The name echoed in her head long after he said it.
Celestia.
It rolled through her thoughts like a forgotten melody — strange, yet painfully familiar. She lay awake under the bridge that night, staring at the cracked concrete above her, listening to the river move in restless whispers.
Lucien had disappeared as suddenly as he arrived.
One moment he was there, standing over her like a dark guardian carved from night itself. The next, he was gone — leaving behind no footprints, no sound, no proof that he had ever existed.
Except for the fact that the red-eyed creatures never returned.
Not that night.
But sleep did.
And sleep brought something worse.
She was standing in fire.
Not the kind that burns wood or paper.
This fire was alive.
It moved like liquid gold and crimson, swirling around her bare feet without hurting her. Before her stood a throne — massive, ancient, carved from black stone and bone. Shadows knelt before it.
And above it all—
Wings.
Burning wings.
A voice called out through the flames.
"Pure blood…"
She turned, but the fire began to climb higher. Faces appeared in the flames — twisted, pale, grinning. Women with long dark hair and hollow eyes. Witches.
"Find her."
"Prepare the altar."
"The gate must open."
The throne cracked.
The sky split open.
And red eyes filled the heavens.
She woke up screaming.
The sound bounced under the bridge, startling birds into flight.
Her chest rose and fell violently. Sweat clung to her skin despite the cold night air. She looked down at her hands — trembling.
Then she saw it.
A faint glow beneath her skin.
Right above her heart.
She pulled her torn shirt aside.
There it was.
A mark she had always thought was a strange birthmark — shaped almost like a small flame with delicate lines spreading outward like wings.
It was glowing.
Soft.
Gold.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"No… no, no…"
The glow slowly faded.
But the fear didn't.
The next day, the city felt different.
People moved as usual — cars honking, vendors shouting, children laughing — but beneath the noise, something darker pulsed.
She could feel it now.
Eyes.
Watching.
From rooftops.
From dark windows.
From the spaces between buildings where sunlight never reached.
She tried to ignore it. Hunger pushed her toward the market district. She waited near a restaurant's back door for leftovers.
That's when she saw one of them again.
Not fully.
Just a reflection.
In the glass of a parked car.
Behind her stood a tall shadow — too tall. Its eyes glowing faintly red.
She spun around.
Nothing.
Her breathing quickened.
"You're imagining it," she whispered.
But the reflection hadn't lied.
A sudden gust of wind swept through the alley, knocking over trash cans. The sky dimmed unnaturally, as though a cloud had swallowed the sun.
And then she heard it.
A whisper.
Right beside her ear.
"You cannot hide, pure one…"
She froze.
Cold fingers brushed her hair.
She screamed and stumbled forward — but invisible force wrapped around her ankle, yanking her to the ground. Her chin scraped against the concrete.
Laughter filled the air.
Not human laughter.
Higher. Warped. Layered.
The shadows around her began to stretch, pooling like ink. Figures emerged — not fully solid, not fully smoke.
Three again.
Red eyes burning brighter than before.
One of them reached toward her chest — toward the mark.
"Her blood will tear the gates open…"
"She will scream beautifully on the altar…"
Tears streamed down her face as she clawed at the ground.
"Help me!" she cried.
And suddenly—
The air exploded.
A force slammed through the alley like a shockwave. The shadows screeched, their forms flickering violently.
A voice thundered through the darkness.
"I warned you."
Lucien.
He stood at the alley entrance once more, but this time there was no calm softness in him.
His eyes glowed.
Not red.
Not gold.
But something deeper. Older.
The ground beneath his feet cracked.
The shadows recoiled instantly.
One attempted to lunge at her again—
Lucien moved faster than sight.
One second he was ten feet away.
The next, he was gripping the creature by its throat.
"You dare touch what is mine?" he said coldly.
The shadow shrieked as black flames erupted from Lucien's hand, devouring it whole. The other two fled into smoke, vanishing into the walls.
Silence returned.
Only her uneven breathing filled the alley.
Lucien turned slowly to face her.
She stared at him in terror.
"You said you were my protector," she whispered shakily. "Protector from what?"
His expression darkened.
"From what hunts you," he replied.
She shook her head, tears falling. "Why? Why are they calling me that? Pure blood? What does that mean?"
He walked toward her carefully this time, as if approaching something fragile.
"They are getting bolder," he murmured. "That means they have found confirmation."
"Confirmation of what?"
He stopped in front of her.
His gaze dropped briefly to the place above her heart.
Then back to her eyes.
"You are not who you think you are," he said quietly.
The wind howled again.
Somewhere far above, thunder rumbled — though the sky was clear.
Lucien extended his hand toward her.
"You can no longer stay here."
His voice softened slightly.
"If you remain in the streets, they will tear this city apart to reach you."
She hesitated.
Every instinct screamed at her to run.
But something deeper — something inside her chest — recognized him.
Trusted him.
"Where would I go?" she asked faintly.
His lips curved just slightly.
"With me."
The air seemed to grow heavier.
More dangerous.
And far more alive.