The building was modest, located away from the main roads. No doorman, no gilded mirror, no elite fragrance. Just the creak of an old elevator and the clicking of a flickering neon light in the hallway.
Natsa pushed open the door to his apartment.
Silence.
A sparse space, almost empty. White walls, a few functional pieces of furniture, a half-filled bookshelf, a katana hanging above a desk without a computer. Nothing too much. Nothing too personal either.
He placed his jacket on the back of a chair, unbuttoned the first buttons of his shirt, and dropped his keys into the small entry tray.
He poured himself a glass of water. No alcohol. The taste of the evening was already too bitter.
He sat on the edge of the open window, eyes lost in the city lit below.
The Roskarovs. A family of aristocrats disguised as wolves. And Claremont… this guy pays me a fortune, but no one seems to really know what he does. His name drifts like a rumor, never fixed, never proven.
He raised his glass, spun it gently between his fingers.
Maybe he has no real business. Maybe he only has open doors to forbidden markets. Deals that leave no trace. Or maybe he sells things… that aren't sold. Secrets. Names. Deaths.
He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back to Claremont's attitude. His theatrical flights, his tone of false grandeur.
_ "You and I could dominate the business world"…_
He smirked. A slight, almost mocking grimace.
He sees me as his secret weapon, his personal demon ready to spring at his snap of the fingers. He thinks he's found his Cerberus, an overpowered toy he can carry around in a gala suit.
He stretched gently, watching the moon slip between the clouds.
Ten million. To become his shadow around the world. Not bad… but not enough. Not to sell my freedom. Not without understanding who I really work for.
He finished his glass and stood up.
Tomorrow, I'll give him my answer. But tonight… I sleep alone, as I always have.
He entered the bedroom, turned off the light.
Only the moon stayed to keep him company.
The morning sun hit me square in the face as I approached the Claremont estate. The gate opened without delay. They were waiting for me.
I walked slowly, hands in pockets, the smell of chlorine reaching my nostrils before I even saw the pool. Claremont and his small army of bodyguards were there, in swimsuits, cocktails in hand, light laughter. An illusion of normality. A scene far too human for people who live in constant fear of being shot.
Then Claremont saw me. He jumped up, sunglasses sliding down his nose, a dazzling smile as if he had just found an old lost friend.
— My little anomalous bodyguard, he said with that falsely sincere familiarity he mastered so well. I hope you've thought about my proposal from yesterday. I know it's complicated but—
— I accept.
I cut him off bluntly, without even slowing my pace.
A silence settled. He stared at me for a second, as if he'd misheard. Then he shouted, bursting like a child who had just been given a rare toy:
— YOU REALLY ACCEPT?! This isn't a dream?
I raised an eyebrow, blasé.
— No. I accept.
In my head, things were clear. If it can keep me busy as much as possible, hoping Jamila's light energy will soon be ready to use… then why not?
And then… I want to understand why the Roskarov family is considered so dangerous. Because frankly, what I saw yesterday… ridiculous. A failed fireworks show.
They surely have more in store. And with Alexei Roskarov's overwhelming pride, revenge is a certainty. But I must admit… it's not just for that. I also want to know who Claremont really is.
I snapped out of my thoughts at his voice:
— Good. Today, I'm giving my guards a break. Tomorrow is my daughter's birthday.
I blinked.
— Your daughter's birthday?
He nodded, proud.
— Yes. A very little, charming girl. Very cute. She'll be ten tomorrow.
— Ah. I see.
He gave me a pat on the shoulder, like an old buddy.
— So today, rest. Tomorrow, be ready.
I stayed silent, but a thought was already growing in my mind. His daughter's birthday, huh…
If I were the Roskarovs, that would be the perfect moment to strike. Kill Claremont's daughter in public, at a party. The blow would be brutal. Irreversible. But only if they knew. And that, I couldn't say yet…
I felt Claremont's gaze on me. Intrigued.
— You're very composed for your age. It's… strange. But remarkable.
I shrugged.
— Meh. I get told that a lot.
If only he knew… That I am the devil himself. That I have existed for millennia. That his world, his money, his rules… are just a surface game to me.
I sat on a lounge chair. The sun beat down. The world laughed. But beneath the surface, tension was already rising.
And tomorrow… someone would probably bleed…
The night before the party, as the sun declined behind the luxurious walls of the Rüzgar estate, I slowly approached Claremont. He was alone, sitting on a lounge chair, a glass in hand. The calm could have lulled another's suspicions, but not mine.
— Claremont, I said calmly, did you warn anyone about your daughter's birthday?
He looked at me for a moment, surprised by the question, then smiled, that sincere smile he used only rarely.
— No, he replied. Only my guards know. And I don't even consider them strangers anymore. They are… already my family.
I nodded slowly.
— I see.
If that's true, I thought, then there's no risk the party will be spoiled. No risk at all. Everything is well guarded. Too well even…
And yet, a part of me remained alert.
The next morning
The convoy had set off early. Claremont had booked a private amusement park for his daughter, no less. A bubble of innocence in a dirty world.
The place overflowed with bright colors, giant mascots, spinning rides, and cheerful music. Balloons floated in the azure sky. Ten children, all from the little girl's generation, screamed with laughter. She, the star of the day, ran everywhere, laughing, her orange hair bouncing with every step.
She looked like her father: the same fiery hair, the same sparkle in her eyes. The same apparent carefreeness, maybe.
Around her, two older children sometimes surrounded her with kindness: a calm-looking teenager. His name was Nirel Rüzgar. Silent but vigilant, his gaze always on his loved ones. The eldest, Elvia Rüzgar, a young woman no more than seventeen, had fair, delicate skin, a gentle smile that contrasted with the world she belonged to. She shone without overdoing it.
Claremont had gathered them all, proud.
I stood, arms crossed, alongside the other guards. Silent. Watching.
And yet… nothing was happening.
The little girl laughed heartily, perched on her father's shoulders as they tried a ridiculous mechanical dragon ride. Further away, children devoured cotton candy, cakes, and ice cream as if the world would stop tomorrow. Park employees, well paid and well trained, followed closely. Security was tight.
Joyful music floated in the air, bubbles drifted, and even the guards seemed to relax.
Everything was going too well.
The little girl spun on a carousel with her friends, eyes shining. Claremont, laughing, filmed with his phone, visibly moved.
I had prepared for an attack. A diversion. A suspicious figure in the crowd. A drone. A gaze too insistent.
But no.
Nothing.
Just the joy of a ten-year-old girl. Just the warmth of a proud father. Just a perfect day.
And yet, a thought remained stuck deep in my mind like a splinter:
Too perfect to last.
Everyone had gathered near the park's big stage, decorated with colorful garlands and a huge three-tier cake. Claremont held his daughter in his arms, proud. Children jostled around, ready to sing.
And I watched. Not the party. Not the candles. But the surroundings.
My gaze caught a movement at the entrance. Figures. Eight men. Masked. Black glasses. Hands in their long pockets.
I knew it.
Too many aligned elements. Claremont Rüzgar's daughter's birthday? A godsend for his enemies. Kill a child, break the man. Break the heart, disarm the mind.
They pulled out weapons.
— Get down! I shouted.
But the first shot rang out.
Chaos exploded.
Bullets whistled, tearing through air and bodies. Vendors collapsed, guards were pierced. Blood on balloons. Children's screams, piercing. Lilia was already crying. Claremont, in a paternal reflex, held her close. He spun… then staggered. A bullet had hit his shoulder.
I reacted instantly. An overturned table. With a fluid movement, I threw it like a living shield. Bullets ricocheted off the solid wood before reaching it.
I leapt.
I took Lilia in my arms. Her face trembled, covered with tears. I laid Claremont on my back, without stopping.
We rushed down the maintenance corridors, to a locked room at the back of the park. A reinforced maintenance room.
I put down the father, then placed Lilia beside him. Blood flowed from Claremont's shoulder, but he remained conscious.
— Stay with your daddy. Don't move! I said firmly.
Lilia nodded, hands clenched, red eyes. She sobbed, but she understood.
I went out.
The park was nothing but a field of ruins. Stands on fire. Children fleeing. Guards fighting back. Screams, orders shouted into walkie-talkies. Bodies on the ground.
I saw a boy: lifted. Taken to safety. A little girl: torn from the chaos, hidden behind an iron barrier. Projectiles brushed past me. I heard nothing but rage in my veins. I dodged, slid, struck.
One by one, I put the ten children to safety. Then Nirel, found near a burning mascot. Spared. Injured, but conscious. Taken to safety.
But… one was missing.
— Where is Elvia?!
I scanned the battlefield. Called out. Shouted.
Then I saw her. On the ground. Her long, slender body stretched out, the top of her dress soaked in red. An open wound on her forehead. Another… in her chest.
— No... no... no... I whispered.
I threw myself to my knees. Tore my jacket. Pressed a knot against the chest wound to stop the bleeding. My hands trembled.
I touched her neck.
A pulse. Weak, but there.
I smiled, relieved. A broken smile.
— Hang on…
I opened my palm. My energy concentrated. Ready to use my powers to stabilize her…
But bullets whistled again.
I looked up. Three intruders. One of them fired. I barely dodged, the hot breath of the bullet brushing my cheek.
Without thinking, I lifted Elvia into my arms and ran at full speed. I slipped behind the stands, jumped over debris, pushed through fences, until I reached the room where Claremont and Lilia were sheltered.
I laid Elvia on the ground. Claremont let out a hoarse cry.
— Elvia?!! My God... Natsa... please... stop this massacre!
I looked at him. And I saw, in his eyes, not the order of a commander. But the plea of a father.
I nodded.
— Understood.
I stepped into the open.
The silence of the storm.
The eight men were still standing, spread out, armed. They still had the numerical advantage. But I was Natsa.
I dodged bullets. My body danced between bursts. My movements blurred. The first man received my elbow in the jaw. The second, a broken leg. I took the third's weapon and shot him in the knee.
The fourth tried to aim at me, but I threw a metal plate straight into his chest. He collapsed screaming. The fifth barely had time to raise his rifle before I was already behind him.
Two others ran. Bad idea.
I caught them. Crash of bones. Gasps ripped out.
The last one tried to beg. Too late.
A few seconds.
And it was over.
I stood there. Standing. Amid the bodies. My breath heavy. Hands still full of adrenaline.
I sighed, staring at the sky turned to ash black.
— Happy birthday, Lilia.