==Desmond==
***
It was raining—again.
The kind of cold, nasty drizzle that didn't soak you, just clung to your skin like guilt. I stood at the edge of Hollow End, the slum alley where the city dumped its trash and forgot its orphans. The stench of rot, old blood, and diesel filled my lungs. I didn't flinch. I'd grown up breathing this poison.
I was Desmond, eighteen years old, streetwise, sharp-tongued, and unclaimed. No last name. No family. No future.
Until tonight.
"Des," a whisper came behind me. I turned, boots crunching on wet gravel. It was Kray—my only friend and probably the only person in this city more screwed than me. Skinny, always high on rune-dust, but loyal. He looked like death, eyes wide with panic.
"They found the warlock," he wheezed, gripping my arm. "The old one. He's dying, Desmond. He said your name."
"My name?"
"Swear on the street gods. He said, 'Bring me Desmond. The heir.'"
I blinked. Heir? Me? I was the heir to nothing but hunger and broken bones.
"Where is he?" I asked.
Kray nodded toward the old cathedral, long since converted into a haven for junkies, cultists, and worse. I pulled up the hood of my torn jacket and followed him, heart pounding like it knew something I didn't.
***
Inside, the cathedral was darker than a vampire's conscience. Candlelight flickered in circles, casting strange runes across the walls. I stepped over a sleeping girl, a rune-burned priest, and someone definitely not breathing.
At the altar lay the warlock.
Old. Pale. Cloaked in a tattered robe stitched with ancient glyphs. His eyes flickered open as I approached, revealing irises like molten gold.
"You came," he rasped.
"I didn't have much of a choice."
"You have no idea who you are, do you?"
"An orphan from Hollow End. Pretty sure that sums it up."
He coughed, blood trailing down his chin, staining his beard. "You carry the blood of the first kings. You were hidden to protect you. But now... it's too late."
His hand snapped up and gripped my wrist. A jolt of heat surged through me, and my vision blurred.
A city of towers—burning.
A throne—cracked.
A crown—floating in blood.
Then it vanished. The warlock's hand dropped. His last breath escaped with one word: "Run."
The cathedral doors slammed open. Figures in black trench coats flooded in. I grabbed Kray's arm. "Move!"
We dashed through a back door into the rain. Gunfire exploded behind us. Magic cracked in the air, sharp and blinding. I leapt a dumpster, slid under a chain-link fence, and didn't stop running until my lungs burned and the world tilted.
***
We collapsed in an abandoned train car.
Kray lit a match with shaky fingers. "Who were those guys?"
"I don't know," I muttered. "But I saw something when he touched me."
"A vision?"
"More like a warning." I looked down at my wrist. A faint rune glowed where he'd grabbed me, pulsing softly.
Suddenly, Kray's eyes widened. "Behind you."
I turned too late. A woman stood at the open door—tall, cloaked, leather-wrapped, and wickedly armed. She stepped inside, and the temperature dropped.
"Desmond."
"How do you know my name?"
"Because your blood just lit up the whole city. Every bounty hunter, cultist, and king's enemy will be looking for you now." She pulled back her hood.
And damn.
She was stunning—sharp cheekbones, wild raven hair, and lips like danger. Her eyes, glowing violet, locked on mine.
"I'm Seraphine," she said, sliding onto the edge of the crate. "Your protector. And your biggest problem."
Kray was already drooling. I couldn't blame him. She radiated power... and something else. Heat. Animalistic pull. Magic maybe—but something primal stirred in me the way she looked at me.
"Protector? I don't need one."
She leaned close, her breath brushing my ear. "You will, heir."
My breath hitched. The moment stretched—her lips a heartbeat from mine.
Then she pulled back, eyes cold again. "But first, we run. They're coming."
***
We hit the road.
Through the shattered zones, magic-ridden ruins, and city sectors carved up by rogue warlocks and ganglords. Seraphine moved like a shadow. And every night, we camped, argued, and exchanged sharp glances that tasted like secrets.
One night, in a broken hotel room overlooking the storm-lit skyline, she stood in the doorway, watching me.
"You keep staring," I said.
"You don't even know what you are," she said, voice low. "That blood inside you? It makes monsters kneel and kingdoms burn."
"You afraid of me?"
"No," she whispered. "I'm afraid of what you'll become."
I stepped forward. "And what if I become something... darker?"
Seraphine moved closer. "Then I'll be the one to stop you."
But her hand curled into my jacket, pulling me into her heat. Her mouth met mine, fire and danger exploding between us.
She kissed like she fought—fierce, hungry, devastating.
Our backs slammed into the wall. Her fingers tangled in my hair. Mine traced the rune tattoos up her spine, glowing under her shirt like stars.
"I'm supposed to protect you," she growled between kisses.
"Then do it harder," I whispered.
She pushed me onto the bed, straddling me, breath ragged. Her lips trailed fire down my neck, her body sliding against mine, hot and wild. For a night, the war paused. For a night, I wasn't an heir—I was a man unraveling in the arms of a warrior who should've killed me.
But morning came fast.
And with it—chaos.
***
The window shattered.
Kray screamed from the hallway.
I grabbed my boots, heart thundering. Seraphine was already pulling knives from under the bed.
"They found us," she hissed.
A dark figure burst in—a man in a long crimson coat, his face hidden behind a silver mask etched with bone runes.
"The heir," he said in a voice that felt like ice in my spine. "Come with me. Or bleed."
I stepped forward. "Who are you?"
He removed the mask.
And the world tilted again.
Because the face beneath it… was mine.
Older. Scarred. Furious.
"I'm your future," he said. "Unless you make better choices."
The room went black.