The café was warm, comforting even, but Caelum felt cold, a bone-deep chill creeping through him despite the cup of hazelnut latte cradled in his hands. He stared down at the coffee, its familiar aroma rising softly into the air, but it did nothing to calm him. The warmth of the cup, the ordinary hum of conversation around him—none of it felt real anymore.
And then, he saw it again.
The shimmer.
Just at the edge of his vision, Seraphine’s sweater flickered, the lines of her form bending unnaturally, like a bad video feed trying to stabilize. One moment she wore the oversized sweater, her appearance casual and unremarkable, but in the next, it shifted—briefly replaced by something else. A deep purple robe, its surface shimmering as if made from the night sky itself, speckled with tiny, blinking stars.
Caelum blinked, his heart hammering in his chest. With the back of one hand he rubbed his eyes, hoping it was just a trick of the light, maybe a result of the stress or the overwhelming confusion swirling inside him. But when he looked again, the robe was gone, and Seraphine sat exactly as before—calm, composed, studying him with those intense violet eyes.
What the hell is happening?
Everything about her screamed that she didn’t belong here. Not in this café, not in his life. And yet, she was here. She knew too much. The way she moved, the way she spoke—it was all deliberate, calculated, as if every word, every action, had been planned well in advance. Like a game. A game in which she held all the cards, and he was just a pawn.
Caelum’s stomach churned. His eyes drifted back to the coffee cup in his hands, the warmth no longer comforting but unsettling. She had known exactly how he liked his coffee. Hazelnut latte with a touch of cream and sugar. Something so specific, so personal, and yet he’d never seen her before today. His pulse quickened.
Was it poisoned?
His throat tightened. He hadn’t even taken a sip. Had she planned to kill him right here? In public? The café was full of people, but no one was paying attention. Just moments ago, when he had almost panicked, they barely glanced at him before returning to their idle conversations. His mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the last.
Then Seraphine spoke, her voice calm, quiet, but carrying the weight of something far worse than he could have imagined, as if confirming his thoughts.
“You died today.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of him. For a moment, he couldn’t process what she had said. His grip on the coffee cup tightened, the cardboard sleeve crinkling under the pressure as he fought to breathe, to think. The liquid swirled gently inside, the same comforting aroma rising to meet him.
This is a dream. It has to be a dream.
“What... what did you say?” Caelum’s voice came out strained, barely a whisper, as though saying the words aloud would make them real.
Seraphine didn’t blink. She placed her hand down beside her journal, the movement slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving his face. “As far as your friends and family are concerned,” she said, “you died today.”
Caelum’s heart lurched. His breath came in ragged gasps as his mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was saying. No, this couldn’t be happening. She was lying. She had to be lying. His parents, his sister—he’d seen them this morning. They were fine. He was fine. He was sitting right here.
Seraphine leaned forward slightly, her violet eyes gleaming with something unreadable, something dark. She seemed to savor his reaction, the panic rising inside him, as if it were something she had seen before, countless times.
“A gas explosion,” she continued, her voice soft but relentless. “You were on your way home after school, going to pick up milk and eggs. The pipeline ruptured. No body was recovered. Just pink mist and a fading memory.”
The cup slipped from Caelum’s trembling fingers, clattering onto the table. Coffee sloshed against the sides, spilling slightly as his hands began to shake uncontrollably. His mind was spinning, his heart pounding so loudly he could barely hear anything else. His chest tightened, making it hard to breathe.
“No.” His voice cracked, barely holding together. “No, that’s not—”
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he knocked it back, legs unsteady beneath him. His eyes darted around the café, searching for anything—anyone—to ground him in reality. But the world around him felt distant, like it was slipping away. The man across the room, the one packing up his laptop, was almost done, his fingers moving deftly over the keyboard before snapping the device shut. The sound was so mundane, so normal, that it made Caelum feel sick.
How can everything feel so normal when my entire life is being ripped apart?
Caelum’s eyes darted back to the coffee cup, the brown liquid swirling lazily inside. He could still smell it, the familiar scent that should have calmed him but now only made him feel nauseous. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his whole body trembling. He wanted to scream, to shout, to run. But where could he go?
A few patrons glanced up at him, their gazes curious, as if they’d noticed his outburst for the first time. But just as quickly, they looked away, their attention drifting back to their phones, their books, their conversations. It was like they couldn’t really see him. No one reacted. No one cared.
Panic gripped him, tightening around his throat. He wasn’t invisible—he couldn’t be invisible—but no one was acknowledging him. No one was reacting to his terror. Why weren’t they reacting? He could feel the heat of his pulse in his ears, a steady pounding that drowned out the world.
Seraphine remained seated, watching him calmly, her eyes gleaming with a quiet intensity. She didn’t move. She didn’t try to stop him. She just sat there, watching—studying. Every twitch, every tremble, every flicker of panic that crossed his face. She was analyzing him, her gaze predatory, as though she were dissecting his fear, cataloging every response. And beneath that calm exterior, Caelum could sense something else—satisfaction. A quiet, subtle pleasure in watching him unravel.
“You can’t just make me disappear,” Caelum said, his voice barely steady, cracking under the weight of the fear that had fully taken hold. “You can’t make them believe I’m dead.”
Seraphine tilted her head slightly, her smile widening, though it never reached her eyes. “Your death is only temporary, Caelum. It’s part of the process.”
“Temporary?” His voice rose, panic and frustration crashing together. “What the hell does that even mean?”
She sighed, almost as if she pitied him, her expression softening, but only slightly. She leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap, her gaze never wavering. “Eventually, people will forget. Your family, your friends... they’ll grieve for a time. They’ll remember you for a while. But soon enough, those memories will fade. You’ll disappear from their minds, from their lives, from their photographs.”
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“No!” Caelum’s shout was louder than he intended, his voice shaking with a mixture of fear and desperation. “No! They’re my family. You can’t just make them forget me!”
“They will.” Seraphine’s voice was calm, almost soothing, but there was an edge to it—a coldness that made her words cut even deeper. “But don’t worry. They’ll be taken care of. They’ll believe it’s divine fortune or inherited luck. It’s easier for people to believe a lie than to face the truth.”
Her words hit him like a sledgehammer, the ground beneath his feet suddenly feeling unstable. Caelum stumbled back, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. His parents. His sister. His friends. The ones he loved and cherished. Everything. All of it—gone.
His chest tightened, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice cracking, barely a whisper now. “They’re my family. My life is with them. I can’t let them forget me. I can’t…” The urge to run overwhelmed with fear stricken paralysis.
Seraphine finally moved, standing slowly, her movement graceful yet deliberate. As she rose, Caelum saw it again—the shimmer, the flicker at the edges of her form. One moment, she wore her oversized sweater, the next, it was gone, replaced by a flowing purple robe, dark and rich, shimmering with stars.
No, not a robe. Something otherworldly. Caelum blinked, his mind unable to process what he was seeing. Was he seeing her for who she truly was? Was he seeing beyond an illusion?
Seraphine’s violet eyes softened, her tone quiet but unyielding. “There’s nothing left to go back to, Caelum. Your inheritance has awakened. You’re part of this world now, whether you like it or not. The life you knew? It’s already gone.”
Caelum’s chest tightened further, his breath coming in shallow gasps as Seraphine’s words pressed down on him like an immense weight. The life he’d known, the people he loved—it was all gone. His heart hammered in his chest, a sharp, insistent beat that made it hard to think.
"They’ll forget me."
The thought screamed through his mind, an impossibility he couldn’t accept. How could his parents, his sister, his friends—everyone—forget him? He wasn’t just some figment of their imagination. He was real. He was here.
His legs buckled beneath him, forcing him back into the chair he had knocked over earlier. His vision blurred with unshed tears, the room spinning as his thoughts raced in every direction, searching for a way out, for some sliver of hope that could contradict what Seraphine had told him.
"Why me?" His voice was barely a whisper now, trembling under the weight of the fear swallowing him whole. "Why is this happening to me?"
Seraphine, still standing, took a slow step toward him, her robe shimmering in the dim light of the café. That subtle flicker at the edges of her form, the way she seemed to phase between realities, made it hard for Caelum to focus. Was he seeing her true form, or was she still hiding something from him? The uncertainty only added to his growing dread.
"You possess something rare, something others want." Her voice was lower now, carrying an edge of menace beneath the surface. "Dangerous people will come after you for it. Or worse, they’ll go after your family, your friends—anyone they can use to get to you. That’s why you can’t go back, Caelum. The life you knew is gone because it has to be."
Her eyes softened, but there was a flicker of something darker behind them—an emotion that was hard to name. Was it pity? Or something closer to envy?
Caelum felt his heart plummet as her words sank in. They would go after his family. His sister. His friends. It wasn’t just about him anymore. They were in danger—because of him. He was a target, and anyone close to him would be caught in the crossfire.
His fingers gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. His mind raced, trying to find a solution, a way to protect them. But Seraphine’s words echoed in his head: There’s nothing left to go back to.
“What if I hadn’t come here?” His voice cracked, full of frustration, fear, and confusion. “What if I’d ignored the messages? What if I’d stayed with my family?”
Seraphine tilted her head slightly, her violet eyes gleaming with that familiar intensity. "If you hadn’t come here," she said softly, "they would have found you sooner or later. You don’t understand how much they want what you carry, Caelum. You being here has bought them time. You’ve bought them time."
"But who are they?" Caelum’s frustration bubbled to the surface, his voice rising despite the fear tightening his chest. "You keep talking about them, but I don’t even know who they are, or why they want me! Why is any of this happening?"
Seraphine studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable, as if she were weighing how much to tell him. She sat down across from him once more, her movements graceful and deliberate, her violet eyes never leaving his face.
"Your inheritance is not something you asked for," she began, her voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of something darker. "It’s a power that runs deep within you, tied to forces far older than you could imagine. Most people never know they carry it, but in your case, it’s awakened. And now that it has, you’re marked."
Caelum’s head spun. He had no idea what she was talking about—inheritance, forces older than time—none of it made any sense. He’d been a normal kid yesterday, living a normal life, with normal problems. Now, it felt like his entire existence had been ripped out from under him, and he was falling into a pit, a world he didn’t understand.
"Marked for what?" he asked, his voice small, his mind barely able to keep up.
"For power," Seraphine replied, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Power that people will kill for. Power that will corrupt those who try to wield it. One that would have honest people questioning the possibilities..."
Caelum shook his head, disbelief still clinging to him. "I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want any of this."
Seraphine leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "I know. But whether you want it or not, it’s yours now. And you have a choice: run from it and watch everyone you care about suffer, or embrace it and learn to control it. Those are your only options."
Caelum’s chest tightened again. Run? Embrace it? He didn’t want either. He just wanted his life back. He wanted to go home, to sit at the dinner table with his family and talk about nothing important. He wanted to see his friends, to laugh with Nolan and Aira like none of this had ever happened. But he couldn’t. That life was gone now, ripped away in an instant.
"I can’t..." His voice cracked, barely audible. "I can’t let them get hurt because of me."
Seraphine’s expression softened, just slightly. For a moment, she seemed almost human—almost compassionate. "That’s why you’re here, Caelum. To protect them. To protect yourself."
His head spun with too many thoughts, too many questions. But one stuck out more than the others. One that had been gnawing at him since the moment he’d walked into the café. "How do you know all this?" he asked, his voice barely steady. "How do you know who I am? How do you know about my... inheritance?"
Seraphine’s lips twitched into a small smile, almost playful, but there was something predatory in the way she watched him, like a cat toying with a mouse. "I’ve been watching you for a long time, Caelum. Longer than you’d think."
His blood turned cold. "Watching me? What does that mean?"
"It means I know more about you than you know about yourself," she replied, her voice light, almost teasing. "I know about the Titan. I know about the visions. And I know that you have more power than you realize."
Caelum’s mind reeled. The Titan. The vision. How did she know? How could she know? He hadn’t told anyone about the vision of the Titan, about the immense being that had offered him power in exchange for something he didn’t understand.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart pounding in his chest. "What do you want from me?"
Seraphine’s smile widened, her violet eyes gleaming with something almost wicked. "What I want, Caelum," she said softly, "is to make sure you survive. To make sure you don’t fall into the wrong hands."
Before Caelum could respond, a sharp crackle filled the air, like the sound of glass breaking under pressure. He felt it before he saw it—the world around him, the café, the people, the tables—it all flickered. Like a glitch, a thin fracture running through the fabric of reality itself. His pulse quickened, panic flaring in his chest.
Seraphine’s eyes widened, her calm composure finally cracking. "Shit!" she whispered, her voice filled with something new—fear.
Caelum’s breath caught in his throat as the air around them seemed to shift, growing thicker, darker. The comforting warmth of the café was replaced by a sudden, overwhelming cold. The room began to distort, warping at the edges, as if reality itself was breaking apart.
Before he could react, Seraphine grabbed his wrist with surprising strength. "We have to go. Now."
The world around them blurred, the café peeling away like paper being ripped from a wall. The familiar smell of coffee, the soft hum of conversation, the warmth of the lights—it all vanished in an instant, replaced by something cold, foreign, terrifying.
And then, the world disappeared.