Silence.
Not calm—just silence.
Not the peaceful kind—but the kind that pressed in, heavy and suffocating, as though the world itself had forgotten how to breathe.
It was the kind of silence that pressed against her ears until it hurt, thick and suffocating, as though the world itself had stopped breathing… waiting.
Then—
Heat.
It licked at her skin first, subtle… then consuming.
It came slowly at first,
brushing against her skin like a warning.
A distant crackling followed, soft and subtle… until it grew, swelling into a roar that swallowed everything whole.
Fire.
Celene stood in it.
Or perhaps she was trapped within it.
The ground beneath her feet trembled, fractured, burning.
Ash drifted through the air like falling snow, settling against her skin, her lashes, her lips.
The scent of smoke filled her lungs, choking, overwhelming—
And yet she could not move.
Above her—
The sky had split into two.
Torn apart as though by unseen hands.
On one side, light.
Blinding gold—radiant, divine, endless. Wings of light spread across it, vast and trembling, their feathers shimmering like shards of the sun.
Voices echoed from that side, layered and powerful, their words indistinct yet commanding.
Radiant gold poured across the heavens, alive with movement.
Vast wings stretched outward—countless, luminous, their feathers glowing with divine brilliance.
Voices echoed from that side, layered and powerful, reverberating through her very bones.
On the other side—
Darkness.
Not empty.
Not still.
Alive.
A deep crimson sky churned with shadows, thick and suffocating.
Something moved within it—something ancient, something furious.
Black wings cut through the air, massive and terrifying, trailing smoke and ash.
A churning expanse of crimson and shadow twisted through the sky, thick with something ancient and wrathful.
Black wings cut through it, massive and terrible, trailing smoke and ruin in their wake.
Angels.
Demons.
They clashed in the heavens like a storm unleashed.
And they were at war.
The clash was deafening—metal against metal, power against power.
Light collided with darkness in violent bursts that shattered the air itself.
Celene's breath hitched.
She couldn't breath.
No—
The screams, the clash of steel, the crack of power—it all surged through her, too loud, too much, as though it wasn't just around her…
It was inside her.
The chaos, the pain, the fear—it surged through her veins like fire, too much, too real.
"I…" Her voice trembled.
"What is this…?"
Her gaze dropped.
And her heart stopped.
Chains.
They wrapped around her wrists—glowing, radiant, and cruel.
They burned with a light that felt… holy.
They coiled around her, glowing with a cruel, holy light.
Not iron.
Not steel.
Something far worse.
Divine.
And it hurt.
They burned against her skin, searing, unforgiving.
She gasped, instinctively trying to pull away.
They tightened.
Pain shot through her arms, sharp and merciless, forcing a cry from her lips.
"Wait—no—!"
The light pulsed, brighter, stronger, as though feeding on her struggle.
She couldn't move.
She couldn't escape.
Panic clawed at her chest.
Then—
The air shifted.
A presence.
Heavy.
Commanding.
Everything stilled.
Even the war.
Through the smoke and flame, a figure emerged.
Tall.
Unyielding.
Darkness bent around him, curling at his feet, rising like shadows that obeyed his will.
Fire did not touch him.
It parted, as though afraid.
Celene's breath caught in her throat.
She couldn't see his face clearly—not fully—but she felt him.
A pull.
Deep.
Unavoidable.
Like something buried inside her had just awakened.
He walked toward her.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
As though he had been searching…
…and had finally found what he was looking for.
Her heart began to race.
"Who…" Her voice faltered, barely a whisper.
"Who are you…?"
He stopped in front of her.
Close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the weight of his presence pressing into her very soul.
The chains around her wrists trembled.
For a moment, there was nothing.
No sound.
No movement.
Just him.
Then—
His voice.
Low.
Deep.
And filled with something that struck her harder than the chains ever could.
"Even Heaven couldn't take you away from me."
Her breath shattered.
The words didn't just reach her ears—they sank into her chest, wrapping around her heart, tightening.
Like they belonged there.
Like she had heard them before.
"I… I don't—"
Her voice broke.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
Dark eyes locked onto hers—intense, unwavering, filled with something she couldn't understand.
Something dangerous.
Something that made her chest ache.
Behind her—
Pain.
Blinding.
Explosive.
Celene cried out as something tore through her back—something powerful, something desperate to break free.
Wings.
She couldn't see them, but she felt them—felt their presence, their struggle, their need to exist.
The chains flared violently.
Light surged.
"No—!" she gasped, her body arching under the force.
The chains tightened, forcing the wings back, suppressing them, breaking them—
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes.
It hurt.
It hurt like something was being ripped away from her.
"Stop—please—!"
Hands reached for her.
His hands.
Strong.
Warm.
Desperate.
For a single moment—
She saw him clearly.
Dark hair.
Dark, burning eyes.
And an expression that shattered her completely.
Fury.
Pain.
Desperation.
"Don't let them—"
His voice broke, rough, dangerous.
"Don't let them take you—"
The light exploded.
The chains yanked violently.
Celene screamed as her body was dragged backward, away from him, toward the blinding gold sky.
"No—!"
She reached for him.
Their fingers brushed—
Almost.
So close—
But not enough.
The distance grew.
Pulled apart.
Torn.
His expression darkened, something feral flashing through his gaze.
Then—
It softened.
Just for a second.
One could see the longing in his dark eyes.
Emotions surging like waves in his eyes.
And when he spoke again, his voice dropped—quieter, darker, wrapping around her like a promise she could never escape.
Just like a Devil.
"I will find you… I will always be with you—around you, for you… and within you."
The world shattered.
Celene gasped as she jolted upright, her body trembling, breath uneven and sharp.
Her room.
Her bed.
Morning light.
Gone was the fire.
Gone was him.
But her heart—
Her heart wouldn't calm.
She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to steady herself.
"…Just a dream," she whispered.
But the words felt hollow.
Because it didn't feel like one.
It never did.
Every year.
On her birthday.
The same kind of dream.
Fragments.
Pain.
Him.
Her fingers curled tightly into the sheets.
Why did it feel like she had lost something?
A knock broke through her thoughts.
"Young mistress?"
Celene blinked, dragging herself back.
"Yes, Michaela."
The door opened, and Michaela stepped inside with a gentle smile.
"Happy birthday."
Celene gave a small, grateful smile.
"Thank you."
The curtains were drawn open, and sunlight flooded the room—warm, soft, alive.
So different from the ashes still lingering in her mind.
"Breakfast is ready,"
Michaela added.
"I'll be down soon."
When the door closed, Celene exhaled slowly.
The dream clung to her.
Not the images—
The feeling.
Heavy.
Familiar.
Unsettling.
"…Why does it feel like I know him?" she murmured.
No answer came.
*******************************
The bathwater was warm.
Soft.
Silken.
Celene lowered herself into the tub, the pale mixture of milk and water folding around her like a gentle embrace.
A faint swirl of cinnamon lingered in the air, blending with delicate floral oils that softened the atmosphere, turning the space into something almost dreamlike.
She had tied her long white hair into a loose, messy bun, strands slipping free to brush against her damp skin.
Her eyes fluttered closed.
The warmth seeped into her muscles, easing the tension she hadn't realized she carried.
For a moment—
Peace.
But then—
Chains.
Her eyes opened.
A ripple disturbed the surface of the water.
"…Why won't it leave me alone?"
Her voice was soft, almost lost in the steam.
She leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.
It was just a dream.
It had always been just a dream.
And yet…
Her chest tightened.
That voice.
The way it sounded—
Like he meant it.
Like he would actually find her.
A faint shiver ran through her.
"…Ridiculous," she muttered, though the words lacked conviction.
After a while, she rose, stepping into the shower.
Water cascaded over her in smooth streams, washing away the milky softness, leaving only warmth behind.
She moved with natural grace, her form slender yet softly curved, balanced in quiet elegance.
There was something almost otherworldly in the way she carried herself—light, effortless, untouched.
Turning slightly, her gaze caught the mirror.
And there—
At the lower curve of her back—
Her birthmark.
Wings.
Delicate.
Faint.
Etched into her skin as though they had always belonged there.
She reached back, her fingertips brushing over it.
She had been born with it.
Everyone said it was rare.
Unique.
But today—
It didn't feel like just a mark.
It felt like a reminder.
Of something she didn't quite understand.
She quickly turned away.
"Enough," she said softly.
*******************************
She elegantly walked down the stairs.
"Papa!"
Her voice rang bright and warm as she hurried down the stairs.
Roderick looked up just in time before she threw her arms around him.
"Good morning, Papa!"
He laughed, steadying her easily.
"Careful, careful—happy birthday, my dear."
She grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"Thank you!"
Up close, he carried the marks of time—silver threading through dark hair, lines at the edges of his eyes—but it only added to his quiet strength.
Celene pulled back, glowing.
Then turned.
"Good morning, Mama."
Graciela sat poised, elegant as ever, her blonde hair perfectly arranged, dark eyes sharp and observant.
"Did you get your beauty sleep?" she asked smoothly.
Celene nodded.
"Yes, Mama."
"Good," Graciela replied.
"You'll need it. Appearances matter—especially today."
Roderick frowned slightly.
"Graciela—"
"I'm only stating facts," she said lightly, lifting her teacup.
Celene forced a small smile, though something about the words settled uneasily in her chest.
"I'll do my best," she said.
Graciela's gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary.
Watching.
Measuring.
As though searching for something beneath her skin.
Celene looked down at her plate, suddenly aware—
That strange feeling hadn't left her.
Later, standing by the window, she stared out at the world beyond.
The wind brushed past gently.
And for a moment—
It felt like something brushed back.
Her breath stilled.
"…Hello?" she murmured softly.
Nothing.
Stillness.
She shook her head.
"Okay, now you're imagining things."
But as she turned away—
The feeling followed.
*******************************
Far away—
Darkness stirred.
Lucien Draegor stood unmoving, shadows coiling faintly at his feet.
"Nothing?" he asked.
"No trace."
Silence stretched.
Five thousand years.
And still—
Nothing.
His gaze darkened.
Cold.
Certain.
"…Run if you must," he said quietly.
The shadows shifted.
A faint, dangerous smile touched his lips.
"It changes nothing."
His eyes burned with something ancient.
Unrelenting.
"I will find you."