The first time Xena saw him, he was standing in the fog just beyond the graveyard.
Not part of the funeral.
Not part of the living.
Just... watching.
A chill slipped down her spine like ice drawn with a blade. His presence didn't feel human—it felt like a memory she shouldn't have, crawling up from a past that never belonged to her.
His eyes found hers, blacker than absence, older than light.
"Who are you?" she asked, voice thin, chest tightening.
He didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
Only smiled.
A cruel, knowing thing.
"The name your mother carved into the cellar floor when the screaming wouldn't stop," he murmured.
Xena stepped back. Something inside her twisted. "You're not real."
"Then why does your blood beg to remember me?" he asked, stepping from the fog. His hand rose, fingertips brushing her jaw—ice cold, but burning like fire.
"Say it," he whispered, voice like a curse long buried.
She tried to resist.
She did.
But the name fell from her lips like a trigger pulled:
"Adrian."
The sky split open. Thunder cracked like a bone.
Somewhere, deep inside her chest—something ancient stirred.
And the devil… laughed.
By Kel Young Wrld