After a long and chaotic day—keeping up with the pointless whirlpool of school gossip, collecting every fresh drop of drama like a seasoned reporter, helping her best friend survive yet another heartbreak (the seventh this month… seventh), and somehow still managing to keep her grades afloat—Xalani felt like she'd been wrung out, hung to dry, and then stepped on for good measure.
Her backpack sagged halfway down her arms as she dragged herself along the cracked sidewalk. The sun had long since dipped below the buildings, leaving the sky a purple haze and the air sticky with leftover heat.
She sighed—long, heavy, theatrical.
I really don't want to go home… please let Mira be around, she thought, shoulders slumping. I can't deal with Father and—
"HEYYY, PRETTY GIRL!"
The shout sliced through her exhaustion.
A silver sedan screeched beside her, tires whining as it jerked to a halt. The smell of burnt rubber puffed into the air.
Xalani closed her eyes. "Why now," she muttered under her breath. "Literally… why now."
She turned, already preparing her deadpan glare.
"Uhm… who exactly do you think you're talking to?" she asked flatly.
The window rolled down, revealing a man with a grin so greasy it could fry chicken. His eyes sparkled with the kind of self-confidence only idiots and lottery winners possess.
"You see anyone else around?" he said, spreading his arms. "I'm talkin' to you, pretty mama. Name's Simon—AKA Simon Says. You feel me? But you can just call me Papiii for short."
The car erupted in laughter—loud, obnoxious, and painfully unfunny. It echoed off the buildings like the braying of dying hyenas.
Xalani stared at him without a twitch of emotion. Then she reached slowly—deliberately—into her backpack.
Simon's smirk faltered.
She pulled out a can of Coke.
She cracked it open. Took a slow sip. Wiped her lip with her thumb. And whispered:
"Oh yeah? …Come closer."
Simon blinked. His friends snickered. His ego puffed its chest.
She could practically hear his inner monologue:She's gonna throw it. Perfect. Then I can—
He leaned out the window, lips puckered, eyes closed.
PAWWWW!!!
Xalani's punch hit his jaw like a mortar shell.
His head WHIPPED back into the car door, cracking the window. Three teeth shot out like dice across the pavement.
The laughter died instantly.
Simon slumped sideways, drooling blood, eyes rolling.
His boys panicked, scrambling to shove open their doors—
—but Xalani was already moving.
She kicked the passenger door shut. HARD. Metal slammed into a forehead.
She shoved the driver's door back closed. HARDER. A hand yelped. Something cracked.
BAM!BAM!BAM!
Three doors. Three heads. Three idiots screaming.
Her hair whipped across her cheek as she slung her backpack over her shoulder.
Then she ran.
She sprinted like she'd trained for this moment her whole life—straight down the opposite end of the street, weaving between cars, leaping over a trash bin. Her heart hammered, but the adrenaline made her grin stretch wide.
Only after several blocks did she slow to a jog, then to a walk. She wiped sweat from her brow.
Weird… they should've followed me by now, she thought. No way those morons just let that slide.
She spun around, scanning every corner, every alley—
And ran straight into someone.
"Ah—!"
She collided with a solid chest, bounced back, and nearly fell—
—but a hand caught her wrist, steadying her, pulling her upright.
Xalani blinked.
Standing before her was Yuri.
Calm. Collected. A faint dusting of blood across his knuckles.
"Uh—are you okay?" he asked, eyes soft with concern.
"Y—Yuri!? Where did you—how did you—?? You know what—never mind!"
She threw her arms around him in a sudden, bone-crushing hug, screaming into his shoulder.
Not fear.
Pure excitement.
"YURIIIII! You won't believe what happened! I just beat up some nasty perverted dudes! They were like, 'Oi, we're big and stupid!'—and I punched their teeth out. ALL OF THEM!"
Yuri blinked, stunned. "Wow… that's… incredible. Did they hurt you at all?"
She smirked, puffing out her very unimpressive biceps. "Ha! They wish."
Yuri chuckled under his breath and rested a hand on her shoulder, letting her ramble as they walked. She narrated the fight in vivid, dramatic detail—claiming she took on thirty guys at once, dodging bullets, performing backflips, the whole nine.
Yuri listened quietly, smiling faintly the entire time.
He wiped the blood from his knuckles when she looked away.
Meanwhile…
A dark room breathed like a living creature.
Shadows clung to the walls, shifting and whispering. Figures stood in a circle beneath the low red glow of a single flickering lantern. Their faces were hidden, their murmurs cold.
Footsteps echoed.
One man entered—slowly, confidently. His hands tucked into his pockets, his posture relaxed, but the air bent toward him with each step, as though gravity itself bowed.
He stopped before a towering silhouette on a throne carved of black stone. The figure's presence was immense—quiet yet oppressive.
The man kneeled.
Then lifted his head, revealing eyes as dark and empty as a corpse's. No light. No soul. No life.
It was Duke.
"The weapon has reached the second stage," he said calmly. "It's time to commence."
A voice answered.
It was not human.
"VERY WELL. YOU HAVE DONE WELL. YOU SHALL BE REWARDED… HANDSOMELY."
The throne vibrated with the weight of the voice. The walls trembled.
"CALL UPON JUDGMENT," the voice commanded. "CALL UPON THE EYES OF DARKNESS. IT IS TIME… TO RETRIEVE MY WEAPON."
Duke bowed lower, shadows swallowing his grin.
"Yes," he whispered. "So shall it be… Father."
And as the darkness swallowed his silhouette—
Maybe… this is what living feels like, he thought.