Marlowe Restaurant
The restaurant was nearly silent. The usual hum of customers and clattering dishes had faded, leaving only the occasional scrape of a chair against the floor and the soft rustle of fabric as Lyra wiped down the last few tables. Behind the counter, she moved methodically, finishing the nightly routine. The sign on the door had already been flipped to Closed. The scent of lingering spices and warm bread still hung in the air, but the energy of the place was winding down, settling into the quiet of the late evening.
At a table near the window, a girl sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap. She was small for her eleven years, with long, pale blonde hair that caught the dim light and gray-blue eyes that seemed to take in everything without ever truly engaging. She didn't fidget, didn't swing her feet under the chair like a restless child might. Instead, she sat still, composed, waiting for the night to end.
Across from her, Zayn leaned forward, arms crossed on the table, a lopsided grin on his face. At sixteen, he was taller, stronger, and far less patient. His golden hair was slightly messy, his sleeves still rolled up from helping their mother clean earlier. But now, his focus was entirely on her.
"Come on," he said, nudging her foot under the table. "Just one round. You can even pick the game."
Vivian blinked, slow and deliberate, then shifted her gaze toward him. There was no irritation, no amusement—just that same calm, unreadable expression. The silence stretched just long enough for Zayn to second-guess whether she had even heard him. Then, finally, she spoke.
"No."
A single word. Quiet but firm.
He groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. "You're such a buzzkill, you know that?"
She turned slightly, her gaze drifting toward their mother behind the counter. The faintest flicker of something crossed her face—perhaps a quiet longing for the night to simply be over, for the routine of closing shop to continue without interruptions.
Zayn exhaled, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface. "You used to play with me, you know."
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she finally looked back at him.
"I got older."
He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "You're eleven, not eighty."
Vivian rolled her eyes at him, a small, almost imperceptible action, but enough to let him know she wasn't completely ignoring him.
Zayn leaned back in his chair, watching her. She was quiet, distant—but not empty. Just guarded, keeping whatever warmth she had buried deep, where only the patient knew to look.
"You know…" he said after a beat, tilting his head. "You kinda remind me of someone I met today."
She didn't react, didn't even glance at him.
"That!" He pointed at her, exasperated. "You both have that same dismissive look. I swear, it's like—" He sighed. "I just wish he'd have stayed."
Ding!
The restaurant bell rang, the soft chime cutting through the quiet.
All three of them turned.
A small figure stepped inside, dressed in all black, his clothes slightly tattered. His pure white hair stood out starkly against the dim lighting, and his crimson-red eyes glowed faintly under the overhead fixtures. But it wasn't just his unnatural appearance that made the room tense—it was the katana in his hand, its blade slick with fresh blood.
Drip.
A drop of red hit the wooden floor.
Dio's gaze swept across the restaurant, landing on Lyra. His voice was calm, almost casual.
"I'd like to accept that offer for a night's stay… if you'll have me."
No one spoke. No one moved. The weight of his words pressed down on them like a stone.
Zayn was the first to break the silence. He swallowed hard, his voice stumbling over itself.
"I... I... is that blood?"
Dio spared a glance at Zayn then ignored him turning his attention back to the mother who was still too stunned to speak, "would you have me" he repeated, lyra snapped out of her daze, and hurried forward "of course we'll have you, come in,Zayn get the bucket and a mop." Zayn nodded and rushed off towards the the kitchen. "Come, sit down" lyra urged Dio, "Are you hurt,do you need to go to the hospital?" "No, am fine the blood's not mine." Zayn who was just returning from the kitchen with a bucket and a mop felt his breathe catch in his throat. "You didn't kill someone did you?"
"Zayn!" Lyra scolded "That's a completely inappropriate thing to say, "How is it inappropriate I just asking." Zayn said with a shrug as he proceedef to mop the floor.
As the tension in the room settled, Lyra glanced at Dio, concern flickering in her eyes. "Do you need food? A place to clean up?" she asked gently.
Dio nodded, but instead of asking for a full meal or a bath, his request was simple. "Could you spare a rag or a napkin?"
Lyra quickly handed him a clean cloth, expecting him to wipe his face or hands. But what Dio did next left everyone in the room stunned.
With a precision and grace that seemed out of place for a child his age, Dio delicately wiped down his katana. His movements were slow, methodical—meticulous, even—as he carefully removed every last trace of blood from the blade. The way he handled the weapon showed an eerie familiarity, an expertise that spoke of experience. He continued until the steel gleamed under the dim light, then, satisfied, he smoothly sheathed the blade with a soft click.
Zayn, unable to hold back his excitement, let out an awed exclamation. "So cool!" His eyes sparkled with curiosity as he bombarded Dio with questions. "Did you kill someone? Were they a bad guy? Or did you run into those Rift monsters? So you are an awakener after all! Are you really twelve, or are you secretly some super-old guy who's just short?"
Before Zayn could fire off even more questions, Lyra smacked him lightly on the head. He winced, looking up at her with a sheepish expression before quickly shutting his mouth.
Dio observed their interaction for a moment before turning his attention to Lyra. "I appreciate the hospitality, Zayn's mom."
Lyra scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, enough with that. Just call me Lyra." Her voice softened as she added, "And you can stay for as long as you like."
Dio shook his head. "I don't want to inconvenience you. It's just for the night."
"Okay then," Lyra said, accepting his decision. "There's a bathroom upstairs. You can use it to tidy up. Zayn, show him the way."
"Yes, Mom!" Zayn beamed, clearly thrilled to be involved. "Come on, I'll show you! Our shower is the best!"
As the two boys began heading upstairs, Lyra called out, "Dio, why don't you leave your sword here while you bathe?"
Dio paused mid-step, glancing down at the katana in his hand. His grip tightened slightly. "Is it a must?"
Lyra blinked, caught off guard by his reaction. "Well… no. It's just that most people don't bathe with their weapons," she admitted. Seeing the reluctance in his crimson eyes, she quickly added, "But you can keep it if you want."
Dio gave a small nod of acknowledgment and resumed following Zayn upstairs.
Lyra watched them go, exhaling a quiet sigh. She wasn't sure what kind of life this boy had lived, but one thing was certain—he was no ordinary child.
Upstairs, as they walked down the hallway, Zayn kept sneaking glances at Dio, his curiosity barely contained.
Dio noticed. "What?" he asked, his tone as indifferent as ever.
Zayn hesitated for a moment before blurting out, "It's just… are you really twelve? Or are you older than you look?"
"Why does it matter?" Dio replied coolly.
Zayn hesitated before looking down. His voice dropped to a quiet whisper. "I was just thinking… if you are twelve, then you did the impossible and awakened early. And if you could do it… maybe there's still hope for me."
Dio didn't respond right away. They walked in silence until they reached the bathroom door. Zayn gestured to it. "This is it," he said. "I'll leave you to clean up."
Just as he turned to go, Dio's voice cut through the quiet. "If there's a way to turn a non-awakener into an awakener, I don't know of it. But… there's always a possibility."
Zayn froze, stunned. For a moment, he just stared at the closed bathroom door. Then, a small smile crept onto his face. He shook his head and turned back downstairs, his mind buzzing with new thoughts.