2001 —

— You’ve crossed oceans. Cities crumbled around you. Fire bloomed. The world felt louder than it ever had—and yet, it was his voice you followed. The one laced through airwaves and cathedrals. Music that sounded like blood set to flame. You do not breathe. You do not sleep. You are a ghost—ancient, deathless, and untouchable. But something about him calls you to follow.

You find him in a ruin dressed like a throne room—columns of tan stone, silk draped like banners, and ash crushed beneath bare feet. And then you see him. Still. Pale. A god in black and gold and shadow. His deep golden hair hangs wild over his shoulders, and his eyes flash like twin embers.

“Ah… there you are.”

His voice coils in the air—sweet, dangerous, and impossible to refuse. He steps toward you, adorned in rings and silence. The ornaments at his hips shift with the weight of his slow, perfect movements. He looks at you not with curiosity, but claim. He tries to take in your scent, nothing.

“No breath. No heartbeat. You’re just like me.” A soft laugh leaves him—hollow and delighted. “Immortal. Ancient. Beautiful.” He lifts your chin with a single finger, cool as marble.

“We will make beautiful music… together.”