The world didn't end with a bang.
For eight-year-old Yura Dela Vega, it ended with the screech of burning rubber and sickening crunch of metal folding like paper.
Crunch
Everything was upside down.
The smell of gasoline was thick—sharp and cloying, mixing with the metallic tang of blood pooling near her cheek.
Outside the shattered window of the car, the rain lashed down on the mountain pass, a relentless grey curtain.
"Ma? ...Pa?"
Her voice was a broken whisper.
No one answered.
Only the drip... drip... drip... of liquid hitting the pavement and the hiss of a dying engine.
Yura tried to move, but her small hand was pinned under the dashboard.
Pain wasn't even a word yet; it was just a hot, white scream vibrating through her bones.
She closed her eyes, the cold air of the storm seeping into her lungs.
I'm so tired, she thought. I just want to sleep.
Then, the air changed.
The heavy, suffocating scent of gasoline was suddenly wiped away.
In its place came a rush of something impossible—the smell of ancient pines, crushed mint, and the crisp, ozone-rich air of a mountain peak before a snowfall.
Whoosh
The heavy car door, crushed shut by the impact, was ripped off its hinges with a single, effortless jerk.
Yura squinted through the blood matting her lashes.
A figure stood in the rain.
He didn't wear a raincoat of a uniform.
He looked like a dream filtered through a nightmare.
Long, moon-white hair flowed around him, defying the wind, glowing with a soft, ethereal luminescence.
He knelt in the glass shards, heedless of the wreckage.
"At last," a voice vibrated—not in her ears, but deep inside her chest.
It was ancient.
Velvety.
Heavy with centuries of grief—and sudden, violent hope.
He reached for her pinned hand.
His skin was pale, almost translucent, yet when he touched her, he was burning hot.
"It hurts..." Yura whimpered, tears finally spilling free.
"I know," he whispered gently. "My little bloom."
His emerald eyes widened as he looked at her—not merely like a rescue, but like a starving man who had finally found food after a century of hunger.
"I have searched across the Veil for so long." He said quietly. "I will not let the shadows take you now."
He pressed his palm against hers.
Ssssss
A searing warmth flared through her hand.
Yura gasped as golden light pulsed between their skin, etching itself deep beneath flesh and bone.
It felt like a brand—nog of pain, but of belonging.
The agony in her chest and legs faded, replaced by a numbing, protective warmth.
He lifted her from the wreckage, cradling her fragile body against his chest.
He was so strong, like stone wrapped in silk.
She buried her face in his neck, breathing in that intoxicating forest scent.
Thump-thump
Thump-thump
His heart was beating like a war drum.
"Sleep," he murmured, his lips brushing the top of her head.
It was gesture of such fierce devotion it felt heavy. "When you wake, you will forget the fire. You will forget the cold. But your soul... your soul will remember the whisper that answered it."
"Who... are you?" She breathed, her consciousness fading.
For a fleeting moment, his emerald gaze sharpened, something ancient stirring behind it—watchful, protective, and utterly resolute.
"I am the one who found you," he said softly. "And one day... I will come for you again."
As her eyes drifted shut, the last thing she saw was the moon-white hair blending into the falling rain.
Fourteen years later, the scar on Yura's palm—a perfect crescent moon, faint and silver—began to itch every time she passed the New History Faculty building.
She thought it was just a scar.
She didn't know it was a tether—quiet, unbreakable, and already pulling her back to the one who had never let her go.