"He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how."
— Friedrich Nietzsche
Alaric Vale despised the nights in Zenith City.
A sprawling metropolis divided sharply between radiant towers and dismal slums, Zenith's splendor was reserved solely for those who could afford it. Below the shimmering lights, in grimy alleyways and shadowy streets, Alaric fought daily for survival alongside his younger sister Lia.
Tonight, Alaric felt a sharper sense of dread. Pulling his worn hoodie tighter around him, its fabric frayed from countless nights of hiding and running, he moved carefully through familiar yet treacherous paths. Lia was home—safe, for now. Her protection was his lifeline, his purpose. He couldn't afford to fail tonight.
Murdock, who controlled most of the odd jobs in their district, had offered him a seemingly straightforward task. Retrieve a set of documents from Cassian's estate, a job pitched as simple and safe despite Cassian's reputation. Desperation forced Alaric's hand—rent was due, food scarce, and Lia needed medication.
As he approached the mansion, moonlight bathed the sprawling property in eerie silver. The open gate creaked slightly, swaying in the wind. His pulse quickened. The unnatural silence around the estate gnawed at him, amplifying his anxiety. Cassian's guards were notorious; their absence tonight felt deeply wrong.
He slipped silently inside the grounds, pausing immediately as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The courtyard was filled with lifeless bodies. Guards lay sprawled on the cobblestones, their expressions frozen in shock, blood glistening under pale moonlight. Alaric swallowed hard, crouching behind a marble column, heart hammering fiercely in his chest. His instincts screamed for him to flee, yet curiosity—his oldest vice—anchored him to the spot.
Suddenly, from the shadows emerged a figure draped in lethal elegance, an assassin clothed impeccably in a tailored suit, white gloves stark against the darkness. Alaric held his breath, every nerve tense as he watched this graceful predator move silently through the carnage.
Above, Cassian burst onto his balcony, his voice a trembling plea. "Please! Spare me! I'll pay anything you want!"
Without hesitation, the assassin's blade flashed—silent, swift, and merciless. Cassian's desperate cries ended abruptly. The assassin meticulously wiped his blade clean with a crisp handkerchief before tossing it carelessly onto Cassian's motionless form.
Then, with a sudden jolt, Alaric realized the assassin's gaze had shifted directly toward him. He froze, panic spiking in his veins. Had he been seen?
The assassin vanished instantly into shadows, but before Alaric could move, he felt the unmistakable cold kiss of steel against his throat. His breath caught, muscles locking tight as he turned slowly to find the assassin standing calmly several paces away, observing him with detached interest.
"Fascinating," the assassin murmured, his voice smooth yet chilling. "No screams, no panic. You accept death as inevitable, yet your survival instinct remains strong."
Alaric clenched his fists in frustration, thoughts flashing to Lia's innocent face at home, oblivious to the night's danger.
The assassin withdrew his blade slowly, eyes glinting faintly in the darkness. "Fate smiles upon you tonight. Perhaps we'll cross paths again."
With that, he melted back into darkness. Alaric stood rooted in place, trembling from relief and lingering fear. Staggering away from the mansion, his mind reeled with the horror he'd witnessed—and the undeniable allure of such lethal grace and strength.
Tonight, Alaric Vale had glimpsed true power. It terrified him, but in the harsh reality of Zenith City, power was survival. And for Lia's sake, survival was all that mattered.
The path home seemed darker and more oppressive than ever. Each alleyway and shadow carried unseen threats, each corner potentially hiding danger. His heartbeat never slowed, adrenaline refusing to subside. Every sound was amplified, from distant footsteps to whispered conversations behind shuttered windows.
When he finally reached their modest apartment, Alaric quickly entered, locking multiple bolts behind him. Lia stood waiting anxiously, her brilliant blue eyes filled with worry. Her white hair gleamed softly under the dim lights, her beauty marred only by the tension in her delicate features.
"You're late," she murmured softly, rushing forward to inspect him carefully for injuries. Her fingers trembled slightly as she touched his face, ensuring he was unharmed. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"
"I'm fine," Alaric reassured gently, forcing a calming smile. He carefully kept the details of tonight hidden, unwilling to burden her with the terror he'd faced.
Lia frowned, sensing his concealment but choosing not to push further. Her concern deepened into something darker, possessive—a look that Alaric noticed but dismissed as mere sibling protectiveness. He couldn't fathom the depths of her devotion, the obsession quietly growing within her heart.
Exhausted yet restless, Alaric lay awake long into the night, haunted by visions of death and power, of assassins moving through shadows. He had glimpsed a world beyond their daily struggle, a world both terrifying and alluring.
As dawn approached, Alaric knew one thing with certainty—his life had irrevocably changed. He was now bound to a path fraught with danger, secrets, and shadows. And somewhere deep within, despite his fear, Alaric felt the stirring of resolve. He would face whatever darkness awaited him head-on, for Lia's sake, for survival, and for answers about the mysterious assassin whose elegance and deadly precision had captivated him.