Chapter 1 – The Interview
The aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the faint sizzle of meat from the open kitchen. Soft jazz music played under the low hum of conversation, and the golden afternoon light spilled through the wide windows of Lumen Café, catching in the steam rising from cups of cappuccino. Wooden tables gleamed under the glow of pendant lamps, and every now and then the sharp clink of cutlery broke through the atmosphere.
At a corner table, away from the bustling crowd, sat David. His sharp jawline and lean build, his black dress shirt sat on his frame. His tie hung loose, the knot tilted to one side like he'd given up on hope. His hair—jet black with faint streaks of silver at the tips—refused to obey any comb, sticking out in uneven waves. Even in this casual moment, he wore the faint gleam of an enigma; his irises caught the light strangely, revealing faint golden rings within dark pupils, as though his eyes held circuitry instead of veins.
Across from him, Darren Quill was waving a hand to get the waiter's attention. Darren was everything David wasn't—clean-cut, bright-eyed, dressed in an uncreased sky-blue button-down and beige chinos. His short brown hair was trimmed to precision, his smile disarming and easy.
The two had been friends since college, bound by a strange balance: Darren kept David tethered to reality, while David… well, David kept life interesting for Darren.
"Alright," Darren said, leaning back after ordering. "You're going to tell me what the hell's going on, or I'm going to assume you're about to join a cult."
David arched a brow. "I didn't know we were doing interrogations now."
Darren's voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. "You've been avoiding me for a week. Then you text me at midnight saying, 'We need to talk.' That's either a breakup or a crime confession."
David stirred his iced coffee lazily, the clink of ice against glass faint. "Neither."
"Then spit it out."
David lips curved faintly, though not in amusement. "I lost ten grand."
Darren froze mid-reach for his glass. "…What?"
"I got scammed," David said, as though reading the weather. "Wire transfer. Online contract. Disappeared in less than an hour."
Darren stared at him for a long second, then set his drink down slowly. "You— David— you absolute—" He ran both hands through his hair, exhaling hard. "You are a gullible person."
"I'm not gullible," David said evenly.
"Yes, you are!" Darren leaned forward. "You believed some stranger who promised you double your money in two weeks! You're like a golden retriever—trusting, wide-eyed, wagging your tail at whoever calls your name."
David smirked faintly. "I just thought it was real."
"And that's the problem," Darren said, stabbing the air with a finger. "You always think it's real. Remember—" His expression shifted, hesitant now. "Remember your ex?"
David eyes cooled instantly. The air between them thickened.
"I don't want to talk about that."
"She used you, man," Darren pressed. "Everyone saw it but you. That girl bled your wallet dry for months, acted like you were her savior—then we find out she's now dating your father. Your rich father."
David gaze drifted to the window. "She's irrelevant."
Darren sighed, running a hand over his face. "You cut your dad off, you cut her off, but you didn't cut off the part of you that keeps falling for crap like this. And now you owe money you don't have. How are you gonna pay back a ten-thousand-dollar loan?"
David sipped his drink, then said simply, "I'm taking that job."
Darren blinked. "That job? The one we joked about?"
"It's not a joke."
"David, that's shady as hell!"
"Don't call it shady." David leaned in, his voice firm for the first time. "It's called Helpers agency inc. They pay two grand a month, minimum."
Darren stared at him. "…You do realize every single person who's applied there failed the interview? Even the ones who swore they got every question right?"
"Maybe they're looking for someone specific."
"And you think that's you?"
David faint smile returned. "Its worth the try.Beside and desperate right now and what's the worst that can happen."
Darren shook his head. "You're impossible. But fine—die in a pyramid scheme for all I care. But remember I warned you to find another way"
The next morning, Kael stood in front of his cracked mirror, tying his black tie with deliberate care. The suit he wore was a plane ash suit that is common . His hair, though stubborn as always, was slicked back enough to look intentional.
He picked up his CV, slid it into a leather folder, and stepped out into the brisk morning air.
The city was alive—streets humming with electric cars, neon signs flickering even in daylight. He navigated the crowd with ease until he stood before a towering glass building that rose like a shard of crystal into the sky.
Helpers Agency Inc.
The automatic glass doors whispered open, and the environment shifted.
Inside, the air was cooler, scented faintly with sandalwood. The marble floor shimmered faintly, not just polished but almost alive, as though it breathed in light. A sprawling chandelier hung above, but instead of crystal, it was made of slowly rotating magical decorations, their runes glowing in steady rhythm.
Behind a curved marble reception desk sat a woman whose presence demanded attention. Her hair was a cascade of silver waves, her eyes a bright, unnatural violet. Her black suit jacket was tailored sharply, but along its sleeves ran thin, glowing lines that pulsed faintly—like veins of light.
"Welcome," she said, her voice calm but resonant. "Name?"
"David Vallor."
She scanned something on the desk, then nodded. "Eighth floor. The elevator will take you directly to the interview suite."
As David walked toward the elevator, he felt the faint hum under his feet—the building's very infrastructure seemed to whisper. The elevator doors slid open, revealing not a standard metal box but a chamber lined with glass walls, showing an impossible view of the city stretching far beyond its actual geography. Runes traced along the glass, flaring faintly as the elevator began to rise.
Kael adjusted his tie, his reflection ghosting over the unreal skyline.
Somewhere above, someone was waiting to decide if he was the "specific kind of person" they had been looking for all along.
David's hand lingered on the polished brass handle for a second longer than necessary. He took in a deep breath before twisting it, pushing the door open. The hinges gave off a muted creak as he stepped into the interviewer's office.
The first thing that struck him was the view. The far wall was entirely glass, stretching from the dark marble floor to the ceiling. The skyline of the city sprawled out before him—gleaming towers, streaks of sunlight dancing across mirrored windows, and the faint hum of traffic below. The man seated behind the enormous desk had his back turned to David, seemingly absorbed in the scenery.
"You can have a seat," the voice came—low, steady, and oddly metallic.
David obeyed, lowering himself into one of the luxurious leather chairs opposite the desk. The cushion sank softly beneath him, but the moment was anything but relaxing. His pulse thudded in his ears.
Then the man turned his chair.
David's stomach dropped.
The interviewer's head was completely hidden inside a glossy black biker helmet. Not just a normal one—this helmet had faint, glowing lines etched into it, pulsing faintly like veins of molten gold. The visor reflected the room's light in a way that made it impossible to see the man's face. But despite the oddity, the rest of him looked impeccable. He wore a suit—immaculate, dark, lined with patterns so subtle they almost looked alive, shifting when David blinked.
"Your CV," the interviewer said, extending a gloved hand.
David quickly reached into his briefcase and slid the crisp folder across the desk. "Here, sir."
The helmeted man took it without hurry, flipping through it in silence. David, trying to fill the air, launched into his practiced self-introduction.
"I've got a strong work ethic, and I'm willing to—"
The interviewer's head tilted slightly. A faint yawn escaped from the voice modulator, stretching into the quiet. He placed the CV back in its envelope and set it on the desk, pushing it slightly toward David. The gesture felt like dismissal.
A cold pit formed in David's stomach. I blew it…
"I can do anything," David blurted. "As long as it's within my capability, and as long as it's not illegal—I'm willing to give everything for this job."
The interviewer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the armrests. His gloved hands came together, and then his helmeted head rested on his folded wrists. When he spoke, his tone was sharper.
"Tell me, David… do you know what we do here?"
David straightened, grateful for the chance. "Not exactly," he admitted, "but according to my research, I know you guys help people. You get grants from donors and the government, and you use them to help communities. Yes," he added quickly, "that's what you do, right?"
A faint pause.
Then, calmly: "Do you believe in magic?"
David blinked. "…Magic?"
"Yes. Magic. Destiny. Fate. Forces beyond reason. Ancient powers. Mythology. Do you believe in these things?"
The question felt like it had come from a different topic. David hesitated, then decided honesty—or at least enthusiasm—was safest. "Yes. I do."
The interviewer continued without missing a beat. "Why?"
David scrambled for an answer, talking about mysteries in history, unexplained phenomena, personal instincts—until the man abruptly cut him off with a raised hand.
"Good enough."
He reached into his jacket, pulled out a small metallic timer, and placed it on the desk. Its red numbers glowed faintly.
"If you can get down to the ground floor within sixty seconds—without turning back—you get the job."
David stared at the device, then at the helmeted figure. "You're… serious?"
"Your time starts now". His gloved finger tapped the timer, and the numbers began to count down.
60… 59…
Something sparked in David—an odd mix of panic and determination. He shot up from his chair, bolted for the door, and sprinted down the hallway toward the elevator. His breath came fast, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the floor.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and relief surged through him—until he saw what was inside.
It wasn't empty.
Packed into the small space was a group of monstrous figures. Their forms were warped, their skin in shades that shouldn't exist—ashen gray, oil black, pulsing red. Their teeth were jagged and sharpened, their clothes ragged and stained. The stench hit him like a physical blow—metallic blood and something rotten. One of them snarled, its eyes locking onto him with animal hunger.
David froze.
One lunged.
A claw like a hooked blade ripped across his chest. The pain was instant—sharp and burning. His breath caught as warm blood began to seep into his shirt.
"This… isn't a prank," he whispered, realization hitting like a hammer.
The beasts surged toward him, and instinct screamed at him to move. He spun and dashed toward the emergency stairwell, shoving the heavy door open.
The stairwell was worse.
From the top and bottom, beasts swarmed—dozens of them, clambering over each other, snarling, reaching for him with claws and fangs. Some had no eyes. Others had too many. They came from both directions.
David ducked the first swipe, feeling the wind of it graze his ear. Another raked across his forearm, tearing through his skin. He gritted his teeth, shoving one beast aside just in time for another to snap its jaws at his wrist. Pain exploded as teeth clamped down. He swung wildly with his free hand, connecting hard enough to make the creature let go—but his wrist felt loose, wrong..... Broken.
He couldn't keep this up. They were closing in.
There was only one option.
He leapt over the railing.
The world blurred as he fell through the hollow core of the spiral staircase. The ground floor rushed toward him—but at the last second, his other hand caught a lower rail. The impact jolted through his arm, the pain white-hot, but it slowed him enough to land without shattering both legs. His ankle still twisted violently, sending another wave of agony through him.
No time to dwell.
Some of the beasts jumped after him, their bodies thudding onto the floor, splattering blood. David ran—half-limping, half-sprinting—toward the entrance. His breath was ragged, his vision starting to blur.
Then he saw them.
All the company's workers, dressed in their perfect suits, lined up neatly at the front door. At the center, the interviewer stood, hands clasped behind his back.
They were clapping.
"Run run run four your life's" David yelled but they didn't and continued clapping more and cheering him.
Confusion crashed into David's exhaustion. He stumbled to a halt, chest heaving. Why are they clapping?
He glanced back.
The beasts on the staircase were frozen. Completely still—locked in mid-motion, their snarls and lunges preserved like statues. Not a single one moved.
Slowly, David turned back toward the helmeted figure.
The interviewer's voice came through the modulator, steady and calm.
"Congratulations.You passed the test."