It was like drowning in velvet darkness. No pain, no panic. Just... stillness.
Then came the sting of cold air and a pressureless fall, as though gravity had taken a breath.
Rafael Cruz opened his eyes.
He remembered the ceiling of that hotel suite, the glow of neon city lights streaming through the windows, the empty bottles, the echoing silence after the laughter had died down. He had felt powerful, worshipped, immortal. Until the numbness set in. Until the warmth in his chest faded. Until oblivion took him.
And then he was standing—no, floating—on a massive chessboard, surrounded by towering divine statues. Thirteen others shimmered into clarity beside him, each stranger carrying a weight of their own. A voice rang out, wordless and full of judgment, echoing in his soul more than his ears.
"Proxies of sin and virtue. Rise."
And then he was falling.
He awoke with a gasp, air burning in his lungs. Rafael shot upright, startled by the feel of grass beneath him, soft and alive. The sunlight above him was too golden, too perfect. Birds sang in melodic, foreign tones. Trees curved upward like dancers caught mid-spin.
His reflection shimmered in a clear brook beside him. He gasped.
Gone was his usual chiseled, tanned model's frame. What stared back at him was... ethereal. Luminous skin with a faint blush of rose-gold, silky silver hair cascading down his back, and violet eyes that glowed faintly with power. His body was leaner but more defined, carved like art. His ears now tapered into elegant points.
An Incubus.
His new race—tied to beauty, seduction, and emotional influence. It felt fitting. Too fitting.
"Whoa there, you're not from around here, are you?" came a voice.
Rafael turned to see a man in light leather armor, carrying a fishing pole and a half-full basket. The man offered a hand, helping Rafael to his feet.
"You dropped into the riverbank like a stone. Thought maybe the fae had cursed you."
Rafael smiled, instinctively turning on his charm. "No curses. Just... woke up on the wrong side of the universe."
The man laughed. "Well, welcome to Farindale. You're safe now."
Safe. Rafael almost laughed. Nothing about this was safe.
He tried to speak about the divine board, the voice, the other thirteen. Nothing came. His throat locked, mind burning with divine restriction. The words died in silence.
So... the gods weren't joking about secrecy.
He took a breath and smiled again.
As they walked toward the town, Rafael took mental notes. The mana in the air was thick. He could feel his own aura pulsing with something new—not just charm, but power. Divine power.
Temptation and Devotion. That was his gift. The ability to ignite desire, to amplify emotion—but also to seal it away, cleanse, purify. Lust and chastity, as twisted and divine as his own life had been.
He looked up at the clouds drifting lazily through the sky.
He had lived for attention, for passion. But in Auron, he wanted something deeper. Something real.
Or so he told himself.
Still, the game was on.
And Rafael Cruz would play it the only way he knew how: bold, beautiful, and dangerously unpredictable.