Chapter One: The Girl Without a Name
Rain had no mercy in the city.
It fell in thin, sharp needles that pierced through torn clothes and soaked into bone. The streets were loud with traffic, but no one noticed the girl crouched beside the overflowing waste bin behind a restaurant that smelled of burned oil and stale meat.
She moved quickly.
Not because she was ashamed.
But because hunger did not wait.
Her fingers dug through black nylon bags, pushing aside rotten vegetables and soggy paper. A half-eaten loaf of bread. She examined it carefully. Mold on one side. She tore off the bad part and stuffed the rest into her mouth before someone chased her away.
This was survival.
She had no name that she could remember. No birthday. No memory of a mother's face or a father's voice. Only flashes—light, warmth, and something that felt like falling.
The street raised her.
The cold educated her.
And hunger shaped her into something harder than her fragile body suggested.
At night, she slept under the bridge near the river. It was quieter there. Fewer drunk men. Fewer threats. Though lately… something else had been coming.
She felt watched.
Not by people.
Animals avoided her. Dogs whimpered when she walked past. Once, she caught her reflection in a broken mirror—and for a split second, her eyes looked… brighter. Almost gold.
She blinked, and it was gone.
Thunder cracked across the sky.
She hugged herself, shivering, as she made her way toward the bridge. The streetlights flickered. One burst with a sharp pop, plunging part of the road into darkness.
That was when she saw them.
Across the street.
Standing in the alley.
Still. Watching.
Three figures.
Too tall.
Too thin.
Their eyes glowed faintly red.
Her heart began to pound, but her body refused to move. Fear was familiar. Hallucinations were not new. Hunger sometimes made her see things.
She turned away quickly.
"Not real," she whispered to herself. "Not real."
But the air changed.
The temperature dropped.
The sound of traffic faded into an unnatural silence.
Slowly, carefully, she turned back.
They were closer.
She stumbled backward, her breath catching in her throat. One of them tilted its head at an impossible angle. Its limbs stretched too long beneath torn shadows that clung to it like smoke.
This wasn't hunger.
This wasn't imagination.
They began to move.
Not walking.
Gliding.
Panic exploded inside her chest. She turned and ran.
Bare feet slapped against wet concrete. Her lungs burned. She didn't dare look back.
A sharp force slammed into her, sending her crashing into a wall. She screamed as one of the creatures loomed over her, its face a blur of darkness and red light.
Cold fingers reached for her throat—
—and then everything went still.
A new presence filled the alley.
Heavy. Commanding.
Dangerous.
The creature froze.
A voice cut through the darkness like a blade.
"Step away from her."
Deep. Calm. Inhuman.
The shadows recoiled.
The red eyes flickered in fear.
She looked up through blurred vision and rain-soaked lashes.
A man stood at the mouth of the alley.
Tall. Dressed in black. His coat unmoving despite the wind. His face was sharp, sculpted, almost unreal in its perfection. His eyes—
His eyes were darker than the night.
And they were not human.
The creatures hissed and dissolved into smoke.
Silence returned.
The man walked toward her slowly. Each step deliberate. Controlled.
She tried to crawl back, but her body refused to obey.
He stopped in front of her.
For a long moment, he simply stared.
Not with disgust.
Not with pity.
But with something far more unsettling.
Recognition.
He crouched down to her level.
Rain did not touch him.
"You shouldn't be here alone," he said quietly.
Her voice trembled. "W-who are you?"
His gaze softened—just slightly.
"My name," he said, "is Lucien."
He leaned closer.
"And I am your protector, Celestia."
Her breath stopped.
She had never heard that name before.
Yet somehow—
It felt like it belonged to her.