Silence was the first thing I noticed. A dense, heavy silence that pressed on my eardrums, more oppressive than any sound. It wasn't the silence of an Oakhaven night, punctuated by distant screams and the creaking of carts, but an absolute vacuum that seemed to suck the air from my lungs, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. It was the opposite of the chaos that echoed in my memory. The smell of copper and viscera that had permeated the alley had been replaced by a soft scent of lavender and polished wood, a fragrance so clean it felt alien, almost offensive. My senses, one by one, were being erased and rewritten. The last sound I remembered was my own scream of horror, but now, on the edge of consciousness, I could hear something else. A distant, muffled voice, shouting in despair. "No... Stay away! What are you?!" The guard's voice. And then, nothing.
I opened my eyes. The ceiling above me was an immaculate white, with plaster carvings forming complex spirals that my eyes struggled to focus on. I was lying in a bed, under the weight of a silk duvet that felt softer than anything I had ever touched. The touch was so gentle it caused a strange revulsion in me, a comfort I didn't feel I deserved, almost a betrayal of the misery I knew. The room was vast, decorated with elegant, dark furniture of polished wood, with silver details that gleamed subtly. An intricate tapestry covered one of the walls, depicting a serene forest in shades of green and silver, and a crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, its facets capturing the little light that filtered through the heavy curtains. Every piece of furniture—the ornate desk, the velvet-upholstered chairs, the mahogany wardrobes—exuded a wealth that seemed worth more than everything I had ever owned in my life in Oakhaven, where filth and despair were the only currency. An immediate suspicion settled in: what was the price for such luxury? Who would bring me to a place like this?
Where am I?
The panic started as a cold spark in my stomach. I sat up abruptly, the world spinning violently. For an instant, the comfort of the silk and the scent of lavender fought against the shadows in my mind, a losing battle. The luxurious room wavered, the walls seeming to bend and the ceiling carvings to twist, and then, brutal flashes took over. The alley. Valerius's smile. The sick, wet sound of the club.
Elara.
Her name exploded in my mind, and reality hit me with the force of a battering ram. The blood on the cobblestones. Her empty eyes. My hands. The red light. The light... it had no sound, but a vibration, a hum that seemed to echo in my own bones, hot and cold at the same time. It was a force I didn't understand, that I didn't want. I tried, desperately, to recreate the feeling, to control it, but it was a ghost, a terrifying memory that haunted me. Did I hurt her? Did I hit her with that thing? The uncertainty was a torment.
A scream tore from my throat, a raw, animal sound that didn't feel like my own. It was the sound of a world breaking apart. I clung to the silk sheets, the fine fabric feeling like it was burning my skin. "No, no, no, no..." The word became a meaningless litany, a mantra against the truth that was suffocating me. I saw her fall again and again, each repetition sharper, more unbearable. Did I kill her? The thug had hit her, but that light... it came from me. Did I hurt her too? The horror of having created that... the uncertainty was a torment. The pain was a physical thing, a claw of ice squeezing my heart, breaking my ribs. Was I a monster? What had I become? The panic of having killed the thug was real, but the terror of having harmed Elara, of having caused her fall with that light, was a much deeper agony, a black hole in my soul. My fingers brushed against my arms, feeling the bandages that covered burns and scratches, a physical reminder of what had happened. There was only a profound exhaustion, as if every fiber of my being had been drained.
I was in the middle of a scream, my face wet with tears and sweat, when I noticed a peripheral movement. In the ajar doorway, a female figure was watching me. For an instant, I saw pointed ears twitching above long, dark hair and a long, thin tail moving slowly. But my thoughts were a whirlwind of agony, a vortex that wouldn't let me focus. The figure hesitated, her eyes expressing a flash of surprise and deep concern as she watched my uncontrollable outburst. She retreated silently, her body tense in a gesture of respect for my pain, before closing the door with a soft click.
The sound of the click brought me back, for a moment. The scream died in my throat, replaced by dry, gasping sobs. Elara. I had to go back. I had to see her. Maybe she was okay. Maybe it was all a nightmare.
Irrationally, I threw the duvet aside and tried to get out of bed. My legs gave way instantly. They were weak, useless, as if the muscles had dissolved. I fell onto the soft carpet, the weakness humiliating me. Crawling, crying, I dragged myself toward the door. I have to go back. I have to be sure.
I had barely managed to lean on the doorknob when the door opened inward.
The figure who appeared was the antithesis of my chaos. A young man, perhaps not much older than me, with silver hair that seemed to capture the little light in the room. His eyes were a magnificent sky blue. He wore clothes I had only seen on the wealthiest nobles: a flawless shirt, a brocade vest, and a dark overcoat that fell perfectly over his shoulders. A top hat and white gloves in one hand completed the ensemble. He exuded an elegance that didn't belong in my world.
He saw me there, a pathetic mess on the floor, and his blue eyes filled not with contempt, but with a calculated compassion. The moment I tried to stand, my strength abandoned me completely. I fell forward.
Strong, gloved hands caught me before I hit the floor. He supported me with surprising ease, his touch firm but gentle.
"Careful," his voice was soft, melodic. "You're in no condition to stand."
"Stay away from me!" I shouted, my voice hoarse. I tried to push him, but my arms had no strength. "Where is she? WHERE IS ELARA?"
"Please, calm down. You're safe here," he said, ignoring my hostility and helping me to my knees, since standing was impossible. He kept a hand on my shoulder, steadying me. "Breathe. Try to breathe."
"Breathe?" I laughed, a sound that broke into a sob. "She's not breathing! I saw her! I saw her fall! Where is she? Tell me!"
He watched me for a long moment, his face a mask of politeness and sorrow. The way he hesitated, the way his blue eyes flickered away for a fraction of a second, told me everything before he opened his mouth.
"Kael..." he began, his voice still soft, but with the weight of granite. "Whatever happened in that alley... whatever you did... it put an official end to her."
His words weren't cruel, but they were surgical. They cut through my denial and struck the core of my terror. Whatever you did. He didn't say the guards killed her. He didn't say the power killed her. He said I put an end to her. The ambiguity was torture. The red light... she was close to me. Did it hit her too?
My strength left me completely. I collapsed, my face against the carpet, and the pain finally consumed me. "It was me," I whispered to the carpet fibers. "I saw her... we were running... she told me not to let them erase me... and then... the light..." The words poured out of me, a torrent of agony and guilt, but a part of me, a survival instinct born in the streets of Oakhaven, screamed for me to shut up. I spoke of her laugh, of how she always knew when I was lying, of the sickening feeling of that power exploding from me. But about the cave, about the whisper... a lock of ice formed in my throat. I didn't know this man. I didn't know what he wanted. My pain was real, but my secrets were still my own.
The silver-haired man waited patiently. When my sobs subsided, he spoke again, his voice an unexpected balm. "Grief is a poison, Kael. Let it out. Don't keep it inside."
I lifted my head, my eyes swollen, suspicion warring with exhaustion. "Who are you?"
"My name is Misuki."
The image of the alley returned to my mind. The tall figure, watching from the shadows. "That was you... in the alley?"
Misuki shook his head, a faint, self-deprecating smile touching his lips. "No. That was my friend. Believe me, if I had been there, with my remarkable lack of combat aptitude, we would both be dead. I am useful in other things. My friend, Jhonny, saw you... the situation... and brought you here."
"Jhonny..." I repeated, the name foreign on my tongue. "What happened? What was that thing... that came out of me?"
Misuki sighed, the lightness vanishing from his face. "I would love to give you a clear answer, with a dramatic flourish and ancient wisdom." He paused, and for a second, an ironic glint danced in his eyes. "But the truth is... I have no idea."
The serious tone returned. "However, I have a theory. What you describe doesn't sound like a spell or a ritual. That requires years of study, components, focus. You are too young. What happened to you was... primal. Violent. Uncontrollable. That, Kael, resembles a curse. A dormant force that was awakened by something."
A curse. The word echoed in my mind. I remembered the whispered tales in Oakhaven, stories of old women who turned into beasts at night, or of men who made pacts with dark entities for power, only to be consumed by it. Was I one of them? A cursed creature, destined to destroy everything I touched? The thought chilled me to the bone. And the guilt... if I hadn't insisted on going to that cave, none of this would have happened.
At that moment, we heard two soft knocks on the door. It opened, and the same woman I had seen before entered. Up close, her feline features were more distinct. Velvety black cat ears twitched subtly above her dark hair, and a long, elegant tail swayed behind her with an almost feline grace. She was dressed in a simple but impeccable maid's uniform. Despite the attire, she moved with the grace of a queen, each step silent and deliberate.
"Misuki," her voice was like velvet, calm and firm. "Pardon the interruption. Mister Jhonny requests your presence. There has been a problem."
Misuki nodded. "Understood." He turned to me. "Rest, Kael. You are in a friend's house. You don't need to worry about anything. Lyara will take care of you."
"Lyara?" I looked at the cat-woman. A bestial. In the city, they were pariahs, slaves, things to be feared or exploited. But she... she was different. There was a dignity in her I had never seen in her kind, a serenity that contrasted with the brutality I associated with her race.
Misuki left, and Lyara approached. Her red eyes appraised me with a calm that unsettled me, but without judgment.
"Do you need anything? Water?" she asked, her voice as soft as silk.
"No... I..." I stammered, suddenly conscious of my filth, my despair. Her beauty, the well-cared-for way she looked, made me embarrassed. But the image of Elara, bloodied on the ground, quickly erased any other feeling, replacing shame with a searing pain that stole my breath.
She seemed to understand, giving a slight nod. "Loss is a wound that does not close easily. Allow yourself to feel. There is no shame in grief."
We talked for a bit, or rather, she spoke with a quiet wisdom and I mumbled replies, still trapped in my own fog of pain. Her presence was strangely comforting, but her kindness was a luxury that made me feel even more guilty. Every calm word from her was a contrast to Elara's last scream.
"Are you hungry?" she finally asked, her voice gentle.
The question caught me by surprise. "Food? You... you're going to waste food on me? Winter is coming..."
"Don't worry about that," she said, a subtle smile on her lips. "We have more than enough. You are a guest." With a fluid motion, she turned to a small side table. Before picking up the pitcher, her gaze fixed on a crystal glass for a few seconds. Her ears twitched subtly and her tail swished a little, as if a momentary instinct made her hesitate, but she quickly composed herself. Picking up the pitcher and the glass, she served me water with delicate gestures. It was fresh, and the crystal was finer than anything I had ever touched. "Wait here, I'll bring you something light."
She withdrew. I was left alone with my thoughts, a sea of grief and confusion. The window was covered by heavy curtains. Where on earth was I?
An impulse took over. I needed to know more. Trembling, I stood up, using the bed for support, and limped to the door. I turned the knob slowly, opening it just a crack. The sound of voices came from the hallway. Misuki's, and another, deeper and rougher, which I assumed was Jhonny's.
"...unstable. The power he unleashed... it's not natural, Misuki," said Jhonny's rough voice. "He's a danger to himself and to us. Bringing him here was a risk you made us take."
"A calculated risk, Jhonny," Misuki replied, his voice calm but with a tone of steel. "What he possesses is something we haven't seen in centuries. He is not a danger, he is an opportunity. A key."
"A key that could blow up in our faces!" Jhonny retorted. "He can't know the truth about what he is. It would be too dangerous. He needs to be contained, studied from a distance."
"Contained?" Misuki's voice held a touch of disdain. "You don't contain a storm, Jhonny. You learn to navigate it. And I intend to be the captain of this ship."
My heart froze. The door clicked shut in my trembling hand, and I retreated into the darkness of the room. They weren't discussing my safety; they were discussing my utility. A specimen. A key. A storm. The pain of losing Elara, which was already an ocean, was suddenly flooded by a new kind of dread. The fear that the truth of what I am is something Elara would have hated. What if she died to protect a monster? Their kindness, the luxurious room, it all now felt like a gilded cage. And her memory, my only anchor, threatened to become the weight that would drown me.