The evening had fallen soft and golden over the mortal realm, the city shimmering beneath its veil of neon and sunset. Shyla leaned against the edge of the terrace, wind brushing through her hair as she tried to steady the strange rhythm of her heart.
It hadn't stopped since that night.
That presence — that voice in the dark — still haunted her.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt it: warmth pressed against her skin, a whisper that echoed "wait for me."
And yet, when she looked across the quiet skyline, it wasn't shadows she saw. It was him — Nickolas.
He stood by the doorway, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. The golden light caught on the edge of his jawline, casting a faint glow against eyes too old, too knowing, for a man who looked barely thirty.
"You've been distant," he said finally, his voice calm — too calm. "Even when I'm right beside you.
Shyla turned, startled by the softness in his tone. "I've just… had dreams. They feel real. Like someone's been here."
Nickolas stepped closer, the scent of cedar and storm following him. "Someone?" he asked lightly, though there was a flicker — the faintest spark of something darker — behind his gaze.
She hesitated. "A voice. I don't know who. It felt… familiar and this not the first time..."
His eyes hardened for a fraction of a second before the mask returned. "Dreams have a way of feeling real when your soul's unsettled." He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering just a moment too long. "You've been overworking again."
But his touch didn't calm her. It tethered her — like a chain she hadn't realized was there.
When she looked into his eyes, she felt both safe and trapped. There was history there, old as time, though she couldn't remember why.
"Nickolas…" she whispered, stepping back slightly. "Who are you really?"
He smiled faintly. "Would you believe me if I said your future?"
The air shifted. Her breath caught. Something ancient stirred between them — an energy she didn't understand but felt in her bones.
Nickolas leaned in, his voice low, intimate. "You were always meant for me, Shyla. The others may reach through shadows, whisper through dreams… but I am the one bound to your destiny."
A chill coursed down her spine. "The others?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
His expression flickered — irritation, quickly buried beneath charm. "Just remnants. Echoes. You don't need to remember them."
But she did. The warmth of another voice. The crimson gaze in the dark.
The way her heart had recognized someone it shouldn't have.
Nickolas tilted her chin upward, eyes locking onto hers. "You trust me, don't you?"
Her lips parted — to answer the question — she didn't know which. But before she could speak, the air behind them stirred. The candlelight flickered violently, and a shadow crossed the wall like a living breath.
Nickolas turned sharply, eyes narrowing. For an instant, his calm façade cracked — something ancient, territorial, and cold burning through his expression.
The presence faded as quickly as it had come.
Shyla stared. "What was that?"
Nickolas' jaw tightened. "Nothing that concerns you," he said softly, but his voice had gained an edge. "Stay inside tonight. Promise me."
"Nickolas—"
"Promise," he repeated, eyes glowing faintly gold now — not human, not kind.
She nodded, unsure why her body obeyed even when her mind screamed to resist.
When she finally turned away, he remained by the window, his reflection caught in the glass. The city's lights shimmered across his eyes — eyes that were now not just gold, but threaded with faint veins of crimson.
He whispered to himself, voice dark and quiet,
"So… he has broken the veil again." The wind answered with silence.
Nickolas' hand tightened into a fist. "You were never meant to reach her first, Valerian. She was mine long before you remembered her name."
With that the shadows brought him the council message for meet up.
And far beyond the mortal city, deep within the shadowed empire, Valerian's heart convulsed in his sleep — as though the bond itself had just been challenged.