the hell has it?"
Silence answered. Only the faint hum of the city outside filled the space. The thought of her stolen divinity, her own power, being out there in someone else's veins made her jaw tighten.
She exhaled sharply and stood. "If the Supreme thinks I'll crawl back, he's delusional."
The sun poured through the glass walls of Velar Motors, a luxury car company that looked more like an art gallery than a dealership. Chrome, glass, and polished marble stretched across the floor. The scent of new leather and expensive cologne lingered in the air.
A group of clients followed a young man as he guided them around the showroom. He looked about twenty-five—tall, effortlessly fit, with messy blond hair and striking emerald-green eyes that caught light in all the right ways. His tailored navy suit fit like it was made for him.
"This model here," he said, tapping the hood of a deep blue sports car, "isn't just about speed. It's precision. You don't drive it, you command it."
A few of the clients chuckled. He opened the driver's door and gestured. "Go on. Sit. Feel that stitchingit's handmade, imported leather. Every inch of this car was crafted to impress."
One of the older men asked, "And the horsepower?"
"Seven hundred flat," he replied, his grin quick and confident. "Fast enough to make you rethink every traffic law you've ever obeyed."
The group laughed again.
Behind the reception desk, a young woman leaned toward her coworker. "That's Lucian, right? He's only been here, what, eight months?"
Her coworker nodded, still watching him. "Yeah. Best salesman we've got. The clients barely look at the cars when he's around."
Lucian continued the tour, voice smooth, steps relaxed. He wasn't trying too hard; he didn't need to. Every move looked practiced, natural.
When the deal wrapped up, he handed out business cards, shook hands, and walked back toward the reception desk with the faintest tired smile, the kind that hinted at long hours and little rest.
"Morning, Mila," he greeted one of the receptionists as he passed.
"Morning, Lucian. Another sale?"
"Almost," he said, picking up a coffee cup from the counter. "They'll call back by afternoon. They always do."
And with that, he was gone again, walking through the rows of cars that gleamed under the showroom lights.
---
9pm...
Lucian tossed his keys on the counter and collapsed onto the couch, loosening his tie. His apartment was dim, quiet, ust the hum of the city outside. He'd barely shut his eyes before his phone buzzed.
Mom.
He sighed, smiling a little before answering. "Hey, Ma."
"Lucian, you sound tired again," her voice came through warm, teasing. "Don't tell me you were out there smiling your face off for those rich clients."
He rubbed his temple. "You have no idea. I swear, Mom, being Regional Operations Manager doesn't mean a damn thing around here. I still end up on the floor, pitching cars because everyone insists I have the charm."
His mom laughed softly. "You always did. Even as a boy, people couldn't say no to you."
"Yeah, well, tell that to my back. I've been on my feet for ten hours," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "They keep saying it's good for morale when the boss is out there smiling and shaking hands. Feels more like free entertainment to me."
"You're doing fine, sweetheart. You just need rest," she said, voice softening. "Eat something. And please don't skip dinner again."
Lucian smiled faintly. "Yes, ma'am. I'll eat. Probably order Thai."
"Good. And Lucian?" she paused. "I'm proud of you."
He didn't say anything for a second, just looked at the ceiling, the faint ache behind his eyes easing. "Thanks, Mom."
When the call ended, he leaned back, staring at the faint city lights through the window.
He brushed his thoughts off, muttering, "I need sleep," and pushed off the couch toward the shower.
Lucian came out of the shower towel-drying his hair as he stumbled toward the bed. He didn't bother with pajamas, just dropped face-first onto the sheets. The exhaustion hit fast. One blink and he was gone.
At first, it was nothing, just the quiet hum of sleep. Then, slowly, the silence began to shift.
---
He found himself standing in a place that didn't look real. The ground was glass, reflecting a sky split between fire and shadow. Blinding light on one side, endless dark on the other. The air trembled with noise, metal clashing, wind howling, voices shouting in a tongue he couldn't place.
"
Thyren al'kor ve'tass!"
The words echoed, deep and layered,,like several voices speaking at once.
He spun around. Shapes moved through the haze, figures, their silhouettes. One lifted a sword in gold flame. Another's eyes glowed silver, unblinking.
A scream cut through it all, high, piercing, not human. The kind of sound that crawls down your spine and stays there.
He stumbled backward, hands over his ears, but the sound didn't stop, it vibrated through him, like it was inside his bones.
Then, a voice, calm but powerful, broke through the chaos.
"
Velithra... kor'anth..."
The ground cracked beneath him. Light and darkness swirled like storms meeting midair. And just before it swallowed him, he saw—very faintly, a figure ...like a woman with silver hair, standing at the center of it all, her eyes blazing like molten stars.
.
.
He jolted awake, heart racing, sweat on his forehead. The room was silent again , too silent. He sat up, breathing hard, staring at his hands.
They were trembling.
He whispered to himself, "What the hell was that?"
The clock blinked 3:33 a.m. in dull red.
Outside, thunder rolled....
Though the forecast had promised clear skies.
Lucian suddenly couldn't breathe. His chest locked like someone had pressed a hand against it. The dream's images were fading fast, silver eyes, fire, screams, but the feeling lingered, cold and sharp in his gut. He pressed a hand to his face, trying to calm down, but his pulse only quickened.
Then came a whisper....
Soft. Close. Too close.
His head snapped up.
"Who's there?" His voice cracked slightly.
Nothing. Just the hum of the air conditioner and the faint drip from the shower he hadn't turned off properly.
Another whisper. This time by his ear.
"Oh, hell nah..." Lucian jumped out of bed, snatched his phone off the nightstand, and backed toward the door like it might explode. He flicked the light switch three times even though the light was already on, muttering under his breath, "Nope. Not tonight."
He walked fast, half run, half stumble, into the living room, every shadow suddenly feeling alive. When he got there, he stopped and just stood, breathing hard, staring around the room like it might start talking back.
After a long silence, he laughed. A short, shaky laugh that didn't sound like him.
"Yeah. Definitely stressed," he said to no one. "Gotta stop skipping meals."
He tossed the phone on the couch, sank beside it, and rubbed his eyes. He meant to sit there for just a second, just long enough to convince himself he was fine.
But his head fell against the cushion, and before he knew it, he was asleep again