The city glimmered beneath the soft hues of the dying sun — streets painted gold, glass towers catching the last light like silent watchmen. Cars moved in steady rhythm, horns distant, laughter scattered through the air.
Emily stepped out of the car and tilted her head up. The air smelled different here — cleaner, colder, touched with something unfamiliar. She had been to a thousand worlds, seen blood, pain, and fire, but the golden glow of this city felt… gentle. Almost unreal.
Her fingers brushed the silver bracelet around her wrist — the only thing that came with her from the underworld. The faint hum beneath her skin told her it still held a trace of her former power. Enough to protect her. Enough to destroy, if she chose.
A sleek black car pulled into the driveway beside her. Cameras flashed at a distance — reporters waiting for the long-lost daughter's arrival. But she didn't smile for them.
From the other car stepped a man.
He was tall, dressed in a simple black shirt and cap, yet the quiet confidence around him drew every gaze in the area. Even the reporters' voices dimmed for a second before they realized who he was.
"Perry Lang!" someone whispered.
The name rippled through the small crowd like electricity.
Emily turned slightly, her gaze meeting his.
He paused — just for a moment.
Something unreadable flickered in his dark eyes before he nodded politely and walked past, his bodyguards creating a quiet wall between him and the chaos.
Their shoulders brushed as they passed.
Her senses sharpened instantly. For the briefest second, she felt it — a pulse. Dark, ancient, familiar. The kind of energy that didn't belong to this world.
She turned to glance back at him, but he was already gone, swallowed by the city lights.
"Emily, come in," a soft voice called. Her mother — her real mother — waited at the entrance, eyes trembling with emotion.
Emily smiled faintly, the expression calm and distant.
"Coming," she said softly, stepping forward into the house that should have been hers all along.
But as the door closed behind her, the faint hum of the bracelet pulsed again.
Somewhere, beneath the glow of the city, something — or someone — had recognized her.
And this time, she wouldn't run from it.
The dining hall shimmered with light — gold chandeliers, polished marble, and crystal glasses lined neatly on the long table. Everything looked flawless, expensive, and cold.
Emily sat quietly at the far end, her posture calm, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The faint clinking of cutlery echoed through the silence. Her father cleared his throat, trying to fill the air with something other than awkwardness.
"It's… been years since we last saw you," he said with a nervous smile. "You've grown beautifully."
"Thank you," Emily replied, her voice soft but distant. Her words carried no warmth, yet no hostility either. Like a still lake — calm on the surface, endless beneath.
Her mother smiled, but the tremor in her fingers betrayed her unease. "We prepared your favorite dishes — or, well, what should have been your favorites. Clara helped with the menu."
At the sound of that name, Emily's eyes lifted slightly.