The rhythmic clash of steel filled the training hall — sharp, clean, and practiced. My sword cut through the air with precise movements drilled into me since childhood. Every motion was perfect, just like my instructor demanded, just like Father expected.
By the time I finished the final form, sweat clung to my temples beneath loose strands of hair. The fluorescent lights reflected off my blade like liquid fire.
The instructor clapped once, politely. "Excellent, Miss Rovan. Your father would be proud."
I didn't answer. I sheathed my sword, adjusted my gloves, and stared at the girl in the mirror — expression calm, almost bored. Behind me, the other students whispered, pretending to stretch. I knew what they were saying. They always did. Not about my skill — about my name.The Rovan heir.
Outside, rain slicked the marble courtyard, and the world smelled faintly of ozone — that electric tang before a storm.
I stepped out, wiping sweat from my neck with a towel embroidered with the Rovan crest. That was when I saw him.
Noah West.
He stood beside the black SUV like he belonged to the shadows — tall, silent, and rigid, eyes scanning everything. Even here, surrounded by harmless teenage girls, he looked ready for a war.
"Practice done?" he asked as I approached, his voice low and steady.
I smirked faintly. "You're early."
"You're late."
He opened the car door for me, as he always did — disciplined, professional, distant. Sometimes I wondered if anything could make him lose that calm.
I slid into the back seat and watched the city roll by through tinted glass. The skyline shimmered with neon and rain, drones humming between skyscrapers. Billboards for Rovan Industries glowed in the mist — A Better Future Through Bio-Innovation.
My father's words. His empire. His legacy.
I sighed and leaned against the window. "Ah, that reminds me… how's Father doing?"
Noah's eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, meeting mine for a second.
"No news about him yet," he said shortly.
His tone was flat, but I caught something in it — hesitation, maybe. Or worry.
But that doesn't bother me anymore. I'm used to his absence.
The hum of the engine was the only sound between us until I noticed the red flicker of lights cutting through the rain.
At first, I thought it was just another accident — common in the city when the streets got slick. But then I saw them.
Firetrucks.
Dozens of them, sirens wailing, racing past us in the opposite lane. Their lights reflected off wet glass and puddles like flashes of blood.
I leaned closer to the window, frowning. "That's… a lot of firetrucks."
Noah didn't answer right away. His eyes shifted from the road to the mirrors, calculating, always reading danger before it arrived.
Then, up ahead — I saw it.
A column of smoke and fire, rising behind the skyscrapers. It wasn't small. It looked like half a building was burning, flames curling high enough to touch the clouds.
"What the hell is going on?" I whispered.
Noah's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Sit back, Xeania."
Traffic lights blinked uselessly over flooded intersections as cars swerved in every direction. People were honking, shouting — some abandoning their vehicles entirely. Everyone was driving recklessly, like the entire city had forgotten how to think. Panic spread faster than the smoke.
A sedan burst through a red light ahead of us, tires screaming on the wet road.
"Noah—!"
He reacted instantly. The SUV jolted sideways as he yanked the wheel, the tires skidding but holding. The other car missed us by inches before slamming into a lamppost, glass scattering across the street like falling stars.
My heart slammed in my chest. "We almost got hit!"
"I saw it," he said tightly, eyes never leaving the road. His voice was calm, but his knuckles were white around the steering wheel.
Sirens wailed in the distance, overlapping with something else — a different sound, deeper, more frantic. It wasn't just one fire. Multiple pillars of smoke were rising now, scattered across the skyline.
"What's happening?" I asked, trying to sound steady, but my voice cracked anyway.
Noah didn't answer. He just pressed harder on the accelerator, eyes sharp, jaw clenched.
That's when my phone buzzed — a news alert flashing across the screen.
[NEWS ALERT | 6:47 P.M.]Breaking: Authorities responding to a major incident in District 12.Reports of multiple explosions and widespread panic.Witnesses describe erratic behavior among injured civilians.Citizens are advised to remain indoors until further notice.
I frowned, scrolling down as the car bounced over uneven pavement. "District 12…" I muttered. "That's close to the east side, isn't it?"
Noah's hands tightened slightly on the wheel. "Close enough."
"Do you think it's another riot?" I asked. "People have been losing it lately."
He didn't answer. Just kept driving, eyes fixed on the road, jaw locked.
Outside, sirens wailed like a chorus of warning bells, echoing through the dark city.
Noah's phone buzzed on the dashboard. He picked it up briefly, eyes flicking over the screen — just for a second.
That's all it took.
The world exploded.
A deafening crash tore through the air as a huge delivery van slammed into the side of our SUV. The impact threw me sideways — glass shattered, metal screamed, and the sound of twisting steel drowned out my own scream.
The seatbelt yanked me back hard. For a moment, everything was white noise — airbag smoke, the taste of blood, my heartbeat hammering in my ears.
Through the haze, I thought I heard Noah shouting my name — but his voice was distant, fading. The lights around me blurred and dimmed, swallowed by the pounding in my skull.
Then everything went dark.