As the dawn broke, the soft light of morning crept into Ezra Kane's apartment, delicately filtering through the slats of the blinds. It spilled across the crumpled and tangled sheets of his bed, where the warmth left behind by Kael still lingered, evoking a sense of nostalgia like the faint whisper of a long-gone ghost. The air in the room was saturated with remnants of his presence—notes of cedar from his cologne, the fresh scent of rain-soaked clothing, and the somewhat acrid aroma of coffee that had been brewed hours earlier and was now tepid, an unattended relic of a bustling night.
Walked to his cluttered desk,He was barely dressed, his body slumped forward in an all-too-familiar posture of overwhelming fatigue. His eyes, glossed over with sleep deprivation, stared vacantly ahead at the holographic screen before him, which glimmered softly, almost rhythmically—as though it were mirroring the quiet thumping deep within his chest. That thrum came not just from his mechanical hybrid core, but carried an unsettling familiarity, reverberating as if it were a heartbeat echoing from a past life.
With each blink, he unwittingly found himself drawn back to that recurring dream. He could see in his mind's eye the winding stone arches cloaked in swirling fog. A magnificent throne, ornately carved with spiraling glyphs that seemed to pulse like veins, called to him from some ethereal realm. In that hazy vision, a voice, calm yet ancient—distinctly not Veyra's—came forth, clear as day, and whispered a single, enigmatic word: Morvyn.
Taking a shaky breath, Ezra exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing against the crumpled note Kael had left behind on the kitchen counter. The message read simply, "I'll handle Luka." Yet, those few words brought both comfort and an unsettling jolt. There was relief in knowing that Kael had a talent for resilience and protection, yet there was also a surge of fear that came from the realization that dealing with Luka Veyra was never straightforward—it was a daunting battle cloaked in layers of intricate strategy.
In an attempt to distract his mind from the haunting dreams, Ezra opened his laptop, but before his fingers could even rest on the keys, a new file blinked into existence. The title, **BINDING RITES**, stood out against the backdrop of the screen.
As he delved into the document, Ezra was met with a collection of sketches—intricate glyphs that glowed faintly in silver luminosity. What struck him with unease was that these drawings bore his digital signature, yet he was certain he hadn't created them. As he scrolled further down, a sudden flash of a vision ignited behind his eyes, of hands tracing those very same symbols across a body beneath a sky weeping crimson. His heart raced, aware that what he experienced was not just mere recollection but a tangible recognition.
He pressed a palm against his chest, feeling the familiar hum of his hybrid existence thrumming beneath the surface, alive with a deeper essence. The connection he shared with Kael felt more profound than the entwining of their fates through the parasite, transcending even Veyra's menacing grip—something ancient and soul-binding threaded them together, a shared memory that neither should have been privy to.
Compelled by an urgent need to reach out, Ezra began typing, his fingers trembling as he composed a message.
Ezra → Kael: "A new file just appeared. Glyphs inside. The dreams are relentless. Are you okay?"
The message hovered on the screen, unsent for what felt like a heartbeat, while the sun's rays flooded in brighter, as if pressing him to make a choice. Outside, New Avalon began to stir to life with the soft hum of hovercraft engines and the steaming evaporates of rain rising from rooftops—a symphony of awakening. Ezra gazed out at the bustling cityscape, wondering whether Kael was already involved in a direct confrontation with Veyra's insidious corruption, or if the symbols now etching their way into their dreams were the awakening signs of an ancient, far more perilous force rising between them.