Night came late in Noxis.
The city refused to sleep.
Lights burned.
Buildings hummed with drifting resonance.
Distant roars and laughter tangled in the air like loose threads.
Rayon sat at the very top of the tallest skyscraper—an obsidian needle stabbing through the sky, wrapped in thunderclouds. He lounged on the edge as if gravity didn't apply to him, one leg dangling over the endless drop.
From up here, Noxis looked small. Chaotic. Alive.
Erethon floated out of Rayon's chest like smoke manifesting from thought.
"I'm bored," Erethon complained instantly, crossing his arms. "You sit here like some brooding monarch."
Rayon didn't look at him.
"You don't have to stay."
"Of course I do," Erethon said. "Vorthalaxis is in your subconscious, probably curled up like a lazy lizard. I'm the only one suffering."
"Then go back inside."
Erethon scoffed and phased into his mindspace anyway—muttering curses that faded out as he sank into Rayon's consciousness.
Silence returned.
Wind brushed past Rayon's coat. The moon reflected in his silver-black eyes. He looked like a man sitting on the throne of the sky.
Minutes passed.
Then—footsteps.
Someone lightly walked across the rooftop behind him. Calm, unhurried, comfortable with the height.
A voice spoke, carrying a smooth island drawl mixed with city grit:
"Nice view, ain't that right?"
Rayon didn't turn.
He nodded once. "Yeah. Could be better, though."
The man chuckled—the kind of laugh that told you he didn't take life too seriously.
He came into Rayon's peripheral vision and leaned on the ledge.
Tall. Slim. Athletic. Dark skin. Long rope-twist hair.
A cigarette glowed between his fingers, the ember burning bright against the night.
He looked like he belonged on this rooftop.
Like he owned it.
"Name's Nyk Vandamson," he said. "Figured I'd introduce myself before someone gets trigger-happy tomorrow."
Rayon finally turned his head slightly to look.
"Nyk."
"Yeah."
They exchanged a single glance—and it was enough.
Rayon exhaled. "So. Primordial Vessel of Ruin… you're here as well."
Nyk smirked, smoke drifting from his lips.
"That obvious?"
"It's leaking off you," Rayon said. "Makes things more fun."
Nyk laughed—loud, unbothered, entertained. "I like you already, dude."
He reached into his pocket and held out a cigarette.
"You smoke?"
Rayon shrugged. "Not really."
"Try one. Good for the nerves. Or the boredom."
Rayon accepted it.
He tapped his finger, and a small spark of black resonance ignited at his fingertip—cold fire curling up just enough to light the cigarette.
Nyk blinked. "Ayeeee. Style. A man of culture."
Rayon took a pull, exhaled slowly, the smoke blending with the night breeze.
"Appreciate it," he said.
Nyk grinned. "Nah, you cool, gang."
Rayon almost smirked.
The two of them sat side by side on the skyscraper—one shaped by Black Resonance, one carrying the Primordial of Ruin in his soul—watching the lawless city below like two kings who hadn't claimed their crowns yet.
Noxis simmered under them.
And for the first time in years, Rayon smoked.
Nyk flicked ash into the wind and leaned back.