What happened?
Flynn's eyes fluttered open, the sunlight—or perhaps some other soft glow—filtering through unfamiliar curtains. His head throbbed, his neck stiff and aching as though some invisible hand had pressed it into a vice while he slept.
He blinked rapidly, trying to take in his surroundings. The room was quiet, far quieter than the bustling streets he had left behind. His eyes scanned the space: walls painted a pale, muted color, a small table beside the bed, a single chair tucked into the corner, and a few scattered personal effects that suggested this was not some impromptu hideout—but a place someone called home.
And yet… it was not his home. Not Miss Bretta's apartment either.
A sound made him flinch. Footsteps. Careful, deliberate, soft but heavy with presence.
A figure approached—tall, graceful, deliberate. Miss Bretta. She carried herself with a kind of measured elegance, a calm authority that both reassured and unsettled Flynn at the same time. She sat beside him on the edge of the bed and picked up a ceramic kettle from the bedside table, pouring water into a cup that steamed faintly in the cool room.
She extended the cup toward him.
"You're awake," she said softly.
"Miss Bretta… where am I?" Flynn's voice cracked slightly, raw from disuse. Panic and confusion danced at the edges of his mind. He looked around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings again. Nothing seemed familiar. The layout, the furnishings, even the faint smell of incense in the air—none of it belonged to him, none to the apartment he thought he had been in.
"One of my apartments in the city," she replied with a small, reassuring smile. "It's safe here. You don't need to worry."
Safe. The word felt strange on his tongue. Safe after everything that had happened… after what he had just survived?
"How did you… appear behind me?" Flynn asked, pushing the cup slightly away from himself as if its presence were secondary to the questions racing through his mind. "Who are you really?"
"Drink first," Bretta said firmly, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that left no room for argument. "Then I'll answer. But you must answer my question first."
He hesitated, thoughts scattered. There was no other choice. He took the cup, the water cool against his lips, and drank slowly. The liquid ran down his throat, soothing some of the tension, some of the lingering panic.
Bretta rose and moved to the window. Her hand brushed the curtain, fingers gliding over the fabric in a gesture that seemed almost unconscious, intimate—like she was reading it, feeling its texture and history with her touch.
"The city is dangerous," she said, her tone casual but edged with caution. "Who is after you? And why?"
Flynn exhaled sharply. His chest tightened at the question. He wanted to speak but found the words slippery, fragile.
"I… don't know exactly who is after me," he admitted. "But I have my suspicions."
He studied her carefully, trying to gauge how much he could trust her, and how much she already knew. "And why… why would they want me?"
Bretta turned to face him, eyes steady and unreadable. "I need to know whether you're part of the supernatural," she said. "I can't tell you everything otherwise."
Flynn's brow furrowed. "Supernatural?" His mind immediately drifted to the ring he wore, still snug against his finger. Could this be what she meant? Could she somehow… sense it?
The room fell silent, the quiet stretching between them, heavy and expectant. Flynn sat upright, legs dangling over the edge of the bed. His hand went instinctively to the ring.
"I have a ring with me," he said finally. "I think… that's what they're after."
Bretta's gaze sharpened. She leaned closer, taking his hands in hers. Her fingers brushed the ring lightly, then held both of his palms, examining them as if seeing something invisible to the rest of the world.
"This looks normal," she said slowly, a frown creasing her brow.
"No," Flynn said firmly. "It's not normal. It changes. I don't know how it works. I can't control it… but it listens to me, in a way."
Bretta released his hands, eyes widening slightly. "Tell it to show its true form."
Flynn raised his hand tentatively. "Hey," he whispered. "Show yourself. She wants to see you."
At first… nothing.
"She won't hurt you," he added, almost to reassure himself as much as her.
Then the ring began to shift. Dark red liquid seeped and oozed along its surface, reshaping itself into something ancient, metallic, covered with intricate, unfamiliar engravings. The energy it radiated was heavy and foreboding.
Flynn glanced at Bretta. Her eyes were wide, her expression caught somewhere between fascination and disbelief.
"You're not scared?" he asked, incredulous.
"Scared?" she echoed, a smile creeping across her face. "This… this is incredible."
She sat back beside him, eyes fixed on the ring. "I won't hide anything from you. You… you are part of the supernatural."
Relief washed over him, a small, sharp sense of security piercing through the exhaustion and confusion.
Bretta's tone shifted, serious now. "But there are rules. Ordinary humans must never hear this. And there are things I cannot reveal until you gain the trust of a god."
"A god?" Flynn's voice was a mix of awe and disbelief.
"In this world, there are gods," she continued. "Humans worship different gods. Your family worships Freya. Your best friend did too."
Flynn's mind struggled to process it. Gods. Supernatural beings. A ring that changed its shape. Everything from the past weeks suddenly clicked together in a new, terrifying frame.
Bretta held his hand firmly. "Listen carefully. This world belongs to both humans and gods. Humans can be ordinary… or supernatural. And there are three things you must always beware of."
She began pacing slowly, hands clasped behind her back. "First: supernatural humans. Second: knowledge. The more you know, the closer you are to death. Third: artifacts. Not every artifact is safe. Only those aligned with your god can be used without risking your life. Anything else consumes your life force. It can kill you."
Flynn swallowed hard, staring at his hands, then the ring.
"Some things are too dangerous to reveal before you are ready," Bretta continued. "Curses exist on supernatural knowledge itself. That's why I could save you—because my god granted me power. Supernatural beings gain strength from gods, complete missions, and grow. Evil gods… they demand dangerous, destructive missions as a test."
She moved again, from the window back toward him. "The god I serve is the god of concealment."
Flynn sat up straighter. "What's the name of your god?"
"You never speak a god's name aloud as a supernatural being," she said quietly. "If you do, they will know. You might incur their wrath. Remember: do not call the name of a god in vain."
Flynn's pulse raced. Fear prickled along his spine.
Bretta retrieved a small book and pen from the table. She wrote quickly, then held the page toward him.
MORVAIN
She glanced around, her gaze sharp, as though sensing unseen eyes. Then she tore the page into pieces and scattered them.
"The god of concealment granted me the ability to create clones and illusions," she explained. "I'm still at the ninth level. Lower numbers mean greater power. That's how I appeared behind you—a clone. Every god grants enhanced speed, strength, and agility. That is universal among supernatural beings."
Flynn lifted the cup and drained the remaining water. "So… you're not human anymore?"
Bretta nodded. "No. Not entirely."
"How can I get powers?" he asked, curiosity eclipsing fear.
"Pray," she said simply. "Choose a god wisely. Your abilities will reflect your choice. Not everyone can withstand a god's power—that's why supernatural beings are rare."
She stepped closer, eyes intent on him. "That is enough for now. Learn this first, master it, survive. The rest will come later."
Flynn lowered his gaze to the ring again. "Do you know anything about this?"
"I think so," Bretta said slowly, then added, "But first… we need to go somewhere. I know someone who might help."
Flynn nodded, his mind swirling. Everything had changed. Nothing would ever be the same.