The world seemed to slow down in the seconds after Elian's declaration.
Sophie stood frozen, horror written across her tear-streaked face as the men closed in. Elian's fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, but his body betrayed his fear—he was shaking.
The scarred man lunged first.
Elian barely dodged, the man's fist grazing his cheek, the force sending him sprawling onto the cracked concrete. Pain exploded in his side as another kick landed hard against his ribs. He gasped, struggling to breathe, but another blow came, then another.
"Pathetic," one of the men sneered.
Sophie screamed, but it was cut short when another man grabbed her arm roughly, twisting it behind her back.
"No!" Elian rasped, forcing himself to his knees.
Blood dripped from his lip onto the broken ground. His mind screamed at him to stay down — to survive — but his heart wouldn't listen.
He surged forward, tackling the scarred man around the waist.
They both crashed to the ground.
Elian swung wildly, adrenaline making up for his lack of technique. He landed one punch — two — but then the man's knee connected with his gut, driving the breath from his lungs.
Another hand grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up.
A fist smashed into his face. The world blurred.
Another punch. Another kick.
Pain was a constant, a river he was drowning in.
He was losing.
He was going to die here, beaten like a dog in the dirt.
Through the haze, Elian heard tires screeching. Headlights flooded the alley.
A sleek, black car — a luxury vehicle he couldn't even name — slid to a stop.
The doors flew open.
Four figures in dark suits and sunglasses poured out. They moved with the efficiency of trained soldiers.
"Enough," one of them barked.
The attackers froze, recognizing authority — or maybe something more terrifying.
The man who spoke flashed a badge too quickly for Elian to see.
The three thugs backed away immediately, raising their hands.
"Misunderstanding," the scarred man muttered, voice low.
The suited men ignored him. Instead, they surrounded Elian and Sophie, forming a protective barrier.
"You're safe now, sir," one of them said respectfully.
Elian, barely conscious, stared at them through blood-smeared eyes.
Sir?
He tried to speak but managed only a groan before darkness took him.
—
When Elian awoke, the ceiling above him was white and spotless, unlike anything he'd ever seen in the shabby dorms or clinics he was used to.
He was lying on a plush hospital bed, surrounded by the soft beep of machines and the sterile smell of antiseptic. His ribs ached. His face felt like it had been used as a punching bag.
"You're awake," a soft voice said.
Sophie sat at his bedside, her hand clutching his weakly. Her face was bruised, her lip split, but her eyes — those deep, haunted eyes — were full of tears.
"You idiot," she whispered. "Why did you do that?"
Elian coughed, wincing. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.
"Because... I had to."
Sophie let out a choked laugh that turned into a sob.
"You almost died, Elian."
He gave her a bloody grin. "Worth it."
Before Sophie could answer, the door creaked open.
A man stepped inside — tall, imposing, dressed in a crisp gray suit that probably cost more than everything Elian owned combined.
His face was sharply handsome, with graying temples and piercing black eyes that seemed to see straight through Elian.
He carried an air of authority, danger, and something colder — something untouchable.
"You are Elian Frost," the man said, voice deep and smooth like oil.
Elian nodded weakly.
"My name is Donovan Graves," the man continued. "I'm here... on behalf of an interested party."
Elian blinked. "Interested... party?"
Donovan gave a small, almost imperceptible smile.
"You have been chosen, Mr. Frost. Your life is about to change."
Sophie tightened her grip on his hand, as if trying to anchor him to reality.
"I don't understand," Elian croaked.
"You will," Donovan said. He pulled a sleek black envelope from his inner pocket and placed it gently on the table beside the bed.
"When you're strong enough... open it. Your inheritance awaits."
Inheritance?
Elian stared at the envelope like it might explode.
"I think you have the wrong person," he said faintly.
Donovan's smile deepened.
"There are no mistakes in matters like these."
Without another word, Donovan turned and left, his footsteps echoing in the sterile hallway.
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Elian and Sophie alone again.
The room felt too big. Too silent.
Sophie wiped her tears roughly with her sleeve.
"Elian... what the hell is happening?"
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
All he could do was stare at the black envelope — the thing that had just shattered his world all over again — and feel the terrifying certainty that nothing... absolutely nothing... would ever be the same again.
And for the first time in his life, Elian Frost wasn't sure if he was ready.
---