Chapter 3
1095 years later
Lycaon woke into a world he no longer recognized. A thousand years had passed, yet the memories that shaped him had never faded. They had twisted him, reshaped him, turned him into something far colder than the werewolf he once was.
He had buried his old name long ago.
Now, he was Noir—a title he chose to remind himself of what he had become. His past had hollowed him out, leaving only a shadow of the wolf who once longed for peace. People, to him, were no longer companions or strangers. They were reminders. Threats. Living echoes of the ones who had taken everything from him.
The curse he forged upon himself ensured that he would only shift under the night sky—when the moon glides, as he called it. He believed that only in the darkness could he exist truthfully.
The world had changed more than Noir expected. Towering buildings, glowing screens, voices traveling through thin air—everything felt too fast, too bright, too alive. Yet he adapted. He always did.
In this new era of steel and technology, Noir crafted a life that suited his shadowed nature. He became a multinational entrepreneur, a man of polished suits and whispered rumors. His jewelry empire glittered across continents, a perfect cover for the darker dealings that truly fueled his influence.
His name brought power. And trouble. And fear.
Exactly how he preferred it.
His closest—perhaps only—ally was Zeth, a forty-five-year-old man who had stumbled into Noir's world thirty years ago and never managed to leave. When Zeth discovered Noir's immortality, he didn't run.
Instead, he was fascinated, drawn in by legends he once thought were nothing more than stories. Now he was part of those stories.
THE COFFEE SHOP
Why here out of all places, huh ? Zeth asked Noir,"feeling annoyed .
Noir pushed open the door of a small coffee shop, Zeth walking behind him. The place was empty—too empty—and the dim lighting made the silence feel thick.
Zeth chuckled nervously.
"Creepy, isn't it? I told you we could've gone somewhere else."
Noir ignored him, scanning the room with a sharp, restless intensity.
"Sit," he ordered quietly.
Zeth obeyed and waved a waitress over. She emerged from behind the counter—young, tired, and wearing an apron dusted with coffee grounds. The shop was clearly struggling. She and an older woman behind the register seemed to be the only ones keeping it alive.
But when the waitress approached, Noir froze.
Her face.
Her eyes.
Her presence.
Something inside him cracked.
She spoke politely, "Good afternoon, can I take your order?"
Noir didn't answer. His eyes narrowed, studying her, searching her. She shifted uncomfortably.
"Um… sir? Your order?"
Suddenly Noir stood. His chair screeched against the floor. He placed his hands gently—but urgently—on her shoulders.
"Astra," he breathed.
"Astra!"
The girl stiffened in confusion.
"I—I'm sorry, who?"
"It's me," Noir whispered, voice trembling with a thousand buried years. "Lycaon. Your Lycaon."
She blinked, startled.
"My name is Stella. I don't think we've met…"
Noir's voice cracked with disbelief.
"No… no, you look exactly like her. Astra—I thought I'd never see you again."
Stella took a small step back, unsure and overwhelmed.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Noir's expression darkened—pain, confusion, and anger twisting together.
Zeth quickly stood and placed a hand on Noir's back.
"Hey. Noir. Look at me. Are you alright?"
Noir didn't answer.
Stella cleared her throat gently. "Um… I need your order. More customers just walked in."
Zeth forced a smile. "Two cappuccinos, please."
But Noir suddenly growled under his breath, "I want to leave."
Zeth blinked. "What? Why?"
"Now." Noir's voice was sharp, strained. "We're leaving."
Zeth apologized to Stella, hurriedly following Noir out of the café.
As they stepped into the daylight, Noir's thoughts were still trapped back inside—with the face that wasn't Astra… yet looked so painfully like her.