2025-09-29 18:48:46Jazz still floated through the grand hall. Crystal chandeliers scattered golden light across tables dressed with champagne, caviar, and counterfeit smiles.
The guests—bankers, politicians, crooked businessmen—crowded around Damian Crowne, praising his latest shady deal that had just rattled Ashborne’s shadow market.
Jake stood off in a corner, his back pressed against the cold marble wall. He wore a cheap black shirt and worn-out trousers, a stark contrast to the silk suits of the guests.
Damian raised his glass high. “To the man who made the impossible possible!”
Cheers erupted, the crowd chanting Damian Crowne’s name as if he were the star of the night. No one realized the toast was actually meant for Jake.
Jake’s gaze was flat as he watched people drift past him.
One guest whispered loudly enough for him to hear, “Why is that guy here? He looks like a pizza delivery boy.”
Another snickered. Jake kept himself in check, gripping the glass of mineral water he held just so he’d have something in his hand.
Damian strode over, clapping him on the shoulder. “They don’t get it, Jake. Let them talk. What matters is—I know your worth.”
Jake looked at him without a smile. “Yeah, well, I’d like to take my money now. Can I leave? Honestly, I need rest. You people look like you’ll be partying till dawn.”
“Of course. But wait until the party winds down.”
Damian walked away, leaving Jake to sigh and head for an empty sofa.
When the party finally faded, Damian brought him into his study. The air reeked of cigars, the tall windows framing the city skyline. On the desk sat a small briefcase. Damian pushed it toward him.
“Alright. One million dollars. Yours.”
Jake flipped it open. Stacks of cash stared back at him—more than he’d ever seen in his life. His words, though, were flat. “We agreed on ten.”
Damian puffed on his cigar, exhaling smoke slowly. “The deal’s changed. The world is fluid, Jake. Learn to be satisfied with what you get. Besides, last time was easy—you had my team’s help. Next time, try handling it yourself, without me holding your hand.”
Jake clenched his fist. “You played me.”
Damian leaned in, his eyes sharp. “I saved you. Without me, you’d still be sleeping in a stinking alley, beaten up by some two-bit landlord. Now? You’ve got a million dollars. That’s more than enough to rebuild your life. Or do you want to crawl back into being a street ghost?”
Silence pressed down. Jake knew he was being strung along. But he also knew saying no meant returning to zero. Finally, he shut the briefcase and lifted it. “Fine. I’ll take it. But remember this, Damian—I won’t always be your pawn.”
Damian smirked. “We’ll see. Tomorrow, you’ll be back here anyway.”
Jake scoffed and stormed out of the penthouse. He hailed a cab to Ashborne’s central district, where five-star hotels lined the boulevard.
Neon lights gleamed off wet pavement. His heart pounded—caught between euphoria and doubt.
At the Celestine Grand’s marble lobby, he instantly drew stares. The place shimmered with white marble, golden statues, and the perfume of money. In his shabby clothes, Jake looked like a stain on the scenery.
A black-suited guard approached. “Sir, can we help you? Or… are you lost?”
Jake held his stare. “I want to book a room.”
The receptionist, a blonde woman with an icy smile, swept her eyes over him. “I’m sorry, sir. This hotel doesn’t… accept guests in your condition. There’s a budget motel down the street.”
Laughter rippled across the lobby. An old man in a gray suit muttered to his wife, “A beggar trying to get into the Celestine. Hilarious.”
Jake drew a breath. “I said, I want to book a room.”
The receptionist straightened, her smile sharpening. “Our penthouse suite runs fifteen thousand a night. I doubt—”
Jake dropped his backpack onto the counter. The motion turned every head. Calmly, he unzipped it, revealing stacks of crisp bills glittering under the marble lights.
The room went dead silent. The guards swallowed hard. The receptionist turned pale.
Jake’s gaze was steady. “I want your best room. Now.”
The receptionist stammered, “O-of course, sir. The penthouse suite will be prepared immediately. Please forgive the… misunderstanding.”
Jake zipped the bag shut with a cold smirk. “Good. Don’t make me wait.”
The security guard bowed slightly. “Our apologies, sir. Allow me to escort you to the exclusive lounge.”
Jake strode to the elevator, the lobby hushed. Faces that had sneered moments ago now watched in awe, whispers of admiration trailing in his wake.
But from a sofa in the corner, a woman was watching.
Her red dress clung to her frame, black hair falling in soft waves. Sharp eyes, a subtle smile. She had seen how the shabby man flipped the room on its head with a single gesture.
“Interesting,” she murmured.
She rose quickly, pretending to nearly miss the lift. She ran toward the closing doors, calling out, “Wait!”
The doors slid open again. Their eyes met.
The woman smiled. “Thanks for letting me in.”
Jake gave a slight nod. “Of course.”
She extended her hand. “Mind if we introduce ourselves? I’m Elara Claire Turner.”
Jake’s face flickered with surprise. No woman had ever approached him like this. He shook her hand. “Brad James.”
His usual alias rolled off his tongue once more. Elara’s eyes lit up with delight.
When the doors opened at his floor, Jake hesitated. “Uh, which floor are you on?”
Elara shrugged lightly. “Honestly, I came to see a friend here, but… I’d rather keep talking with the man I just met.”
Jake pointed at himself. “You mean me?”
She laughed softly, tapping his shoulder. “Who else? But if I’m bothering you, we can chat another time.”
As she reached for the panel, Jake stopped her hand. “No—you’re not bothering me. If you’d like, we can talk… in my suite.”
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
55
Fear did not arrive with thunder, nor with the violent crack of earth splitting open beneath careless feet; instead, it arrived like a subtle pressure against the mind, a tightening sensation that crawled beneath the skin and whispered warnings with a voice too ancient to belong to any living creature.The First City of Light woke to this tension, its luminous towers flickering in unsteady rhythms that betrayed the calm façade its architecture tried desperately to maintain. There was no disaster yet, no visible threat on the horizon, but every person who stepped outside felt a tightening in their chest as if the world had decided to breathe through them whether they permitted it or not. This was not panic created by imagination; this was the world’s fear bleeding through its lungs.Mira felt it instantly when she stepped out from the central root-chamber, the ground beneath her boots vibrating with an uneven pulse that matched the thrum of an anxious heartbeat. The sky hovered in a su
54
The morning began with a taste of iron in the air, the kind that drifted across the landscape right before a storm decides to tear the horizon open. People in the First City of Light paused mid-stride, instinctively lifting their faces toward the shifting sky as it rippled with pale green threads. The sensation wasn’t quite fear and not quite awe; it sat somewhere in the space between, like a word unspoken but ready to burn on someone’s tongue.Mira stepped out onto her balcony, letting the cold wind rush across her face. She inhaled deeply, and her chest tightened. The city’s bioluminescent towers were glowing with an unusual intensity, pulsing like frantic hearts. It wasn’t the gentle rhythm she had grown used to since the world’s rebirth. It was sharper. Faster. Uneven.The city was feeling something it had never felt before.Rage.She whispered, “Elen… what are you doing?”But she already knew the truth.It wasn’t Elen acting out.It was the world itself responding to something bu
53
The dream began the way most dreams begin—softly, without edges, drifting through the mind of a child who still believed the world was a place where everything could be understood if one only stared long enough. Lio had always been quiet, the kind of Resonant boy who listened more than he spoke, sensing the faint whispers of the living earth with more ease than he understood his own thoughts. When other children played near the glowing terraces of the First City, he lingered near the roots, tracing their subtle vibrations with curious fingers.But this dream felt different.It began with light, pale and trembling, flickering like a candle trapped inside fog. Then the light bent inward, collapsing into a tunnel of crimson haze. Lio walked through it instinctively, drawn by a voice that wasn’t a voice, a warmth that wasn’t warm, a call that carried familiarity he could not explain.When the haze cleared, he found himself standing in an enormous cavern lit by threads of dark red luminesc
52
The dream began the way most dreams begin—softly, without edges, drifting through the mind of a child who still believed the world was a place where everything could be understood if one only stared long enough. Lio had always been quiet, the kind of Resonant boy who listened more than he spoke, sensing the faint whispers of the living earth with more ease than he understood his own thoughts. When other children played near the glowing terraces of the First City, he lingered near the roots, tracing their subtle vibrations with curious fingers.But this dream felt different.It began with light, pale and trembling, flickering like a candle trapped inside fog. Then the light bent inward, collapsing into a tunnel of crimson haze. Lio walked through it instinctively, drawn by a voice that wasn’t a voice, a warmth that wasn’t warm, a call that carried familiarity he could not explain.When the haze cleared, he found himself standing in an enormous cavern lit by threads of dark red luminesc
51
The first warning was not a sound but a distortion, a subtle warping of the air that sent a faint metallic taste across the horizon. It drifted above the southern ridges like heat rising from cracked asphalt, except it carried weight—an awareness pressing against the senses of everyone attuned to the living world. Even those who lacked Resonant abilities felt the change, pausing mid-step as goosebumps crawled along their arms, triggered by a shift they could not name but instinctively feared.Mira registered the disturbance seconds before the shockwave hit. She straightened sharply, her gaze snapping to the far south where the sky rippled with unnatural tension. The clouds bent inward, as though pulled by a gravitational breath from deep beneath the crust.She whispered, “It’s happening again.”A Resonant guard rushed toward her, eyes wide. “The southern plates are vibrating in fractured sequences. They’re not following Elen’s rhythm anymore.”Mira inhaled slowly and felt the strain r
50
The city did not rise from blueprints or scaffolding or human ambition; it grew, inch by trembling inch, like a luminous creature testing its limbs beneath the dawning sky. The earth shaped its walls from living stone that pulsed with bioenergetic veins, and every tower curved toward the sun the way flowers tilt for warmth. When viewed from afar, the First City of Light shimmered like a cluster of breathing lanterns—alive, watchful, and intimately aware of every heartbeat wandering through its corridors.Yet even in its beauty, something restless simmered beneath the surface.A hum threaded through the city streets, too rhythmic to be natural, too intentional to be dismissed. Humans and Resonants alike paused mid-step, drawn by the echo vibrating through the root-grown bridges connecting each district. Even the glowing archways, shaped from crystalline sap, brightened and dimmed in uneven intervals, as though responding to a pulse no one understood.Mira stood at the center of the mai
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