Act I: The Pull
Back to the present..
Aeloria CityRooftop ClubMidnight
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The wind had teeth tonight.
It bit through the late summer haze, sweeping in from the east with a sharpness that didn't belong in July. Liora Wynn tugged her black tank top down over her hip bones, feeling the chill slice between her shoulder blades. It wasn't cold, not really. But her skin prickled. Alert. Aware.
Something was off.
From up here, the city pulsed — a living, glittering thing. Neon signs blinked across the skyline like drunk gods winking from their towers. The rooftop bar buzzed with music that thumped in her bones, not her ears. Laughter curled in the air. Sweat and perfume. Heat from bodies packed too close. The kind of night where everything felt just barely under control — one drink, one kiss, one breath away from chaos.
Liora balanced a tray of glowing cocktails in one hand, twisting between velvet ropes and flashing phones. She didn't stumble. Didn't spill. Didn't smile, either.
She was working.
And she was tired.
So damn tired.
Two hours left on her shift. Then maybe she'd go home and crash. Or sit on the kitchen floor with Talia eating dry cereal straight from the box while complaining about how men were trash and the nursing exam schedule was a war crime.
She sighed, setting drinks down on a marble ledge without making eye contact.
"Thanks, sweetheart," one of the men at the table said, too slow to mask his leer. His friend winked. "Hey, you dance too?"
Liora didn't answer. Just turned and walked away.
Her boss would've killed her for not playing nice, smiling more, flirting a little, and keeping them drinking. But he wasn't the one getting touched without permission. And she wasn't in the mood to perform for men who smelled like inherited wealth and cheap arrogance.
Not tonight.
Not when her skin felt like it was buzzing from the inside.
She ducked behind the bar to refill her tray. Her fingers worked on muscle memory of lime wedge, ice, vodka pour. But her mind was foggy, flickering in and out like a faulty street lamp. She hadn't eaten since noon. Maybe that was it. Low blood sugar. Overexertion. Burnout.
Still… it didn't feel like exhaustion.
It felt like awakening.
The crescent-shaped birthmark beneath her collarbone pulsed warm, like a coal being nudged to life. She adjusted her bra strap absently, blinking fast.
"Yo, Wynn."
Talia's voice crackled through the Bluetooth headset she insisted they wear on busy nights, despite how ridiculous it looked clipped to her bra strap.
"Table seven wants a show. The usual. Don't roll your eyes, I can feel you rolling your eyes."
"I'm not doing that body shot nonsense again."
"Please. The last time you did, we made two hundred in tips."
"I also nearly got groped. Twice."
Talia snorted. "That's because you're hot, babe. Come on, do it for the rent gods."
"Do it yourself."
"Oh I would, but I'm currently trapped with four bachelorettes who think I'm their spirit guide."
"Better you than me."
"Debatable. You look like hell, by the way."
"Thanks."
"No really," Talia said, voice softening. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Liora glanced at her reflection in a shaker tin. Her face looked the same golden-brown skin, dark curls pinned back into a messy bun, lips painted a little too red, hazel eyes lined with smudged kohl.
But something in those eyes… moved.
Just for a second.
A flicker of gold, deep in the iris. Gone when she blinked.
"I'm fine," she said.
"Liar."
Liora set the tin down with more force than necessary. "Just need to sleep."
"Well, don't do it standing up. That's my thing."
She laughed despite herself.
But the mark on her collarbone pulsed again.
And this time, she didn't pretend not to notice.
She felt it, a subtle tightening, like the air around her had shifted. The way animals go silent before a quake. The way her gut twisted before her mother died. A pressure building in the bones. Not physical, not quite emotional either.
Spiritual, maybe.
If she believed in that shit.
Which she didn't.
Except maybe… tonight.
A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, low and long.
Liora looked up toward the sky. There were no stars, not in this part of Aeloria. Just clouds thick with heat, heavy with promise. The kind of clouds that carried more than rain.
The wind picked up again — sharp, deliberate, carrying the faint scent of something metallic.
And then…
CRACK.
A flash of lightning lit the sky — white and merciless.
The rooftop flickered.
And then darkness.
Not the kind that feels cozy or gentle. This was complete. Immediate. Absolute.
The music died mid-beat. Glass clinked. Ice cracked. Someone screamed. Then the silence rolled in — thick and animal, curling low in people's throats. Even the wind held its breath.
The rooftop plunged into shadow.
Liora stood perfectly still.
She didn't flinch. Didn't panic. While other bartenders fumbled with phones, lit up screens with shaking fingers, and muttered curses under their breath, she moved with eerie calm — like this wasn't her first time navigating a blackout. Like something ancient in her body remembered this kind of stillness.
"Everyone stay calm!" she called out, voice stronger than she expected. "It's just a surge. The backup gen—"
Her words caught.
Because she felt it.
That chill.
Not from the wind. Not from the weather.
Something else brushed against her skin like fingers that weren't there. Like being watched from behind a mirror. Like a name she'd forgotten but wore inside her ribs.
And suddenly, she needed air.
Not wanted. Needed.
She slipped past the bar, ignoring the murmuring crowd. Her boots thudded softly against the concrete as she moved toward the edge of the rooftop. Her hands trembled only slightly as she leaned against the railing, chest rising and falling like she'd run a mile but she hadn't moved more than a few feet.
Below, Aeloria flickered in broken pieces a grid of city lights blinking out one by one, swallowed by the blackout. Car horns wailed. Sirens bloomed somewhere in the east. But up here… it was quiet.
Too quiet.
And then…
He was there.
No sound. No warning.
Just a presence — behind her.
Liora felt it before she turned.
A gravity shift.
A change in the air.
A thread pulled tight inside her chest.
Her breath caught. The mark on her collarbone burned hot beneath her shirt — sharp, electric.
Slowly, she turned.
He stood less than six feet away, outlined only by the faint spill of moonlight breaking through a crack in the clouds. Tall. Still. Dressed in black that shimmered faintly like smoke. His silver eyes reflected the light like coins dropped into a deep well. His expression was unreadable, no smile, no question, just… watching.
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
The wind picked up again, swirling his coat. Her hair lifted around her face.
And he didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't speak.
"Do I…" she finally breathed, her voice barely audible, "do I know you?"
He didn't answer at first.
His gaze moved over her face, slow and deliberate like he was memorizing her. Or mourning her. Or both.
Then he stepped forward.
Just one step. But it was enough.
The distance collapsed.
His voice was velvet and iron when it came. "No."
Her breath caught.
He leaned in — not touching, not quite but too close. Enough for her to feel the cold of his aura. Enough for her to notice the faint scent clinging to him: something ancient, like scorched cedar and old parchment.
"But I know you," he whispered.
That was all he said.
And then he was gone.
Not walked away. Not turned. Just… gone.
Liora jerked back in confusion, eyes darting across the rooftop. But there was no trace of him — no figure in the crowd, no echo of footsteps. Nothing.
The lights flickered back on a second later.
The music roared to life.
The city stirred, yawning and angry. But Liora stood still, her heart pounding against her ribs like it wanted out.
The mark on her collarbone was still glowing. Soft. Dim. But unmistakably lit.
She pressed her fingers to it and whispered, "What the hell was that?"
No answer came.
Only the wind.
And the lingering echo of silver eyes watching her from the dark.
She should've walked away.
Liora's fingers clutched the metal railing behind her like an anchor, her pulse hammering in her throat. That man—whoever, whatever he was had vanished into the shadows like smoke, like a glitch in time. Her lungs felt tight, and her chest heaved like she'd just run full tilt across the city.
But she hadn't moved.
And yet… something inside her had. Something deep and ancient and shaking.
Her shirt clung to her collarbone from the heat of it and then it started.
The burn.
Sharp and sudden.
She hissed through her teeth, hand flying to her chest. Right over the mark. That faint crescent-shaped birthmark that had always sat just below her collarbone the one she always thought looked too perfect to be real. Most days, she forgot it was even there.
Now it felt like it was branding her from the inside out.
"Shit," she breathed, stumbling back a step from the railing.
Pain lanced through her shoulder and down her spine — white-hot, searing. Her knees buckled. She would've gone down if someone hadn't caught her.
Strong fingers, cold against her flushed skin, wrapped around her wrist. Steady. Unshakable.
And her entire world tilted.
Not just the rooftop.
Not just the skyline.
But everything.
Because in that flash of contact, something inside her snapped wide open.
And she saw it.
Not in front of her. Not like a memory. More like… a soul-scream burned into her bones.
A battlefield — skies bleeding fire, broken earth underfoot. The scent of ash thick in the air. And there he was. Kael. Not in a suit, not in shadow. In obsidian armor, soaked with blood, silver eyes wild with grief. And she herself crumpled in his arms, her golden skin smeared with dirt and blood, lips parting to whisper something she couldn't hear.
Dying.
She was dying.
He was shouting her name, over and over again.
But it wasn't Liora.
It was—
"Liana," she whispered.
The vision shattered.
She sucked in a breath like she was breaking the surface of deep water.
The rooftop came rushing back. The lights are still dead. The wind is picking up. The world is far too quiet.
And Kael was still there. Still holding her wrist.
Still watching her with that impossible, unreadable expression.
He hadn't spoken.
But his eyes…
They weren't just silver.
They were full of mourning.
Like he'd already lost her.
Like he couldn't believe she was standing in front of him again.
Liora's voice was a raw rasp when she finally spoke. "What—what was that?"
He didn't answer. Not with words. His grip loosened, fingers trailing down to her hand like he was memorizing the shape of her skin.
Then — a pulse.
Not from him.
From her mark.
It glowed again. Faintly golden. Like embers under skin.
She jerked back, heart racing. Her head spun. The air around them thickened, humming with the kind of energy she didn't believe in.
Couldn't believe it.
But she felt it.
She knew it.
This was no ordinary blackout.
This wasn't adrenaline.
This wasn't an attraction.
This was history.
Cracked open and bleeding through her fingertips.
"Say something," she demanded. "Who the hell are you?"
That's when it happened.
A rush. Not wind. Not people.
A pull.
The crowd behind her surged like a tide. Some strange wave of kinetic force, a pulse in the blackout chaos, dragging her backward. Her boots scraped the ground. Her body twisted as arms bumped into hers, drinks sloshed, someone yelled but through it all, she saw him.
Still watching.
Still calm.
Still waiting.
Kael leaned forward just enough, his breath ghosting her ear.
And in a voice like smoke wrapped in thunder, he said it:
"Found you… again."
Then he was gone.
For real, this time.
Gone before she could blink.
Gone like the past had reached forward and swallowed him whole.
The crowd parted slightly, someone yelling for the generator. Another bartender calling her name. But she couldn't answer. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Her knees nearly gave out again.
She staggered to the bar, gripping the counter, her hands trembling. The rooftop flickered lights sputtering, electricity jerking back to life. People cheered like nothing had happened. Like the world hadn't just shifted on its axis.
The bass dropped. Music blasted through the speakers. Neon lights bathed everyone in purples and greens.
But Liora didn't move.
She just stared.
At the space where he'd been.
Her heart thundered so hard she could hear it in her ears.
She reached for her chest again, tugged the collar of her shirt aside.
The crescent mark still glowed.
Not bright. But definitely alive.
Alive in a way it had never been before.
She touched it gently, as if expecting it to vanish.
It didn't.
Behind her, Talia's voice called through the noise, "Lio? You good?"
But she didn't answer.
Her voice was already caught in her throat.
Instead, she whispered to herself — a voice she barely recognized, shaken and small:
"Who the hell was that?"
And somehow, beneath the fear, beneath the confusion…
A part of her already knew.
Because she'd seen those eyes before.
In dreams where she died.
And always, always — he was there.