The Flight to the Unknown

  Elysia walked out of the forest as dawn crept over the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of gold and crimson. The night had left her weak, but the vision had left her desperate. She needed to move. She needed answers. And for that, she needed money, clothing, and a way to disappear before whoever was hunting her—caught her scent.

  A World That Moved Without Her

  The dirt road led to a gas station that barely stood against time. A single flickering neon sign buzzed over the entrance, and the scent of burnt coffee clung to the cool morning air. A truck, an old pickup that had seen better days, was parked at the far end, its owner nowhere in sight.

  She glanced down at herself—make-shift garments of grass, leaves, vines, and barely decent. No money. No ID. No way to explain who she was or where she had come from.

  Elysia moved quickly, slipping around the side of the building. Near the dumpsters, an old donation bin sat overfilled with forgotten clothes. It was hardly glamorous, but survival rarely was.

  She rifled through the bin, pulling out a pair of dark jeans that were a little loose but would do, a hoodie that smelled of dust but would keep her hidden, and a pair of worn sneakers. She stripped quickly, slipping into the new clothes, rolling up the jeans and tucking her hair under the hood. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  The Cost of Disappearing

  Next came money.

  She needed cash, not credit—something untraceable. Stealing wasn’t something she liked to do, but now she had no choice. The world had moved on without her, and she needed to catch up.

  She entered the gas station, the bell above the door jingling softly. The old man behind the counter barely looked up, engrossed in a newspaper, while a younger guy in his mid-20s leaned against the register, scrolling through his phone.

  A tip jar sat on the counter, filled with loose bills and coins. Not enough.

  Her eyes flicked to the cash register.

  The younger man sighed, setting his phone down and stretching. “I’m taking a break,” he muttered to the old man, who waved him off without looking up.

  Opportunity.

  Elysia exhaled softly. She stepped toward the counter, flicking her fingers in a subtle motion. A spark of power danced beneath her skin—weak, fragile, but still there.

  “Excuse me,” she said, her voice steady but light. Magic tinged her words, weaving a simple suggestion. “I think you forgot to lock the register.”

  The old man blinked, frowning as if he suddenly remembered something important. “Damn it,” he muttered, standing slowly and opening the drawer to check.

  Elysia moved fast.

  A handful of bills slipped into her pocket before he glanced back up. She gave him an apologetic smile and walked calmly toward the door.

  The moment she stepped outside, she ran.

  A Ticket to Freedom

  A mile down the road, a bus stop sat, a handful of people waiting in silence. She bought a ticket to Seattle, the largest city nearby, where she could disappear into the crowds.

  The airport was another challenge. Without an ID, she needed a different way in.

  She watched, waited, and listened as businessmen checked in and families shuffled past with rolling suitcases. Then she saw her mark—a woman in a long coat, flustered and distracted, rifling through her purse for her passport.

  A gentle bump, an apology murmured, and Elysia walked away with the woman’s boarding pass.

  It wasn’t elegant. But it worked.

  Destination: Las Vegas

  She didn’t think about the risk, about what would happen if she got caught. All she knew was that something in her gut screamed that she needed to go to Vegas.

  Something waited for her there.

  Someone.

  As the plane took off, she stared out the window, watching the land stretch endlessly below her.

  Fire and shadow. And something in between.

  She would find out what it meant.

  One way or another.

  City of Echoes

  The neon skyline of Las Vegas stretched before Elysia like a mirage against the desert night. The hum of the city pulsed around her, a living thing breathing in light and excess. She stood at the edge of the Strip, her fingers curled around the strap of her bag, her heart beating to an unfamiliar rhythm.

  She didn’t know why she was here. Not really.

  Something had drawn her, an unseen thread tugging her across miles of open road, whispering in the recesses of her mind. It wasn’t a memory—not quite. It was more like a feeling, an instinct buried deep in her bones. And so she had followed, compelled by a force she couldn’t name.

  The streets swarmed with life—tourists clutching drinks, gamblers hunched over slot machines visible through expansive casino windows, performers dazzling the crowd with their acrobatics and sleight of hand. Elysia moved through them like a ghost, feeling separate from their revelry, their aimless joy.

  Then, the sensation sharpened—a pull in her gut, a whisper curling in her mind.

  She turned, eyes locking onto a towering casino at the end of the boulevard. It gleamed in the night, its golden fa?ade promising luxury, mystery, indulgence. But to Elysia, it was something else entirely. It was a beacon, calling her closer.

  Her breath hitched. This was it. The Midnight Mirage Casino. This was what she had been drawn to.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  But why?

  Her feet moved before she could think, carrying her forward, step by step, into the unknown.

  Visions of Ash

  Elysia stepped through the grand entrance of the casino, the dazzling lights reflecting off the gold-trimmed floors. The hum of voices and the rhythmic chime of slot machines filled the air, but none registered. She wasn’t sure what had brought her here, only that something—someone—was waiting.

  Then the vision struck.

  Flames erupted in her mind’s eye, licking up the walls, turning the sky into an inferno. The heat was unbearable, suffocating. Smoke curled around her, thick and acrid, filling her lungs until she felt as if she might choke. Somewhere in the chaos, screams echoed—desperate, pained, fading too quickly.

  Blood smeared the ground beneath her feet, pooling in jagged streaks along charred stone. Her vision blurred, but she saw movement—hands reaching for her, clawing at the air as if she were the only salvation in a world of fire.

  She wanted to move, grab hold of them, and save them from whatever unseen horror lurked beyond her sight. But as soon as she reached forward, the hands disappeared, vanishing into the darkness.

  A voice—distant but familiar—called her name.

  “Elysia…”

  She gasped, stumbling backward. The vision fractured like a shattered mirror, and reality snapped back into place. The casino’s noise roared in her ears, the flashing lights burned into her retinas. Her breath came in ragged pants as she pressed a trembling hand to her chest.

  What was that? A memory? A warning?

  She turned sharply, scanning the room, half-expecting to see flames still flickering at the edges of her vision. But all she saw were strangers, oblivious to the storm inside her.

  Recognition in the Unknown

  When Elysia stepped onto the casino floor, the world around her seemed to slow. The hum of conversation dulled, the flashing lights dimmed, and for a heartbeat, she felt as though she were drifting outside of time.

  Then she saw him.

  Ronan stood near one of the high-stakes tables, his towering frame exuding quiet dominance. His black hair was sleek, brushing against the collar of his dark jacket. His amber eyes were sharp and assessing as they scanned the room. There was an undeniable power in his stance, something controlled yet dangerous and yet… strangely familiar.

  The moment their eyes met, her breath hitched.

  Something deep inside her stirred, a flicker of recognition she couldn’t place. For the briefest instant, his face blurred—not from shadow, but from memory.

  A battlefield. Fire. Blood. Hands reaching for hers.

  She inhaled sharply, the images vanishing as quickly as they had come, leaving only the stark reality of the present. But the sensation lingered, pressing against the edges of her thoughts.

  Her lips parted before she could stop herself. “Ronan,” she whispered.

  His entire body went rigid at the sound of his name. Something flashed across his eyes for a split second—shock, recognition, pain—but he buried it just as quickly. His hand tightened into a fist at his side, grounding himself against the flood of emotions threatening to consume him. He had spent years preparing for this moment, convincing himself she was lost to him and would never return.

  And yet, here she was.

  He didn’t react beyond the flicker of tension in his jaw, his face a perfect mask of indifference. “Do I know you?” he asked, his voice smooth but devoid of recognition.

  Elysia’s stomach twisted. He was lying—she could feel it. But why?

  Flustered, she scrambled for something to say, something to anchor herself. “I—I need a job,” she blurted.

  A flicker of something crossed Ronan’s eyes, but it was gone before she could decipher it. “A job?” he echoed, as if testing the word on his tongue. His gaze flickered over her, assessing, calculating. “At the Midnight Mirage?”

  Her breath caught. The realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. This was his casino, his domain. She had walked straight into his world, yet she didn’t know why.

  She nodded. “Yes. I need a job.”

  Ronan studied her for a long moment before inclining his head. “Come with me.”

  As she followed him through the gilded halls of the Midnight Mirage, she knew one thing for certain—she wasn’t here for a job. She was here for him. And until she figured out why, she needed to keep him close.

  A Deal with the House

  Ronan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he gestured for a man standing nearby—an older gentleman with graying hair and sharp eyes. “This is Marcus, the floor manager. He’ll find something suitable for you.”

  Marcus gave her a long look before motioning for her to follow. He led her through the casino, past throngs of elegantly dressed patrons, the hum of conversation, and the distant chime of slot machines creating a strange backdrop to her thoughts.

  “What experience do you have?” Marcus asked, his voice clipped but not unkind.

  Elysia hesitated. “A little bartending, some customer service.”

  Marcus exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against his clipboard. “You’ll start here as a cocktail waitress on the high-stakes floor,” he finally said, stopping outside a sleek, velvet-lined lounge. “It’s a good spot. Generous tips. You keep your head down, do your job, and you’ll do fine.”

  Elysia bit her lip, glancing toward the lounge entrance, where high-rollers sat at their private tables, exchanging quiet words over expensive liquor. She turned back to Marcus. “Can I get an advance on my first paycheck?”

  Marcus hesitated. “The position comes with a clothing allowance and a room on the residential floor.”

  She blinked, stunned. “For a waitress?”

  Marcus sucked at lying. His expression wavered, then he sighed. “It’s… not usual. But it was requested by the owner.”

  Her pulse quickened. Ronan.

  She folded her arms, searching Marcus’s face. “Why would the owner request that for me?”

  Marcus shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at her. “I don’t ask questions about the boss’s decisions. You’d be smart to do the same.”

  Elysia swallowed hard, her mind racing. She had come here searching for answers, and now it felt like she had walked into a web of secrets spun just for her.

  She looked toward the gilded hallways that led deeper into the Midnight Mirage, questions mounting inside her. What was she to him? Why had he done this? And why, when their eyes met, did something deep inside her stir, calling to him like a memory she could not grasp?

  Shadows in the Penthouse

  The penthouse of the Midnight Mirage was eerily silent, the distant hum of the city below a mere whisper through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Ronan stood by the bar, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand, golden eyes locked onto the cityscape. The view stretched endlessly, but his mind was trapped in the past, replaying the moment he had seen her again.

  He had called for them, and he knew they would come.

  A sharp gust of wind curled through the room as Dorian materialized from the shadows, his presence like a specter of the night. His suit was immaculate despite his travels, his crimson gaze glinting with cool amusement. “They weren’t pleased,” he said smoothly, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. “But they’re here.”

  A second later, the double doors swung open, and Astrid strode inside, her presence filling the space with an undeniable authority. Candlelight flickered over her features, her aged beauty lending her an ethereal presence. Her robes, rich with intricate embroidery and arcane symbols, swirled around her as she moved, the weight of untold knowledge pressing into every step. The clinking of her many rings against one another was almost hypnotic. She knew why she had been called, even if the words had yet to be spoken.

  Behind her, Nyx followed, starkly contrasting Astrid’s mystical grandeur. She moved with calculated grace, her black tailored suit accentuating her sharp features. Her dark, short-cropped hair framed a face both elegant and dangerous, her piercing gaze scanning the room with the precision of a strategist. A silver pendant gleamed at her throat, pulsing faintly with contained magic. The faintest smirk touched her lips—amused but wary. Unlike Astrid, she didn’t speculate. She demanded answers.

  Astrid raised a brow, her voice smooth but edged with curiosity. “You dragged us out of New Orleans for what, exactly?”

  Ronan turned, finally facing them. His face was unreadable, but his grip on the glass had tightened slightly. “She’s back.”

  The words hung in the air, charged and heavy, their implications stretching far beyond the walls of this room.

  Nyx’s usually impassive expression faltered for the briefest moment. “Elysia?”

  Ronan nodded. “She walked into the Mirage tonight but doesn’t remember me.”

  Dorian exhaled, rolling his shoulders and stepping forward with the ease of someone who had seen this play out before. “That complicates things.”

  Astrid’s gaze sharpened, her expression unreadable, but her eyes showed something keen and knowing. “Does she know what she is?”

  Ronan shook his head. “Not yet. But she will. And when she does, everything changes.”

  A heavy silence settled between them, the weight of his words pressing into the atmosphere like a storm waiting to break.

  Nyx finally broke it. “Then we prepare. Because if she’s back, so are the dangers that come with her. And they won’t wait for her to understand before they strike.”

  Astrid sighed, folding her arms across her chest. “She’s walking into a world she has no memory of. That makes her vulnerable. And if anyone else senses her return… they won’t hesitate.”

  Ronan drained his glass and set it down with a decisive clink. “We move carefully. We protect her. And we figure out who knows she has returned.”

  The meeting was over, but the war was beginning.