Rain tapped gently against the single cracked window of my apartment, its steady rhythm the only real music in my life. The rest was silence, well, except for the occasional creak of the old ceiling, or the bark of Mr. Lee's angry Pomeranian in the unit below.
I was curled up under a thin blanket on a sunken mattress, my only real furniture besides a chair that leaned like it had given up on life. The room was dim, lit by a single desk lamp with a dying bulb, its soft flicker casting shadows on the peeling wallpaper that curled like old parchment.
And in my hands? My phone. The portal to my obsession.
Crimson Scars.
I don't remember when I started reading it. Maybe it was during the winter I couldn't afford electricity, when I used to sneak into the library just to charge my phone and escape reality for a while. The story pulled me in like a siren song magic, betrayal, and characters so deeply written they haunted my dreams.
But none haunted me like him.
Cassian Nightbane.
He wasn't the main character. Not the hero. Not the love interest. He was the villain. The monster. The one who burned cities, shattered hearts, and smiled like it was all a game.
And I couldn't stop reading about him. In every chapter, I told myself I hated him. Every new murder he committed, I swore I'd drop the story. But every time, I came back. There was something about Cassian something almost human behind those cold gray eyes, something the story never fully explained.
Until tonight.
Until Chapter 133.
My thumb hovered above the screen as I reread the last panel for the third time.
There she was Elira, the healer, the last remaining light in the hero's party on the ground, a dagger through her chest.
Cassian stood over her, blood on his fingers, the same smirk on his lips.
"Mercy is a luxury for the naive."
That was his final line before the screen faded to black.
I felt my heart clench. Anger bubbled up in my chest, then surged through me like wildfire.
"No. No, no, no ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" I yelled, nearly dropping the phone. "You bastard! You actual inhuman pineapple-headed, knife-happy psycho!"
My voice echoed in the tiny room, but I didn't care. The rage took over. I flung the phone across the bed, where it bounced and smacked into the wall with a soft thud before landing face-down on the floor.
The storm outside growled in response.
I slumped back, breathing hard, hands shaking. My vision blurred, either from fury or exhaustion, I wasn't sure.
I laughed bitterly. "Of course. Of course he kills her. Why would anything good ever last?"
A flash of lightning lit up the room, white and sudden. A moment later, thunder cracked so loud it made the walls tremble. The lamp fizzled. The power cut.
Great.
I sat in darkness, heart still thudding. My breath misted slightly, was it getting colder?
I crawled off the mattress, muttering curses, and reached under the bed to retrieve my phone. My fingers brushed against the screen just as another blinding light flashed, this time inside the room.
Then something snapped.
It wasn't sound exactly, or sight, but a tearing sensation, like the air itself split apart, and I was being pulled through it.
I screamed.
It didn't echo.
It folded.
My body twisted, burned, and froze all at once. Colors I'd never seen bloomed behind my eyelids. I tried to breathe but there was no air, just static, heavy and cold. I thought of my mom. I thought of my empty fridge. I thought of Cassian Nightbane and his smug, bloody smile.
And then...
Silence.
I don't know how long I was floating.
Time didn't exist in that space, only pressure. Cold, endless pressure like I was being compressed into a memory.
Then.
I gasped, choking on air like it was my first breath. My eyes flew open, and I was back. My room. My mattress. The weak light from the hallway slipping under the door.
Everything was still.
Had I passed out?
My hand trembled as I reached for the edge of the bed and pulled myself upright. A sharp ache throbbed at the back of my head. Maybe I hit something? Maybe I...
Crack.
The lamp exploded.
Sparks flew, and I screamed, covering my face as glass shattered across the floor. Smoke curled into the air, heavy and metallic. The world tilted. Something was wrong...really wrong.
My body began to seize.
Not like a movie seizure, with shaking and flailing. This was deeper. Internal. Like my cells were panicking. My nerves screamed. My heart stuttered.
Then I saw it.
A glow.
Blue and thin, like mist, curling from my fingertips. Fading in and out with my breath. My skin buzzed like it had been doused in static. I reached for my phone to call for help, but the screen was just white. Blank. Glitching.
A final jolt tore through me, and I collapsed.
I wish I could say my life flashed before my eyes like a movie montage, complete with sappy music and warm lighting.
But no. Dying wasn't romantic. It was cold. Muffled. Like someone had wrapped my whole soul in cotton and started dragging it away.
And all I got were bits.
The hum of the electric kettle in the morning, the only comfort I could afford.
My boss at the diner yelling at me for dropping plates I couldn't afford to pay for.
The cheap instant noodles I bought in bulk and sprinkled with crushed chili just to feel something.
The feeling of skipping meals so I could pay for my internet plan.
I remember staring at the back of my hands one night, thinking, Is this it? Is this all I'm ever going to be?
My name is Eliora Vale.
But no one calls me that. Not really.
My mom used to call me Ellie, back when she still called at all. Now I get "Hope you're eating" texts once a month.
My dad? He bounced when I was twelve, leaving behind a storage room of broken promises and a playlist I still can't listen to without crying.
I'd always been "the responsible one," the girl who didn't party, didn't date, didn't dream too big. Because dreams didn't pay rent. And dreaming was just a setup for disappointment.
But still… I dreamed anyway.
I dreamed in secret, buried under library books I never returned and scrawled fantasy worlds in notebooks between shifts. And every night before bed, I curled up with my phone like it was my best friend and I escaped. I let myself fall into Crimson Scars, the one story where life felt dramatic and sharp and alive.
It sounds stupid now. But those characters felt more real to me than most people I knew.
And Cassian Nightbane?
He was the storm I couldn't stop chasing.
I hated him. I loved him.
I wanted to know why he was the way he was.
And maybe, deep down, I thought… if someone like him could change, then maybe so could I.
---
The world around me began to blur. My body felt far away, like it belonged to someone else. I could still hear the storm outside, but it sounded distant, like it was happening on the other side of a dream.
Then...
Something cracked.
Not physically. Something deeper.
Like the universe had drawn a breath.
A glow flared across my vision, white and gold, pulsing softly. Then a voice, low and ancient, like it had existed before language itself.
> "You wanted to know him..."
"Then know him well."
My heart stopped.
And in the last second before my mind fell into that quiet abyss, I felt it.
A shift.
Like I was no longer falling, but being aimed.
Somewhere far beyond the thunder and webcomics.
Somewhere with magic.
Somewhere with him.