In the streets of Manhattan at 2 AM, the city took on a different personality. Quieter. Darker. The kind of quiet that made every footstep echo and every shadow feel like it might be hiding something.
For the few people still awake—wandering home from late shifts, stumbling out of bars, or just existing in the margins where sleep didn't come easy—the sight that passed through the streets was worth a double take.
A young man, of eighteen, walking topless without a hint of shame or self-consciousness. In America, sure, you saw weirdos at night. But in Manhattan? At this hour? In this cold? It was strange. His skin looked unusually pale under the streetlights, and his brown hair had strange streaks running through it—silver-gold strands that caught the light in a way that seemed almost luminous. Hard to tell at night, but definitely not normal.
But he wasn't the strangest part of the duo.
The woman following him—barely half a step behind, close enough that she seemed attached—was something else entirely.
She looked around with calm eyes as she walked, taking in the city like it was a painting she was studying. Her beauty was unreal. The kind of beauty that made people stop mid-step and forget what they were doing. Each person who caught a single glance at her immediately knew, with certainty, that she was the most beautiful creature they had ever seen—in real life, on TV, in magazines, anywhere.
Silver-gold hair. Mismatched eyes—one emerald, one sapphire.
The perfect woman, they thought that could only be her.
Cosplay, some people probably thought. Dye jobs and contact lenses. But something about her made that explanation feel thin.
Leonhart and Shiera gathered attention. The few people they passed did double takes. Some pulled out phones, snapping pictures from a distance, captivated by the unusual pair. But nobody approached. Maybe it was the hour—2 AM made everyone a little more cautious. Maybe it was something else. Something in the way they moved, the space they occupied, that made approach feel... unwise.
Leon was aware Shiera followed. He didn't mind. He had questions—so many questions—but they could wait. First, he needed to get back to his apartment. Shower. Collapse. Process the fact that he'd died, been resurrected, and apparently absorbed three Targaryen kings into his soul.
He walked with long strides, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight. The cold bit at his bare skin—skin that had been submerged in a freezing river not long ago. A splitting headache pounded behind his eyes, contributing to the grumpy, twisted expression on his face.
He just wanted to be home.
"Holy fuck, look at this... Dan!"
The voices came from ahead. Two men, walking toward them.
"Oh shit... is she a celeb or something?"
The second man's eyes landed on Shiera and stayed there. Fixed. Hungry.
"Look at those jugs! Oh fuck, I'm hard just looking at her."
They were loud. Crude. Completely unconcerned with who might hear.
Leon kept walking. So did Shiera.
The men ignored Leon entirely—just some topless kid, not worth their attention. Their focus was entirely on the woman. As they got closer, Shiera glanced at them briefly with those mismatched eyes, then looked away, uninterested.
That brief glance made them gasp even more.
They waited until the perfect moment. Leon took another step forward, creating a small gap between him and Shiera.
The taller one grabbed her arm.
"Come here, beauty." He smirked, pulling her toward him.
The other moved quickly, boxing her in against the closed glass window of a store. The first man pressed her arm against the glass, leaning close, licking his lips as he stared at her.
Shiera looked up at him.
Then she glanced at Leon.
No fear in her expression. No panic. No even mouthing any demand for help. Just... watching.
Leon turned his tired gaze toward the scene.
His headache pounded somewhat even harder.
He looked at Shiera who was just looking at him not even giving him any gazes of help.
Then his gaze shifted to the two men. Their faces were perfect representations of the ugliness inside and outside.
The one holding Shiera's arm reached his other hand toward her breast, smirk widening.
His fingers never touched her.
Leon's hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of the man's braids and he yanked hard.
"What—fuck!!"
The man stumbled backward, dragged by his own hair, his grip on Shiera's arm breaking as he was pulled away. He crashed against Leon, then tried to spin around—
Leon's fist connected with the man's face.
The sound cracked—wet and sharp at the same time. One of the man's teeth flew out, spinning through the air before bouncing off the store window. The guy dropped to one knee with a yelp, clutching his mouth, blood already pouring between his fingers.
Leon shook his hand out, wincing. His knuckles throbbed. He'd punched wrong—too much force, bad form—but his body had just... reacted. Moved before he could think. That was new and strange.
But there wasn't time to think about it.
"You little shit!!"
The other one charged, and this time Leon saw the glint of metal. A knife. Small and sharp.
Leon stepped back fast, grabbing his damp shirt from where it hung over his shoulder. The knife thrust forward. Leon caught it—wrapped the shirt around the blade and the hand holding it, then twisted.
Hard.
"ARRGHHHAA!!"
The man's scream echoed off the buildings as his arm bent the wrong way. Leon kept twisting, feeling tendons stretch, feeling the joint strain toward breaking point. The knife clattered to the ground.
Movement behind him. The first guy—toothless, bleeding, but back on his feet and coming at Leon with another knife.
Leon released the second man's arm and sidestepped. The knife missed him by inches. Without hesitating, he stuck his leg out—perfect timing—and the braided guy tripped hard, crashing into his companion and sending them both sprawling in a heap.
"FUCK THIS PIECE OF SHIT!!!"
The braided one scrambled up, rage twisting his ruined face. He didn't make it far.
Leon's foot connected with his face like he was kicking a soccer ball. Full force. The man's jaw tilted sideways with a horrible crunch, and he dropped like a stone—unconscious before he hit the ground.
The remaining man looked at his friend. Looked at Leon and gulped.
He hadn't even finished as Leon moved already. He straddled the guy, drove his knee into his throat, and grabbed the fallen knife from the ground. In one motion, he brought it down—
And stopped. An inch from the man's eye.
The guy made a choked, squeaking sound. His eyes bulged, then went blurry—from lack of air, from fear as well maybe.
Leon stared down at him.
For a long, stretched moment, something flickered in his gaze. Something cold. Something that hadn't been there before.
He pressed his knee harder against the man's throat.
Veins protruded. The man's face turned red, then purple. His struggles weakened. His eyes started to close.
Only then did Leon pull back.
He stood up slowly, looking down at the two crumpled forms on the ground. The second guy gasped for air, choking, crying, alive but broken.
Then Leon turned.
Shiera hadn't moved a single inch during the whole ordeal.
Leon held her gaze for a second. Then he walked past her, continuing down the street like nothing had happened.
Behind him, Shiera smiled.
It was a small thing at first—just a curl of her lips. But it grew as she watched him walk away, his bare back receding into the darkness as he threw away the knife clattering on the ground.
She stepped over the two men without looking down, without caring if they were dead or alive, and fell into step behind him.