The sun shone with cruel brightness on the day of Dr. Jane's funeral, casting long shadows over the cemetery grounds. Though the sky was clear, the atmosphere was anything but. It was Friday-three days since her tragic passing on Tuesday-and grief clung to the air like fog.
Mourners dressed in black gathered in solemn silence, their faces etched with sorrow. At the heart of the crowd rested Jane's coffin, adorned with soft white lilies and pale roses. A priest stood beside it, head bowed, hands folded in reverent stillness.
Among the mourners stood Lucian, his black attire blending him into the sea of grief, yet his eyes were sharp and fixed on the coffin-unblinking, unyielding. The weight of the moment bore down on him like stone.
As the service began, Jane's family members stepped forward, their voices cracking as they spoke of her gentleness, her compassion, and the unwavering dedication she brought to both her work and her relationships. Their memories painted a vivid picture of a woman who had touched many lives-and left behind a silence too deep to fill.
Then came the priest, delivering a moving sermon filled with words of solace and scripture. His voice was calm, yet the sorrow behind it echoed in every heart present. The crowd listened quietly, heads bowed, tears slipping freely down many cheeks.
When the final prayer was spoken and the ritual complete, people slowly began to disperse, making their way to waiting vehicles. But Lucian remained still, rooted in place by something unspoken.
His gaze settled on a solitary figure standing apart from the others-Elian, Jane's fiancé. He stood motionless by the grave, his dark blonde hair tousled gently by the breeze. His fair complexion looked paler than usual, and his tall frame, normally confident, now seemed burdened. His shoulders were slightly hunched, as though the loss had physically altered him. His storm-gray eyes, reddened at the edges, stared down at the coffin with a haunting stillness.
Lucian's chest tightened. A pang of guilt pierced through the grief. Slowly, he walked over to Elian.
"I'm so sorry, Elian," Lucian said softly. "My heart goes out to you and your family."
Elian turned toward him. For a moment, he said nothing, just studied Lucian's face with tired, hollow eyes.
"You're Lucian Williams, right?" His voice was barely above a whisper, rough with emotion.
Lucian gave a solemn nod. "Yes. I'm Lucian."
Elian's gaze lingered a moment longer before he looked away, his voice trembling.
"She talked about you a lot... Now she's gone."
With that, he turned and walked off, leaving Lucian standing in silence-his heart weighed down with sorrow, and something deeper. Regret.
He watched Elian disappear into the thinning crowd. For a moment, Lucian remained at the edge of the grave, his thoughts a storm of memory and grief. Then, with slow, heavy steps, he turned and made his way for the street.
As Lucian turned to leave, a female voice called out behind him.
"Lucian."
He froze. The tone was husky, confident—impossible to ignore. Turning slowly, his eyes fell on a stunning young woman standing beneath the dim streetlights of West Monroe, Louisiana. She had long, dark, straight hair and striking hazel eyes. Her high cheekbones and fair skin seemed to glow in the low light, yet there was something ancient in her presence, something that didn't match her youthful appearance. Lucian had recalled her to be the mysterious lady he saw on the street before the vision of the vehicle crash plagued him.
"I'm Rhyn," she said, stepping forward. Her voice held the weight of knowledge, calm yet commanding. "I've been looking for you. There's something you need to hear—something that could save your life."
Lucian tensed. Every instinct screamed caution, but curiosity tugged harder.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice guarded, quieter than before.
Rhyn met his gaze without flinching. "You're being manipulated, Lucian. There's a force inside you—something old, something powerful. It's not ordinary. And it's not safe."
Lucian's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
Rhyn's expression darkened. "You're a vessel to a powerful warlock who died years back—the reason you survived the car accident in shadow oaks is because the moment his soul was released, it latched onto you. Now, you're his host."
Lucian stumbled back, his mind spiraling. "No. That's not possible..."
"Lucian," she said firmly, taking a step closer. "You have to understand. He will take full control if you don't learn how to resist it. He won't stop. He will consume everything you are."
He backed away, panic rising. "Stay away from me."
He turned and began to walk, the world around him spinning with Rhyn's words. But her voice cut through the chaos, urgent and unwavering.
"Wait! I can help you. But you need to trust me. Come with me, and I'll show you how to survive this."
Lucian stopped. Slowly, he turned, eyes burning with desperation.
"Can you take him away?" he asked. "Can you make him stop?"
Rhyn hesitated just a moment, then nodded. "I'll find a way."
But doubt flared in Lucian's eyes. He scoffed, a bitter sound. "I don't even know who you are."
Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Rhyn standing alone under the flickering glow of the streetlight. Her eyes narrowed, focused on the place where he vanished.
She couldn't let him go—not now. Not with what was inside him.
With purpose in her stride, she moved after him, heels clicking against the pavement. Though she looked no older than her late twenties, Rhyn carried the weight of centuries behind her calm exterior. And now, her mission was clear.
Lucian wasn't just important.
He was critical.
*****
As they walked, the silence between them thickened, broken only by the steady rhythm of their footsteps on the pavement. Lucian moved ahead, his shoulders tight with tension, each step heavy with unspoken fears. Rhyn followed close behind, her gaze fixed on him, a quiet determination in her eyes.
They turned a corner. Lucian's eyes scanned their surroundings, his movements taut and restless, as if expecting something to leap from nowhere.
Sensing his unease, Rhyn quickened her pace until she was beside him. "Lucian, we need to talk," she said, her voice low and urgent.
He slowed, glancing at her with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. "What do you know about what's happening to me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Rhyn's expression grew grave. "I know it's something ancient—something tied to the warlock's soul. It's powerful... and it won't let go easily."
Lucian's eyes widened, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "So what am I supposed to do?" he asked, desperation creeping into his tone.
Rhyn reached out, her hand brushing gently against his arm. "You're not alone in this. We'll face it together, whatever it takes."
For a moment, Lucian stared at her hand, a flicker of hope breaking through the fear. Maybe there was a way forward—some path to reclaim what he'd lost. But when he met Rhyn's gaze, he caught the faintest glimmer of doubt in her eyes, and the uncertainty returned like a cold wind. Could he truly trust her?
Only time would tell.