•~•||PRESENT||•~•
The city had a rhythm, even at dawn. The hum of cars, the muffled footsteps on wet pavement, the faint clink of cups in the corner café — it all sounded orderly, predictable, safe. Sera liked that about it. Predictability. Routine. A life that, at least on the surface, made sense.
Yet, as she watched the first weak streaks of sunlight cut across her apartment floor, she felt an itch in her chest — a restless tug she couldn't explain. Eight years ago, her parents had told her a story before bed. A story about a place called Veyrion, a hidden world ruled by beings far older and stronger than any human could imagine. They had spoken of Solarius, Maravelle, Caelion, Terraa, and Glacielle. They had told her she was chosen by Glacielle herself, her innocence and loyalty marked by the snowflake etched on her wrist.
Sera stretched, letting the sunlight kiss her face, but the faint chill around her wrist made her shiver. She stared at the mark, tracing it with the tip of her finger. In the quiet of her room, it glimmered almost imperceptibly, a pale silver that seemed alive. Every morning, she checked it — like a ritual, like a tether to a story she wanted to dismiss yet could not.
Coffee brewed in the small kitchen, and the aroma filled the room, mingling with the morning light. Sera poured herself a cup and leaned against the counter, gazing out at the city skyline. The tall buildings seemed to stretch endlessly into the clouds, and she wondered, not for the first time, if there was more to the world than what she could see. Something beyond glass and steel. Beyond ordinary.
She sipped her coffee, warm and bitter against her tongue, and tried to shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at her. Shadows flickered across the skyline, long streaks that made her blink. The street below was already bustling with early commuters, their faces hidden behind scarves and headphones. Nothing unusual, nothing extraordinary. Yet her heart raced.
"Coffee?" Her roommate's voice broke the silence. Lila leaned in the doorway, hair damp from the morning drizzle outside. She grinned, raising her mug. "You look like you've seen a ghost again."
Sera forced a small smile, shaking her head. "Just thinking. Too much, probably."
Lila laughed, stepping into the room. "You always think too much. You should try living in the moment, Sera."
"I try," Sera murmured, though her thoughts weren't her own. They were drifting, pulled back to a memory that had lived in her mind for years — the stories of fire and ice, wind and water, of gods she had never seen but felt as real as the pulse in her wrist.
After breakfast, Sera walked the familiar route to work. The streets hummed with life, the kind of life that usually kept her grounded. She passed the same bakery, the same newsstand, the same exhausted barista at the corner café. Nothing shifted, nothing unusual. Yet she felt eyes on her. Not a human gaze, not one that followed her from behind sunglasses or across a crowded street. Something else. Something intangible.
By the time she reached her office, she was acutely aware of the cold draft creeping through her jacket. The city had weathered countless storms, but today, it felt sharper. The wind seemed to whisper against her ears, brushing over her hair like a fleeting caress. She shook her head, telling herself it was nothing — just imagination, nerves, the residue of the story she'd grown up with.
Sitting at her desk, she tried to focus on the mundane tasks of the day: sorting papers, answering emails, keeping the routine steady. But the mark on her wrist had started to tingle, a slow, almost imperceptible pulse, like the faint heartbeat of someone standing just beyond her perception. She flexed her hand, watching the light catch on the tiny snowflake. For a fraction of a second, it glimmered brighter than usual, and she felt a strange warmth — a contradictory sensation alongside the cold she had always associated with it.
Her computer screen flickered. A minor glitch, she assumed, until it happened again — subtle, almost like the screen had hesitated, as if something unseen had brushed against it. Sera leaned back, heart tightening. That same tug she had felt in the morning gnawed at her again. Something was coming. Something she had always known would arrive, even if she had never fully believed it.
A soft knock at her office door startled her. "Hey, Sera?" It was Mark, a coworker she barely knew, holding a folder in his hand. "Do you have a minute?"
Sera nodded, forcing herself to focus on the mundane. Yet her eyes kept flicking to the window. Outside, the world seemed unchanged, yet somehow… different. The light shifted unnaturally, shadows stretching in directions that made her stomach twist.
Mark handed her the folder, oblivious to the sudden tightening of her chest. "Just these reports," he said casually. "No rush. I figured you'd like to get started early."
"Thanks," Sera murmured, but her hands trembled slightly as she accepted it.
Hours passed. Each tick of the clock felt heavier than the last. Paper after paper, email after email, but Sera's mind was elsewhere. The wind outside seemed to whisper again, threading through the cracks of the building, brushing over her mark. The tingling was stronger now, an insistent pulse that made her fingers ache.
By late afternoon, the sunlight was waning. She stepped out for a breath of air, and the city seemed… quiet. Too quiet. The usual chatter, the clatter of cars, even the distant hum of the subway had muted. In the sky above, clouds swirled unnaturally, forming patterns that made her heart lurch. A faint shimmer, almost imperceptible, traced the horizon.
Sera's breath caught. She held up her wrist instinctively. The snowflake mark glimmered steadily now, no longer faint. Her pulse raced as a cold wind wrapped around her fingers, brushing against her skin in a way that was almost… sentient. She felt it — the world bending slightly, like the very air was listening.
Then, a sound. A voice.
Not loud. Not spoken. But it pierced her consciousness with clarity. Sera…
She froze. Around her, the city seemed normal again, the wind a mere breeze, the hum of life resuming. But she knew. She knew it was real. That single whisper carried weight, weight she had never felt before.
Her knees weakened. She gripped the railing of the fire escape outside her office window, heart hammering. Eight years of childhood stories, dismissed as fairy tales and bedtime fantasies, now surged forward, undeniable.
The Veil wasn't open yet. But something — something beyond human comprehension — was reaching toward her.
And for the first time, Sera understood that she was no longer just a girl living in the predictable rhythm of a city.
She was chosen.