FOUR YEARS AND A FEW MONTHS AGO
"Kyren Vale."
The voice did not echo loudly—it settled into the room, like a verdict already passed.
Kyren sat upright in his bed, breath catching in his throat. The grief of losing his parents, which had hollowed him out over the past weeks, clung to him like a second skin, but this—this was different.
He looked around, heart racing.
"Who's there?"
Silence.
Then—
The wall shifted.
Not cracked. Not opened.
Shifted.
A man stepped through it as though reality itself had politely made way for him.
Kyren stumbled back, nearly falling off the bed, his pulse spiking with raw fear.
The man adjusted his cuffs with quiet precision, as though entering through walls was no more disruptive than walking through a door. His expression was composed—calm to the point of discomfort.
"Do try to remain calm," he said gently. His voice was smooth, measured… disturbingly polite.
"I assure you, panic will not alter the outcome of this conversation."
Kyren stared at him, frozen. Not sure of what to do next.
The man inclined his head slightly.
"My name is Elias Viremont. I was… an associate of your parents."
A pause.
Then, with faint emphasis:
"To be precise, I am your family's lawyer."
Kyren's confusion cut through his fear.
"Our… family lawyer?" he repeated. "How come I've never heard of you?"
Elias folded his hands behind his back, posture immaculate.
"Because your parents understood the value of discretion," he replied.
"They believed certain… contingencies were best kept outside the awareness of those they were meant to protect."
His eyes drifted briefly around the room, observing—not curiously, but analytically. As though cataloguing evidence.
"I must also apologize," he continued, tone unchanged.
"My appearance comes later than I would have preferred. However…"
A slight pause.
"I was instructed to approach you only after confirming that both of your parents were… no longer active participants in this world."
The words landed cold. Clinical.
Kyren's jaw tightened.
Elias reached into his coat and produced a set of worn journals. Their edges were frayed, their covers aged.
"By most accounts, your parents' work has already been seized by the GAA," he said, placing them carefully on the desk.
"These, however, were excluded."
He tapped them once, lightly.
"They left very specific instructions regarding their delivery."
His voice softened—just slightly. Not emotional. Just… deliberate.
"If anything ever happens to both of us, and Kyren is left alone…
give him these journals.
They will guide him in our place."
Kyren stepped forward, hands trembling as he picked one up. He flipped through the pages quickly—symbols, equations, diagrams—none of it made sense.
His frustration boiled over.
"I don't understand any of this!" he snapped. "What is this supposed to mean?!"
Elias watched him quietly. Not unkindly—but without sympathy.
"Neither do I," he admitted.
Kyren blinked.
Elias continued, voice steady as ever:
"But understanding is not a prerequisite for significance."
He took a slow step closer.
"If you wish to uncover the truth behind your parents… their work… and the circumstances surrounding their absence…"
A faint pause.
"Then you will find a way to understand."
Kyren clenched the journal tighter.
Elias turned slightly, his gaze sharpening—subtle, but unmistakable.
"You should also be aware," he said,
"that you are not alone in your… inheritance."
Kyren frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Elias met his eyes directly now.
"There are... observers," he said calmly.
"Parties with a vested interest in your next decision."
His tone remained polite.
But something about it made Kyren's skin crawl.
"From this moment forward," Elias continued,
"you will speak of these journals to no one."
A beat.
"And you will trust no one."
Kyren's voice rose, desperate now.
"Why?! What's going on?!"
Elias didn't answer immediately. Instead, he adjusted his sleeve again—precise, controlled.
Then:
"Because every action has consequences, Kyren," he said quietly.
"And you, whether you realize it or not… are now standing at the center of a rather significant case."
He stepped back toward the wall.
"If you choose to live an ordinary life," he added,
"then this will be the last time our paths intersect."
A faint tilt of his head.
"However… if you elect to pursue the same line of inquiry your parents did—"
A pause.
"Then I suspect we will meet again."
Kyren stepped forward urgently.
"Wait! I still have questions—you can't just leave me like this!"
Elias regarded him for a moment.
For the briefest second, something shifted in his expression—something almost human.
Then it was gone.
"I'm afraid I can," he said softly.
"There are… other parties I prefer not to invite into this discussion."
He began to phase backward into the wall.
"Our association must remain… unobserved."
"Wait—!"
Kyren lunged forward.
"Please! I'm begging you—come back!"
But Elias was already gone.
The wall stood still.
Silent.
Untouched.
And Kyren was left alone—
Holding answers he could not read…
And questions that would not let him rest.
PRESENT TIME — HOLLYWOOD, KYREN'S APARTMENT
The city hums outside—distant traffic, neon glow bleeding through the curtains—but inside the apartment, the air felt heavier.
Kyren leans back against the couch, fingers loosely clasped, eyes distant.
"It was a few weeks after the lawyer visited," he says quietly,
"That my Stormborne abilities began to manifest… along with the voice."
There were no dramatics in how he said it.
Just truth.
Juno stands by the window, arms folded, his reflection faint against the glass. He doesn't interrupt—just listens.
"I get it, Ky," Juno replies after a moment, his tone steady, grounded.
"You were hit with everything at once. Powers, voices in your head, your parents gone…"
He glances over his shoulder.
"Decoding some journals wasn't exactly a top priority."
Kyren let out a dry, humorless breath.
"I couldn't even reach out to my parents' colleagues. They all worked for the GAA."
His jaw tightens slightly.
"And the lawyer was very clear—trust no one."
A pause.
"My dad said the same thing once."
Kyren's gaze drifts, his voice lowering as memory surfaces:
"Son… when the time comes and you're on your own, don't rely on anyone—especially the GAA. They can't be trusted."
Silence lingers after that.
Juno turns fully now, leaning against the wall, his expression more serious than before.
Kyren runs a hand through his hair, frustration creeping in.
"It all lines up too perfectly," he said.
"They knew something was coming. The storm… what I'd become…"
His eyes flick toward the old journals resting on the table.
"And all the answers are in there."
A bitter pause.
"If only I could actually understand them."
Juno's expression shifts—subtle, but noticeable. Like he'd just remembered something important.
"…Oh," he said, straightening slightly.
"Damn. That almost slipped my mind."
Kyren looks up.
"What?"
"While I was in Washington," Juno continued, "I ran into a professor. Guy specializes in decoding encrypted texts—old languages, complex systems, the kind of stuff that makes normal people's brains shut down."
Kyren leans forward instantly, energy snapping back into him.
"Wait—seriously?"
Juno nods.
"Yeah. And before you get mad—" he raises a hand slightly, already anticipating the reaction, "—I showed him a picture. Just one page."
Kyren's excitement falters for a split second, concern flickering in.
Juno doesn't look away.
"I know it was a risk," he says plainly.
"But it was the only way to get his attention."
A beat.
"And it worked."
Kyren studies him… then exhales.
"Go on."
Juno's lips curves faintly—not arrogance, not pride—just quiet confidence.
"He was hooked instantly. Said he's never seen anything like it. He actually seemed excited—like this is the kind of thing he's been waiting his whole career for."
Kyren's pulse picks up.
"When can we meet him?"
"Next week," Juno replies.
"His flight lands here in Hollywood by the end of it."
For the first time in a while, something close to hope flickers in Kyren's eyes.
"…You're unbelievable, you know that?" he said, shaking his head slightly.
"Seriously, Juno… that was risky as hell."
A small pause.
"But I get it."
He looks up at him, genuine now.
"Thank you. I mean it."
Juno shrugs lightly, pushing himself off the wall.
"Don't overthink it."
Then, more firmly—
"I've got your back, Ky. All the way to the end."
No hesitation. No performance.
Just truth.
They talk a while longer—nothing heavy this time. Just enough to ease the tension before it settles back in.
Eventually, Juno makes his way to the door.
"Keep your head down," he says glancing back.
"Until we figure this out… low profile, yeah?"
Kyren nods.
"Yeah."
The door clicks shut behind him.
Silence returns.
Kyren stands there for a moment… then locks the door.
He walks back slowly and drops onto the couch, the weight of everything pressing in again.
The GAA.
The journals.
The voice.
The storm.
But that wasn't all.
Kyren leans, forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
His finances were slipping—fast.
And unlike the mysteries of his past—
That was a problem that wouldn't wait—no matter how big the others were.