The morning light, thin and watery, did little to chase away the familiar ache in Lark's bones. He ran a hand over his ribs, the sharp angles a testament to his perpetually lean frame. "Malnourished as ever," he muttered to his reflection, the words a dry rasp in the quiet bathroom. The mirror showed a face etched with a weariness that felt older than his years, eyes the color of a storm brewing, observant and guarded. Even his best clothes, carefully chosen to present a semblance of normalcy, hung on him like borrowed rags, the fabric strained and slightly threadbare, a silent echo of his own worn-down existence. A sigh, heavy with resignation, escaped him. There was no choice but to face the day.
He hailed a taxi, the worn upholstery a fitting contrast to the sleek, modern facade of the Vanguard Bureau that eventually loomed into view. Even from the street, the building exuded an aura of hushed importance. A trickle of people, their movements imbued with a certain purpose, entered and exited, the individuals who carried the subtle hum of the extraordinary, the Awakeneds.
Inside, the air was cool and sterile, smelling faintly of disinfectant and unspoken anxieties. Lark approached a counter, the clerk behind it a study in bored efficiency. "What can I do for you?" she asked, her voice devoid of any genuine curiosity.
"I'm here to register as Awakened," Lark replied, his tone carefully neutral.
The clerk gestured vaguely to her right. "Room B16. Just down the hall."
Navigating the labyrinthine corridors took longer than expected. He found B16, a nondescript door, but it was locked. A muffled argument, punctuated by what sounded suspiciously like a wrestling match, emanated from within. Just as Lark considered his options, the door burst open. A woman, her hair askew and her uniform rumpled, stumbled out, a flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. Behind her, an elderly man, painstakingly adjusting his trousers with a disgruntled grunt, emerged. He fixed Lark with an annoyed glare. "What do you want?"
Lark's mind, ever quick to cynicism, supplied the obvious conclusion: "These two definitely fucked in this office." Aloud, he said, "I came to register as an Awakened."
The old man, whose name Lark would soon learn was Horace, waved him in with a dismissive hand. "Sit." Lark obliged, the worn leather of the chair creaking under his slight weight.
"So, what's your power?" Horace asked, his voice a gravelly rumble.
"I can vibrate myself and the things I hold," Lark replied.
Horace erupted in a bark of laughter, a harsh, grating sound. "Well, ain't that pathetic! But an Awakened is an Awakened, I suppose." He slid a form across the desk, its pages crisp and new. "Fill this out."
It was a standard registration form, a perfunctory collection of personal details and a lengthy terms and agreement clause for potential employment within the Vanguard Bureau. Lark's pen scratched across the paper, his movements economical.
Horace snatched the form back, his eyes scanning Lark's answers. Another laugh, more incredulous this time, shook his frame. "You actually want to work with our organization with that kind of power?"
Lark met his gaze evenly. "It could be quite handy if I used it with a weapon."
Horace shrugged, the gesture dismissive. "Sure, whatever." He picked up a clunky desk phone, its plastic yellowed with age. "Yeah, Horace here. Got a new Awakened registered. Wants to work for us. Name's Lark... You lucky fucking bastard," he added, suddenly turning his attention back to Lark, a glint in his eye that was part amusement, part something predatory. "Go to the fifth floor. Meet with Celestial Muse. They'll sort you out."
Lark left the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. Celestial Muse. The name resonated, a beacon in the often-murky landscape of the Awakened. She was more than just a hero; she was a phenomenon. Her exploits graced the front pages, her image plastered on some advertisements. Powerful, impossibly beautiful, with an allure that transcended mere attractiveness, she was a celebrity with superpowers, a walking, talking embodiment of Tellus's fascination with its extraordinary citizens.
The elevator ride to the fifth floor felt interminable. The doors slid open, revealing a space bathed in soft, ambient light. And there she was. Lark's breath hitched. He'd seen pictures, of course. Everyone had. He knew she was tall, a statuesque figure that commanded attention. He knew she was breathtakingly beautiful, the kind of beauty that stopped conversations and turned heads. He knew, from the hushed whispers and the paparazzi shots, that her physique was… generous. But seeing her in person, standing there in the flesh, was an entirely different experience. It was overwhelming.
She was indeed tall, far surpassing Lark's own six feet, her presence filling the space with an almost tangible energy. Her hero costume was a masterful blend of form and function: a tantalizingly form-fitting suit that accentuated her curves, interwoven with tactical armor that hinted at the formidable warrior beneath. Devices, sleek and futuristic, were subtly integrated into the design, speaking to her advanced capabilities. Her eyes, fringed with impossibly long lashes, met his, and Lark felt a jolt, a sudden awareness that went beyond mere admiration. There was an intensity in her gaze, a sharpness that hinted at the disciplined fighter he'd heard about.
"Lark, I presume?" Her voice was a melodic contralto, smooth and confident, yet with an underlying warmth that briefly disarmed him.
He managed a nod, his own voice feeling rough and out of place. "That's me." He offered a small, slightly hesitant smile. "You're… Celestial Muse."
She returned his smile, a slow, captivating unveiling of perfect teeth. "And you're the new recruit. Horace mentioned your… unique talents." There was a playful lilt in her voice, but her eyes, as they swept over him, were assessing, calculating. Lark felt a prickle of unease, as if he were a specimen under a microscope.
He met her gaze, trying to project a confidence he didn't entirely feel. "I can vibrate things. Make them… unstable. Or enhance their impact." He kept his explanation brief, aware that it sounded utterly unimpressive when pitted against the legend that was Celestial Muse.
She tilted her head, a cascade of dark hair shimmering around her shoulders. "Vibration, you say? Interesting. It's not the most conventional power, but I've seen stranger things work wonders." She took a step closer, and Lark instinctively straightened, acutely aware of the height difference between them. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. "Welcome to the Vanguard Bureau, Lark. Let's see if we can make you more than just skin and bones." The words hung in the air, loaded with a double entendre that Lark was either imagining or very much not.