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My head is a chaos. It is as if there were an incessant whirlwind where the images of the last few hours repeat themselves over and over, in a nauseating cycle.
My brain won't stop replaying the fight against Lumen, the demon minion of Luciel, the Regent of Gehenna, here, in this park on the outskirts of the City. The scenes repeat constantly: the look on Officer Montenegro's face as he took the dark impact from that demon before the creature itself was annihilated by the sunlight; how Lumen's shadow spear pierced his chest, and how the blood spread across the court. Even the scenes of myself trying to save him despite the 99.9% seal on my powers.
However, beyond this, there are also his final words, those of the oath he used to free me from the Prison where I was held before we faced Lumen together, and which he reminded me of before he died: to care for, protect, and guide his precious daughter.
All of this remains there, the scenes of the last two hours, spinning, preventing me from hearing anything clearly beyond the roar of my own thoughts, the echo of my helplessness. The wailing sirens, the muffled voices of the other officers, the movement around me—it is all perceived in a low hum, almost as if they didn't exist.
—Hey–
However, a feminine voice—clear, soft, warm even—manages to pierce through that barrier of shock and internal noise. It is a sound that, for some reason, cuts through the chaos and makes my head lift instinctively, my eyes slowly searching for the source of that interruption.
And when I finally see the owner of the voice…
—¡...!–
I am stunned. My eyes widen, and perplexity, along with a wave of pure and mute astonishment, sweeps away any other thought or sensation.
It's her! The same young woman whose image Officer Montenegro showed me on his phone screen in his Sehwert Base hours ago—the one I could barely make out clearly then due to the lighting.
However, she is no longer just a figure on a cell phone, far removed from this supernatural world that Officer Montenegro used to face. Right now, she is here in person, standing before me in this park stained by tragedy, under the raw and flickering blend of the patrol cars' red and blue lights and the first pale rays of dawn beginning to tint the sky. Her presence is overwhelmingly... different, and striking.
Her long, wavy hair, which in the photograph seemed like an uncertain blonde due to the lighting, now reveals its true and surprising hue: it is an almost iridescent silver-white, like fine threads of liquid moon or freshly fallen snow under a starry sky, cascading softly around her shoulders and framing a face of marble-like paleness.
Her fair, delicate skin highlights the intensity of her lips, which bear a vivid red tone—a bold contrast to the situation. At the same time, she is wearing an elegant black suit along with a white shirt that reveals the curve of her collarbone, next to the chain connected to her police badge.
However, it is her eyes that capture all my attention, those that steal my breath and send an icy jolt through my system. They are a deep, brilliant scarlet, like two glowing embers in the shadow of her face, observing me with a steadiness that is simultaneously piercing, analytical, and, strangely, devoid of immediate judgment.
The person in front of me—the Detective Montenegro whom the other officers treat with a mixture of respect and fear—turns out to be the same one Officer Montenegro had shown me before; the same one he spoke of before fighting Lumen, the demon who wanted to kill me to give my powers to Luciel, the Regent of Gehenna.
Yet, the static and diminished image on a phone didn't do her the slightest justice, nor had it prepared me for a vision so... singular and utterly beautiful.
—Eh…? –I ask, incredulity still clinging to my voice–
—The woman shows an expression of surprise, likely due to my gaze. However, as soon as I ask, her expression becomes calmer– Detective Salieri Montenegro Neiruk, from the Homicide Unit of the Central Republic National Police –She introduces herself, and her voice, despite the formality of her presentation, has an unexpectedly soft, almost melodic tone that envelops my ears in a peculiar way.–
Indeed. I am not dreaming, nor is my mind playing a trick on me as a result of trauma and exhaustion. The young woman with silver-white hair and striking scarlet pupils standing before me is, without a doubt, Officer Montenegro's daughter. The very one whom he, with his last breath, asked me to protect and guide in her likely future destiny facing hidden forces—despite his clear reluctance for her to enter this terrible path.
—...–A silence settles in as I process this confirmation–
I am truly stunned, not only by the certainty of her identity—the Officer's daughter—but also by her incredible and singular beauty.
I have met countless beautiful women throughout my hundreds of eons of existence; queens of forgotten empires, goddesses of extinct pantheons in other worlds, beings whose perfection defied imagination itself, and even females whose allure was capable of destroying entire Dimensions and worlds. But her... for some strange and inexplicable reason, I cannot compare her to any of the others, not even to my precious Lyra, and Lyra was also an otherworldly beauty (despite being from this planet).
In fact, just seeing her here, in the middle of this scene, under the raw light of dawn and the flickering emergency lights, stirs something deep within me. This—a resonance in my chest, an erratic and potent heartbeat that I believed dead and buried forever since my connection with Astel, my Fated Mate, the only one I could ever have and the same one I lost 1.5 billion years ago, faded away. And yes, this planet shares the same name as her, a common directive among those who hold the Title of World Administrators, or as beings like Astel are called here: Creator Gods. It is not something that she or I decided, but rather it is part of the World Administrator System.
—Gulp –I swallow hard. A swallow that even hurts as it passes through my throat–
Yes, it is a sensation so strange, so overwhelming, that it sends waves of chills through my body—not only because of how shocking her appearance is in this context, but because of the very nature of this visceral reaction that takes me by surprise; for it means that I have been granted a second chance, something that anyone of my Race would kill to obtain, as there are no records whatsoever of this ever happening before.
—Wait, wait! Control yourself! Did you forget that the Officer told you your duty was to care for and protect her? If you keep looking at her with those eyes, or worse, try something with her, I'm sure he'll return from Valhalla just to punch you –I try to reason with myself, searching for any anchor in this internal storm– Besides, remember the Officer told me she has a Fiancé, and one from an important Family that is also a Founder of this country, just like the Montenegro. You'd better calm down and not get your hopes up, even if she is the second chance Lyra probably spoke of–
With an effort of will that costs me more than I care to admit, my heart—which seconds ago threatened to run wild and break the chains of absolute mutism that the System imposed on me after the loss of Astel, and which had been there before I even met her, even since I was born—slowly returns to a more contained rhythm, weighed down by logic and the inescapable burden of my promise. Although the heartbeats, something I hadn't felt in a long time, confirm the second chance, it doesn't matter right now. Not in this context.
—Can you tell me what happened? –The Detective asks, and I notice that her voice, while maintaining a professional tone, is now perceptibly sweeter. Her face, previously serene, shows an unusual and slight blush spreading across her pale cheeks. It was as if just seeing me, despite my current state, caused her some kind of embarrassment or a reaction similar to what one feels when seeing someone who sparks a particular interest, or even a type of shyness as if she were looking at the person she likes–
That reddening of her face causes me deep puzzlement. A new sting of confusion that makes me wonder, why would she react like that? However, I shake my head internally, dismissing those absurd and strange thoughts that slowly creep into my mind.
What had occurred hours before (the Officer's death, the threat of that now-dead demon, Lumen, the oath I made with Officer Montenegro so he would release me from that prison where I fell when I arrived in the Central Republic, and also so he would help me escape my assassins) returns with overwhelming force, and my attitude, which for a moment was shaken by this unknown agitation, returns to that of someone withdrawn, distant.
However, unlike my previous catatonic state, this withdrawal is now more of a conscious escape, a way to avoid facing these new and confusing emotions that I cannot—and must not—handle at this moment.
Yes. It is fake. It is a complete act. But what else can I do? Right now, this is absolutely necessary.
—Haa… –A sigh escapes the Detective's lips. One that sounds like resignation, but also, curiously, like a slight relief, as if she too were grateful to escape a situation that, for some reason, she couldn't fully handle either.–
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After staring at the crime scene for a few seconds, at the shape beneath my feet, my mind instinctively makes me look toward a nearby masculine figure sitting on a bench in a catatonic state. A figure who, based on his body shape and height, might be about 27 or 28 years old.
And in fact, for some strange reason, upon seeing him—even without looking at him fully—my heart, or perhaps something else inside me, feels a mixture of pain and happiness. A mixture I have never felt before.
So, after asking the blonde officer at my side for his identity and receiving the answer that she didn't know who he was, I decide to approach him, more out of curiosity than anything else.
—Hey… –I say to him. However, to my surprise, my voice becomes softer than expected. A softness that, of course, surprises me, as I never even had it with my ex-fiancé, Calix Rockefeller, that unfaithful, incestuous bastard–
After a few seconds, he slowly raises his gaze. And with his every movement, my heart, in a sudden and inexplicable way, begins to beat faster than usual.
And when he finally looks me in the eyes, I freeze. Yes. He has a face that would surpass even the young-adult stars of current cinema; in fact, he is quite attractive. Although he is lean, I can see muscle beneath his formal clothes, and, calculating the distance between the top of the bench railing and the top of his head, I can tell he is taller than the average man in this country. He is surely taller than me, which should say something about his height, as I am one meter seventy. And if we add his fair skin, devoid of any imperfection, and his gothic touch, he would easily be perfect to star in any youth movie, like one about vampires or supernatural beings.
However, what catches my attention the most are his eyes. They are green, but for some reason, something tells me this isn't their original color. It's as if he were wearing contact lenses, or something I cannot describe, to hide another color. A color more profound, mesmerizing, lacking that naturalness inherent to humans.
—Eh…? –And then, he speaks. A single syllable, but with a tone so deep and mysterious, despite sounding surprised and lost. A tone that makes my heart beat even faster, snapping me out of the trance of his eyes–
Quickly, realizing my thoughts—the impropriety of them and the strange, simultaneously unnatural and natural effect he has on my body—I decide to exercise my Father's teachings to suppress my emotions and speak like the professional I am.
—Detective Salieri Montenegro Neiruk, from the Homicide Unit of the Central Republic National Police –I introduce myself, and my voice softens even more involuntarily, as if my own body had obtained a new configuration specifically for this strange man–
However, he doesn't respond to my introduction. He simply stares at me, as if I were some kind of monster or someone who shouldn't exist in this world. Seeing this, I can't help but feel annoyed with him. But it's not real anger; it's a theatrical, whimsical kind of annoyance…
Haaa…. Yes. It really is strange. Am I a teenager or what? By the Goddess, I turn 25 tomorrow. I shouldn't be having these kinds of thoughts, especially when, according to doctors, I have romantic-type alexithymia and am therefore aromantic. This is definitely not something I should be going through.
—Can you tell me what happened? –I ask, as a way to make him stop staring at me. Normally, I don't care if people look at me that way; it doesn't cause me any reaction due to the typical coldness I naturally exude and, as I said before, that psychological condition that prevents me from feeling such things for any man in general. But he, for some reason, makes me feel embarrassed–
However, he says nothing. He just continues to look at me with that lost gaze. Seeing that he won't speak, I sigh. A sigh of resignation, but also of relief, and I turn around to return to the crime scene.
Something that, frankly, I needed; because if I stayed near him, I wouldn't know what other strange things would happen to my body. In conclusion, it's better to stay away from that strange man.