"Long time no see, my old buddies…
Zayden. Darian."
"Or should I say, the ghosts of Virellan's finest? The perfect little weapons who vanished without a trace. Tsk, tsk… you didn't think I'd forget you, did you?"
The voice dropped, colder now — but playfully cruel, like a predator circling its prey.
"You were legends. Top of the ranks. Unmatched. Untouchable. The academy's pride. The only ones to get into the BTBT."
"You know… they still talk about you two in whispers back in Virellan.
The most extraordinary minds Virellan ever created… and now, just baristas brewing coffee and hearts like latte foam?
Hiding behind aprons and capuccinos, playing family in a little café while the world burns again. It's almost cute."
A new sound — a soft, digital beep — signaled the start of a live feed. The screen split: one view of Alric in his office, another of Mackiah outside the sector, headphones on. Shadowed figures closed in the background — barely visible. Each marked with a crooked smile insignia.
"You thought you buried your past deep enough. But the grave doesn't keep its secrets forever."
A soft, cruel chuckle followed, twisted and wrong. Then the voice dropped into something almost demonic.
"You're working for me.
Because no one knows how to dismantle a kingdom… better than the two who were trained to protect it."
Another pause — then his voice coiled like a noose.
"Tick tock, monsters. The war has started. And you either join me…or I take away the only two things keeping your broken souls glued together."
A long pause. Then Joker's voice changed — unhinged, guttural, almost demonic.
"Let's see how far you'll go to protect the lives you were never meant to have."
"Come to the coordinates. No trails. No tricks.
Or I'll make your pretty little family bleed in front of you."
A demonic laugh followed as the voice message ended.
The room was quiet, heavy. His men vanished.
The video feed had ended, but it left a shadow that seeped into every corner of the café — like Joker's presence was still here, smiling in the dark.
Kyrellstood still, shoulders tense. The crooked smile insignia still burnt in his memory, and so does that voice. That damn voice that whispered his real name-Zayden.
He stood by the window, eyes fixed on the empty street, lips pressed into a line. His hand brushed over the countertop — the same one where Mackiah first leaned awkwardly and flirted without meaning to. Where Alric laughed after his first sip of Ivan's cappuccino art. Where love bloomed… even if it was borrowed time.
Behind him Darian stood, fists clenched.
Ivan/Darian(quietly):
"We're really doing this?"
Kyrell/Zayden (soft):
"We have no choice."
Ivan breathed hard. His body shook — not with fear, but fury.
Ivan/Darian:
"He wants us to help him take down Kaelus? After everything we've done to bury that past—he wants us to dig it up for him?"
Zayden, calm and composed, didn't move. His hands rested on the edge of the counter, eyes staring blankly into the dark — calculating. A storm brewed behind his stillness.
Ivan/Darian(pacing):
"This is a goddamn joke. We're not pawns anymore. We're not his soldiers, his shadows. I say we disappear. Tonight. Take Alric and Mackiah, and vanish off the grid."
Kyrell/Zayden (without looking up):
"We can't."
Darian turned, livid.
His voice raised like fire licking old scars.
Ivan/Darian:
"The hell we can't! I'll burn every last one of his men to ash before I let him touch them!"
Kyrell/Zayden (quiet, calm):
"And if that's exactly what he wants?"
Darian froze.
Zayden finally looked up, his voice soft — too soft. The kind of calm that warned of something worse than rage.
Kyrell/Zayden:
"If we go to war now, we play right into his hands. He's watching them. Surrounding them. You lash out… and you become the reason they die."
Darian's expression cracked.
Ivan/Darian(quietly):
"So what? We just obey him? Betray Kaelus? Walk right into his trap?"
Zayden took a step closer, face unreadable. Eyes sharp enough to cut through bone.
Kyrell/Zayden(icily):
"You think I don't want to rip his throat out? That I don't lie awake every night remembering what he did to us?"
A pause. His voice droppee. Deadly calm.
Kyrell/Zayden:
"But right now, Joker's the one holding the match. And our lives… are soaked in gasoline."
Darian went still. Breathing hard.
Kyrell/Zayden (steps closer, voice now a whisper):
"You want to burn him? Fine.
But if you move without thinking—if your anger costs them their lives—"
He leaned in close.
"—I will bury you next to Joker myself."
Silence.
Darian didn't answer. He couldn't.
His rage collapsed under the weight of Zayden's words. Not a threat. A promise.
Zayden turned, his eyes scanning the café — every cup, every chair, every memory tucked into corners and worn-out cushions.
Kyrell/Zayden:
"They were safe here. We were... something close to happy."
Ivan/Darian:
"Then why does this feel like a damn funeral?"
Neither answered.
DuskHaven Café – once warm and bustling, now silent and broken.
Early morning light filtered in through cracked windows.
The bell above the café door didn't chime.
Because the door was shattered.
Mackiah stood frozen, one foot inside, staring at the jagged glass littering the floor like fractured memories. Chairs were overturned, the aroma of roasted beans replaced with a cold, metallic scent. The café, once a haven of laughter and safety, felt like a shell—emptied too suddenly.
He stepped inside slowly, heart pounding.
"Ivan?" he called out, hesitant. "Kyrell?"
Silence.
He rushed past the counter, peeking into the kitchen, the storage room, even behind the café's backdoor. Nothing. No blood, no signs of a struggle… and yet, something had definitely happened.
He pulled out his phone with shaking fingers and dialed Alric.
Alric's shoes crunched against the glass as he pushed through the broken entrance. His eyes scanned the mess, then landed on Mackiah who stood near the counter—holding two letters.
Alric's breath hitched.
Mackiah (quietly):
"They left these…"
(Kyrell's Letter)
To Mackiah,
"You brought color into a world I believed was meant to stay gray.
I've worn a thousand names, built walls out of silence, and lived a life sculpted by shadows. But with you… I remembered what warmth felt like. I remembered how to laugh, even if I didn't know how to breathe freely.
I never meant to lie to you.
I just wanted to believe I could be Kyrell forever…
For you.
But ghosts don't vanish when ignored—they wait. And mine just knocked at our door.
I don't know when I'll return. Or even if I will. But know this:
In every quiet moment, in every breath I take in that cold place—I'll be thinking of you.
You gave me a taste of something sacred.
And I will fight to return to it.
To you."
—ZaydenDrevarin
(Not just Kyrell Winslow)
(Ivan's letter)
Alric,
"Damn it, I never thought I'd be writing something like this.
You changed everything for me.
I was fire—reckless, scarred, always burning through life before it could burn me. Then you walked in—gentle, unshakable… and suddenly, I wasn't running anymore. I was home.
But I never told you the whole story.
I'm not just Ivan.
I'm not just your annoying barista or caffeine magician.
I was born in hell and trained to make it worse. I thought I buried that life. I thought I buried him.
Turns out, he never died.
They've taken us back, and I swear on every ounce of what I feel for you, this is the last time I let them win.
Just don't forget me, alright?"
—DarianDrestmore
(Your Ivan Hart. Always.)
Mackiah was silent, eyes glistening. Alric clutched the note like a wound was ripped open.
Mackiah (after a long pause, voice raw):
"He's not just Kyrell."
Alric (softly, in disbelief):
"No… and Ivan… was never just Ivan."
They exchanged a glance. Pieces falling into place.
Location: Inside a dim, armored transport vehicle—destination unknown
The vehicle rumbled softly beneath them. Zayden and Darian sat across from each other in silence, wrists unbound yet weighed down by the burden of the choice they were never given. Their expressions were carved in stone—Darian fuming silently, fists clenched; Zayden, unnervingly calm, eyes distant, calculating.
Suddenly, a device fixed on the wall lit up with a static flicker, followed by a slow clap and a familiar, spine-prickling voice.
J: "Ahh... my favorite prodigies. How's the reunion so far? Did the masks fit well? Comfortable enough, I hope?"
Darian's eyes flared. Zayden didn't move.
J: "Let's skip the pleasantries, shall we? You'll both return to the Virellan Academy—like old times. You'll smile, you'll spar, you'll be the top of the class again. But beneath that... you work for me now."
Zayden's fingers tapped rhythmically on the bench—he was already analyzing what Joker's game was. Darian scoffed, his voice cold:
Darian: "You want us to be your puppets?"
Joker's voice distorted slightly, then came back with a dark chuckle.
J: "Oh, Darian... you were always the fire, weren't you? But even fire fears the dark."
Then, his tone shifted—calmer, but drenched in menace.
J: "This isn't about loyalty. This is about survival. You both know every vein and artery of Virellan. You know its rot. That's why I chose you. Not to protect it... but to hollow it out."
Zayden finally spoke, voice low and lethal:
Zayden: "You want us to destroy the place that made us."
J: "Bingo! And once it's bleeding from the inside... we go for the god himself. Kaelus l, the so called Zeus."
A heavy silence followed. Then Joker added with feigned sweetness:
J: "Don't worry... Mackiah and Alric will be quite safe... as long as you don't disappoint me."
The call cut off.
Darian muttered, jaw clenched:
Darian: "We should've killed him when we had the chance."
Zayden looked out the tiny window, the faintest shadow of something unreadable crossing his features.
Zayden: "We still might."