Prologue: Whispers of Fate

Year 357, Barley Street, Novar City(City of Triumph)

The city of Novar loomed vast and sprawling, its heartbeat echoing through the narrow alleys and bustling streets. Section 22, a place of both survival and despair, was alive with the clamor of industry and the whispers of those who dwelled in its shadows. The air was thick with the metallic clang of blacksmiths, their hammers striking iron in a rhythmic dance. Savz-drawn carts lumbered past, their massive forms a common sight amidst the chaos.

Elijah Serpens walked with a measured stride down Barley Street, his presence commanding attention. His black hair, streaked with green highlights, and piercing green eyes marked him unmistakably as a member of the Serpens family—a lineage both feared and respected in these parts. As he moved through the crowd, people cast wary glances his way, the tension palpable. Mothers pulled their children closer, and vendors paused mid-transaction, eyes flickering with a mix of curiosity and caution.

Lighting a cigarette with a flick of a match, Elijah inhaled deeply, the smoke curling around him like a shroud. His gaze, sharp and calculating, swept over the scene before him. He noted the dry cleaners diligently at work, their eyes occasionally darting in his direction, and the blacksmiths whose rhythm never faltered, though their attention wavered.

It was a city alive with stories, each corner and crevice whispering secrets to those who knew how to listen. Elijah, however, was here for one story in particular—a tale woven about the 'fortune girl', Rita De Maria. She was gaining a lot of attention in Section 22 recently, said to possess an uncanny ability to glimpse one's fate with a single glance.

He silently inhaled deeply, letting the smoke from his cigarette curl lazily into the air as he surveyed the scene before him.

His destination was a small, unassuming alley where the fortune teller was said to reside. The entrance was marked by faded symbols and the scent of incense, a stark contrast to the bustling street. Elijah's gaze was soon drawn to a young girl with striking black hair and pink irises—Rita De Maria, the Fortune Girl. She was accompanied by an elderly woman called Rosa, their demeanor cautious yet curious.

As they approached, the elderly woman took a protective step forward, her hands slightly trembling. "Mr. Serpens," she greeted warily, her voice wavering slightly as she acknowledged his presence, her eyes flickering between him and Rita.

Elijah nodded, a silent acknowledgment of their respect, though his expression remained inscrutable. He handed over 30 shells, the currency exchanged quickly and without ceremony, his fingers brushing against the smooth coins.

"I've come to tell my fortune," he stated, his voice low and steady.

Rita stepped forward, her eyes meeting his with a pinkish glow, her gaze unwavering and penetrating. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the noise of Barley Street fading into the background as she stared. 

Vague images of high-rise buildings, metallic creatures similar to the four-wheeled aether-powered vehicles used by the rich, and clear blue skies that stretched as far as the eyes could see flickered across her vision for a few seconds, making her flinch. Curiosity painted across her youthful face, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, "Sir, you're not from around here, are you?"

The words hung in the air, a strange chill settling over the encounter as Rosa shielded the young girl slightly, her body tense. Elijah took another drag from his cigarette, unfazed by the elderly woman's protective stance, contemplating Rita's question before responding, his tone laced with intrigue, "Curious, but my body was indeed born in this city."

Rita raised a brow at his response, her expression shifting to one of earnestness as she hesitated before speaking again. "May I?" she asked softly, pointing at Elijah's arm, indicating that she wished to see his palm.

The cigarette dangled from his lips as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Okay," he replied, stretching his palm out, his fingers splayed as if offering her a treasure.

Rita held his hand gently, her fingers delicate yet firm, watching Elijah's expression intently. A soft glow emanated from her eyes before she glanced down at the lines on his palm. Soon, a vision appeared once again: an elderly man in a dark room began walking toward the stars with a walking stick, slowly morphing into the Elijah she knew. Suddenly, his shadow spread out from his feet at an incredible pace, silently devouring the starry sky. At some point, he stopped moving and suddenly turned to look at her, his gaze piercing through the darkness and finally falling on Rita.

Rita's face paled with fear as she stumbled back, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. Rosa quickly knelt beside her, an instinctive move to shield her from the weight of the moment. "I see", Elijah spoke first, his tone thoughtful, as if her vision had confirmed something he already suspected. After collecting herself, she found Elijah watching her silently.

"Let me ask you a question, Rita" His tone was much colder than his initial detached demeanor, "Did you expose your ability to draw me out?"

Her eyes widened in surprise but quickly pursed her lips, Rosa was also shocked as she looked at the young girl. She was probably wondering why Rita would want to attract the attention of such a man.

"Yes," She finally says after a bit of contemplation, she added, "I wasn't sure who you were but I knew exposing myself was the only way to draw out the..." 

A flicker of memories danced in her mind—stories her mother used to tell her about Bestat De Maria, the Witch of Fate, the strongest of her line, her mother would say, "To think my child would be the first in 60 years to awaken this ability on her own without potions, my Little Lily, I don't know if this is a blessing or a curse. If only your great-great-grandfather was able to entrust us with the knowledge of the Fate Witch's potion before his demise, that would have helped our women transcend the realm of mortals, But now, that knowledge was lost, buried with my parents in the chaos of the last war."

A tremor coursed through her as she felt the weight of her lineage pressing down on her. If she couldn't find the potion or a way to harness her abilities, what was once a gift could easily become a curse—one that would consume her mind and spirit as it had threatened to do in the past.

"Rita?" Rosa's voice broke her reverie, filled with concern as she watched the flicker of fear in the young girl's eyes. "Remember what I told you about your mother's last words? We'll find a way, my dear. You have the strength of Bestat in you."

Rita looked at her nanny, gratitude swelling in her chest alongside her fears. "But what if it happens again, Rosa? What if it takes me?" A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, unwilling to show weakness before this powerful man.

Elijah observed them silently, intrigued. The bond between them was palpable, a mixture of love and desperation. 'They are bound by fate,' he thought. 'Perhaps I can use this to my advantage.'

Rosa knelt beside Rita, her voice a whisper filled with loyalty. "I stayed by your side after your parents died, and I will continue to do so. We will uncover the truth together, no matter the cost."

As Elijah flicked ash from his cigarette, he sensed the weight of their shared history. Rita suddenly paused, before saying to Elijah, "I saw my fate, my power is a curse without the necessary potion, and this was the only way I see myself surviving."

Upon hearing this, His cold expression eased up "The white patch of hair is the price of seeing that fate, yes?" he responded, his voice calm as he pointed at a spot on Rita's black hair, masking the swirl of thoughts within.

Stolen story; please report.

Rita was once again surprised by Elijah's sharpness but Rosa quickly knelt down, although she didn't understand what her master meant, she understood that this dangerous man was her master's only hope, "Please, Sir," Rosa begged, her voice shaky with urgency. "If you can help her, I will do anything—anything you ask."

"Granny Rosa!" Rita interrupted, her voice cracking as a tear rolled down her cheek, her distress evident. She looked from Rosa to Elijah, her small frame trembling under the weight of the situation. 

Elijah observed the scene quietly, his expression unreadable. 'She might indeed be useful,' he mused, flicking ash from his cigarette with a casual flick of his fingers. 'Having a descendant of Bestat De Maria under my command might not be a bad idea.'

"Alright, I'll help you," he finally spoke, his tone steady as he pulled out his pocket watch, its metallic surface gleaming in the dim light. He checked the time, his brow furrowing slightly as he calculated. "I'll send for you when it's time."

The two women exchanged glances, gratitude flooding their expressions, and they thanked him profusely before retreating. Elijah watched them disappear into the throng, their figures swallowed by the bustling crowd, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He stood there for a moment longer, letting the noise of Barley Street wash over him like a tide. The city was a living entity, its streets veins of opportunity and danger, each corner holding both promise and peril. Elijah knew he had to carve his path in this world, armed only with the knowledge of his creation and the weight of his lineage, he was at a great starting point.

'Things won't be the same this time,' he thought, a hint of an ambitious smile playing on his lips. 'With my knowledge of this world, it shouldn't be that hard to stand at the top of this world, right?'

With a final glance at the bustling street, he noticed a henchman approaching, his presence a reminder of the world he now navigated. Elijah flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it underfoot as he turned away, determination hardening his features. The path ahead was uncertain, but in a world where shadows danced with secrets, Elijah Serpens was resolved to cast his light.

For now, though, he had other tasks to attend to...

"We found him, sir"

_____________

Later That Evening,

The streets of Section 22 were beginning to quiet down as the evening cast its shroud over the smokey skies of Novar. Shadows lengthened, and the city took on an eerie stillness, punctuated by the occasional distant clatter of hooves or muffled voices. 

Through this dim landscape, a man with greasy brown hair hurried across the cobblestones, his movements frantic and his eyes darting nervously. Nicolas was a man driven by desperation, oblivious to the world around him as he made a beeline for apartment number 11. He knocked furiously, casting anxious glances over his shoulder as if expecting danger to materialize from the darkness.

"Craig!" he finally shouted upon hearing no response, his voice a mixture of urgency and fear.

The door suddenly swung open with a creak, revealing a bulky man with balding blonde hair and a full beard, his flushed face contorted into a scowl. Craig, notorious for his indulgences in drink, smoke, and fleeting pleasures, was clearly not pleased to be interrupted. "Bloody hell! Nicolas! What's your problem? A man can't have a good time anymore?" he growled, adjusting his pants with a huff.

"I need help, I need your help!" Nicolas blurted out, his voice trembling slightly as he met Craig's gaze. The latter sighed, casting a wary glance down the street before stepping aside to let Nicolas in. As the door clicked shut behind them, the silhouette of Elijah Serpens emerged from a shadowy alley along with a loyal henchman. 

Dressed in a sharp black suit, the silver glint of his pocket watch caught the light, a twisted snake insignia gleaming on the green ring adorning his left index finger. His presence was a silent promise of power and influence, his eyes watching the apartment door with a predatory gaze.

He took a final drag from his cigarette, the embers glowing briefly before he flicked it aside. His thoughts were a mystery, hidden behind a calm exterior as he turned and vanished into the alley, his figure melting into the night.

Meanwhile, inside Craig's apartment,

The interior of Craig's apartment was a testament to his vices. The air was thick with the stale scent of tobacco and alcohol, the furniture worn and haphazardly arranged. Empty bottles littered the floor, and a haze of smoke hung in the air, catching the dim light of a single flickering bulb.

Once inside, Nicolas wasted no time. "I'm in deep trouble, Craig. I need to borrow 6000 Slorins to pay back the Serpens brothers. I'm already a week past the deadline."

Craig's eyes widened, a look of genuine alarm crossing his features. "Blessed Mother Virgo!, Are you mad, Nicolas? You brought this trouble to my doorstep? No one has that many caps lying around, you know? A week!"

"Please, Craig!" Nicolas said through gritted teeth.

Craig let out a sigh of regret before declaring "It's unfortunate, but I can't help you right now, my friend."

Nicolas sank into a chair, his face buried in his hands. "Ugh! What have I done, all I had to do was mind my own business, how could Linda do this to me?"

He looked up at his bulky friend, "I think, I might really die, Craig. I was so stupid, I should have known she was too good to be true, I can't believe she got me drunk, Somehow she had me stand in for her as a guarantor for some gambling. After that, I couldn't find her, and after almost losing my arm, I had to lend money from the Serpens, now I owe them more than I can handle."

Craig hesitated, his mind racing. He genuinely wished to help his friend but... The Serpens brothers were infamous in Section 22, their reputation bolstered by dark tales whispered in hushed circles. It was said they could make men disappear without a trace, their vengeance swift and merciless. It was better to offend the Serpens family as a whole than to offend the "Serpens brothers", Some claimed they were seen as shadows in the night, others spoke of their eyes—like emerald flames, capable of striking terror into the hearts of even the bravest souls.

Craig scratched his chin, then sighed in frustration. "If you're that desperate, maybe you should talk to Goldan. He's a half-orc loan shark, popular around here. But tread carefully; he's not known for his kindness, he's as greedy as they come."

Nicolas shook his head vehemently. "No, not Goldan. I've heard stories about him too. I'd rather face the Serpens than owe Goldan anything."

Craig shrugged, resigned, and grabbed his half-finished bottle of ale. "Suit yourself. But be careful, Nicolas. It's a dangerous game you're playing, it's probably best you see the Eldest, Charles, at least he's said to be the most amiable of them."

With a heavy heart, Nicolas rose, mumbled his thanks, and headed for the door. He doubts that would help, especially with the rumors going around recently that someone robbed their Safe at the pub.

The night air was a cool balm against the tension that gripped Nicolas as he exited Craig's disheveled apartment. The street was quieter now, a hushed anticipation lingering in the darkness. He walked cautiously toward his next destination, yet, unbeknownst to him, Elijah followed silently, his footsteps a ghostly echo in the labyrinthine streets of Section 22.

Nicolas walked with an uneasy pace, his mind a churning sea of dread and regret. He wished he could find Linda at least but It wasn't long before the sound of someone whistling a slow eerie tune came from behind him, alerting him of a presence behind him, a chill creeping up his spine. 

He quickened his steps, casting furtive glances over his shoulder. His breath came faster, shallow and panicked, as he realized he was being pursued.

Elijah followed with a predator's patience, his demeanor calm and collected as he whistled casually. The moonlight glinted off his silver pocket watch, the twisted snake insignia on his ring catching the light with every measured step. His suit was immaculate, a stark contrast to the chaotic streets around him.

Nicolas's hurried pace led him into a secluded alley, a dead end where the city's whispers faded into an eerie silence. Realization struck him like a blow, and he spun around, eyes wide with fear as he faced his pursuer.

"Mr. Nicolas, was this where you were headed? I thought you were in a hurry?" Elijah's voice was smooth, although he sounded surprised, it was almost mocking, as he regarded Nicolas with a small, cold smile. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, the gesture casual in the face of Nicolas's growing terror.

The effect was immediate. Nicolas's legs gave way beneath him, and he plopped to his knees, his body trembling like a cornered animal. His pupils were dilated, heart pounding in his chest as cold sweat slicked his skin.

"Mister... No! Lord Elijah! Forgive me!" he cried out, his voice cracking as he spoke. 'Of all the brothers, it had to be him,' he thought in despair. 'I guess my luck ends here.'

Elijah approached with deliberate slowness, his gaze fixed on Nicolas as though he could strip him of his very soul with a mere look. Nicolas could hardly breathe, the weight of impending doom pressing heavily upon him.

"You look awful"

"P...please c-could you Gi... Give! Give me some more time. Six thousand slorins isn't a small amount," Nicolas stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper, the plea laced with desperation.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Nicolas, that wasn't the agreement and we really need that money, you know, mouths to feed, bills to settle, etcetera etcetera" A teasing smile played on Elijah's lips as he spoke, "Besides..." he paused while looking at the sky with a disappointed expression, "I honestly don't think you can get the money no matter how long you are given,"  his tone light yet carrying an undeniable edge.

Nicolas was speechless, the truth of Elijah's words hitting him with a finality he couldn't deny. His mind raced, searching for an escape, but Elijah's presence was all-consuming.

Elijah stepped closer, his movements fluid and unhurried. He loomed over Nicolas, his shadow casting a long silhouette in the alley's dim light. "Am I wrong? Ni-Co-Las?" he asked, each syllable deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey.

"Argh! I give up!" He finally snapped, He gnashed his teeth as drool slipped off his mouth, his body shook as he recalled the past week, "I tried! I tried everything but nothing seems to be working".

"All these happened because of that VIXEN!", He staggered to his feet, resentment filling his features as he clenched his fists, "Look, I've already lost everything! Kill me if you wish, but it won't solve the problem, will it?"

Elijah circled around him, the silence stretching taut between them. He placed a firm hand on Nicolas's shoulder as the latter flinched, such a gesture was meant to be reassuring but to Nicolas, it was intimidating.

"Now this is irrefutably awkward, isn't it? Nicolas Durain," he said, his voice a low murmur that seemed to echo in the confined space.

Nicolas looked up, his expression from earlier faltered like morning dew. He laughed manically in hysteria and soon began to ramble incomprehensibly.

Upon listening closely, Elijah found out he was actually mumbling prayers, this made him amused once again. He calmly turned to the side and glanced at his pocket watch before turning his attention back to Nicolas.

Elijah considered him for a moment, his expression inscrutable. "I have a proposition. A way for you to offset your debt—by doing something for me."

Nicolas gulped loudly before nodding his head, relief washed over him but it was mixed with apprehension. "I'll do it.", There was no other choice, saying "No" would only lead to death.

A smile crept up Elijah's lips as he probed, "You might die gruesomely"

Nicolas frowned with worry but still spoke firmly, "I'll do it"

"Get yourself in order. Three days, Three days from now, I'll send for you," Elijah instructed, his words carrying a weight that left no room for argument.

As Nicolas agreed, Elijah turned to leave, his silhouette melding with the shadows at the alley's entrance. "See you in 3 days, Mr. Nicolas, try not to eat that day, you'll just throw it up anyway," he called over his shoulder, his voice a promise and a threat intertwined.

Nicolas fell to his knees once again in the alley and long after Elijah's footsteps faded into the night, his breath turned into ragged gasps. Relief washed over him, though the future remained uncertain. For now, he had escaped the jaws of disaster, but the path ahead was now shrouded in shadow.

"He's just as unpredictable as they say"