The city had changed.
Umbra's Gate rose before Nyasha like a beast of glass and steel, its towers clawing at the clouds, its neon veins pulsing through the night. Ten years ago, she had left as a girl clutching her mother's pendant. Tonight, she returned as a shadow wrapped in fire.
Her boots clicked against the rain-slick pavement as she stepped out of the station. No one looked twice. The crowd moved around her in a blur of umbrellas and murmured conversations, too consumed by their own storms to notice the stranger who had come home. But she noticed them. She always noticed.
The city hummed with secrets. She could feel it in the way the air vibrated—the low thrum of relics hidden in pocket watches, briefcases, rings passed between lovers. Once, her mother had taught her how to listen: Magic leaves echoes, Nyasha. Don't just look—feel.
She closed her eyes for a heartbeat. There it was—an ember's whisper, faint but alive. Her mother's relic, the Emberheart, pulsed against her chest beneath her coat. Ten years, and it still burned as if waiting.
Her father's empire stood less than a mile away: Kade International, a skyscraper of obsidian glass crowned with a silver crest. By day, it was a corporate giant trading rare goods across continents. By night, it was something older—a house of relics, oaths, and shadows.
Her hand curled into a fist at her side.
He had taken everything: her mother, her childhood, her place in this city. Sent her away like an unwanted secret.
She had returned for one reason.
Not to beg.
Not to grieve.
To take back what was hers.
A black car slid to the curb in front of her. The windows tinted so dark they seemed to swallow the city lights. The back door opened on its own, creaking like an invitation—or a threat.
Nyasha didn't flinch. She simply adjusted her coat, stepped forward, and slipped inside.
The leather interior smelled faintly of smoke and old blood. Across from her sat a man in a crisp suit, eyes hidden behind glasses that glowed faintly at the edges. Not human eyes. Not fully.
"Miss Kade," he said smoothly, voice like a blade hidden in velvet. "Your father sends his regards. He was… surprised to learn of your return."
Nyasha smiled, slow and sharp.
"Good. Let him be surprised. It won't be the last time."
The car pulled away from the curb, carrying her deeper into the heart of the city—back into the empire that had exiled her, back into the fire she intended to reclaim.
And in the hollow silence between their breaths, the Emberheart pulsed once, as if it too remembered the flames of betrayal.
The city had changed.
Umbra's Gate rose before Nyasha like a beast of glass and steel, its towers clawing at the clouds, its neon veins pulsing through the night. Ten years ago, she had left as a girl clutching her mother's pendant. Tonight, she returned as a shadow wrapped in fire.
Her boots clicked against the rain-slick pavement as she stepped out of the station. No one looked twice. The crowd moved around her in a blur of umbrellas and murmured conversations, too consumed by their own storms to notice the stranger who had come home. But she noticed them. She always noticed.
The city hummed with secrets. She could feel it in the way the air vibrated—the low thrum of relics hidden in pocket watches, briefcases, rings passed between lovers. Once, her mother had taught her how to listen: Magic leaves echoes, Nyasha. Don't just look—feel.
She closed her eyes for a heartbeat. There it was—an ember's whisper, faint but alive. Her mother's relic, the Emberheart, pulsed against her chest beneath her coat. Ten years, and it still burned as if waiting.
Her father's empire stood less than a mile away: Kade International, a skyscraper of obsidian glass crowned with a silver crest. By day, it was a corporate giant trading rare goods across continents. By night, it was something older—a house of relics, oaths, and shadows.
Her hand curled into a fist at her side.
He had taken everything: her mother, her childhood, her place in this city. Sent her away like an unwanted secret.
She had returned for one reason.
Not to beg.
Not to grieve.
To take back what was hers.
A black car slid to the curb in front of her. The windows tinted so dark they seemed to swallow the city lights. The back door opened on its own, creaking like an invitation—or a threat.
Nyasha didn't flinch. She simply adjusted her coat, stepped forward, and slipped inside.
The leather interior smelled faintly of smoke and old blood. Across from her sat a man in a crisp suit, eyes hidden behind glasses that glowed faintly at the edges. Not human eyes. Not fully.
"Miss Kade," he said smoothly, voice like a blade hidden in velvet. "Your father sends his regards. He was… surprised to learn of your return."
Nyasha smiled, slow and sharp.
"Good. Let him be surprised. It won't be the last time."
The car pulled away from the curb, carrying her deeper into the heart of the city—back into the empire that had exiled her, back into the fire she intended to reclaim.
And in the hollow silence between their breaths, the Emberheart pulsed once, as if it too remembered the flames of betrayal.