Chapter 2 — A Man Is Not a Myth
Arielle did not sleep.
She lay rigid beneath unfamiliar sheets, eyes fixed on the ceiling that glowed faintly with embedded lights. They didn't flicker like stars. They didn't breathe like living stone. They were… dead. Obedient. Silent.
Wrong.
Every sound in the house made her flinch.
Footsteps in distant corridors. The low hum of unseen machines. The faint whisper of air flowing through walls. This world was filled with invisible forces she couldn't sense properly—no current, no resonance, no song beneath them.
Earth was deaf.
She pressed her palm to her chest.
Her heart wouldn't slow.
On Illyrion, emotions were regulated from birth. Fear was cataloged, controlled, purged when necessary. Attachment was a flaw. Curiosity was a risk factor.
And yet—
Her mind kept replaying the moment her power had collapsed.
The instant she touched him.
The man.
Xander Vale.
A biological impossibility.
Men were genetic footnotes in her world. The ancient archives spoke of them as unstable, emotion-driven catalysts—beings whose presence distorted neural balance and energy harmonics. Dangerous. Mythologized. Removed.
She had thought it propaganda.
Now her skin still tingled where his hands had restrained her.
Not pain.
Alignment.
The door slid open silently.
Arielle bolted upright.
Xander stood in the doorway, fully dressed now, expression unreadable. No guards. No weapons. Just confidence so natural it bordered on arrogance.
"You're awake," he said.
"I never slept," Arielle replied carefully.
"That tracks."
He stepped inside, the door closing behind him. The room seemed smaller with him in it. He took in everything in a single glance—her posture, her breathing, the way her eyes followed his movements.
Assessing.
Predatory.
"I don't like surprises," Xander said. "And I don't like liars. So we're going to talk."
Arielle nodded. "You may ask three questions."
Xander raised an eyebrow. "I don't negotiate with strangers in my house."
"It is not negotiation," she said quietly. "It is survival."
He studied her for a long moment.
"Fine," he said. "First question. What are you?"
Her fingers tightened around the blanket.
"I am Illyrian," she said. "A citizen of Illyrion Prime. A sovereign world beyond your star maps."
"Alien," Xander translated flatly.
"If you need a small word," she said.
His lips twitched despite himself.
"Second," he continued. "Why did you almost level my house?"
Arielle lowered her gaze.
"Because I panicked."
"That's it?"
"Yes."
"You panicked and physics broke."
"In my world," she said, "emotion amplifies energy. I lost control."
Xander folded his arms. "Convenient."
"You restrained me," Arielle added softly. "And the surge stopped."
That caught his attention.
"Why?"
Her throat worked.
"I don't know."
Silence stretched.
Xander exhaled slowly. "Third question. Who's coming for you?"
Her eyes lifted.
"Huntresses."
The word carried weight.
"They are trained to retrieve relics and erase anomalies," Arielle said. "I am both."
Xander leaned against the desk. "Erase how?"
She met his gaze without blinking.
"Publicly."
He straightened.
"So you're a political problem."
"Yes."
"And you brought that problem here."
"I did not choose your world," she said. "But I would rather die than return."
That was not fear.
That was certainty.
Xander believed her.
Which annoyed him.
"You're staying," he said abruptly.
Arielle frowned. "That is unwise."
"My house. My rules."
"You do not understand—"
"I understand leverage," Xander cut in. "If someone's hunting you, they'll come here eventually. That means I get answers, control, and options."
"You would endanger your planet?"
"I would protect what's mine."
Arielle stiffened.
"I do not belong to you."
Xander's gaze sharpened. "You're in my bed. In my house. Under my protection. That's close enough."
The words should have angered her.
Instead, something warm twisted in her chest.
Unacceptable.
She stood suddenly, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. She wore a simple garment his mother had given her—soft fabric, unfamiliar cut. It felt like a disguise.
"I need to see your world," Arielle said. "To understand the variables."
"You want a tour?"
"Yes."
He looked her over. "You don't even know how doors work."
"Then teach me," she said.
Something passed through his eyes.
Interest.
---
Thirty minutes later, Arielle stood in the middle of a supermarket aisle.
She had stopped walking ten minutes ago.
Xander watched from beside a cart, arms crossed.
"Explain," she demanded.
"It's a grocery store."
"There are too many options."
"That's capitalism."
People passed them, barely sparing a glance—though a few did double takes at Arielle's silver-dark hair and wide-eyed stare.
She picked up a box, turned it over, frowned. "Why is there a cartoon tiger on food?"
"Marketing."
"This planet is ruled by deception."
Xander snorted.
Then Arielle froze.
Her head snapped up.
Her pupils constricted.
"Xander," she whispered. "Your people cannot see them."
"See who?"
She pointed—just slightly—toward the glass doors at the front of the store.
Three women stood outside.
Tall. Still. Watching.
They were beautiful in a severe, unnatural way. Matching dark coats. Identical posture. Their eyes swept the crowd with mechanical precision.
Xander followed her gaze.
To him, they were just women.
But his instincts screamed.
"What are they?" he asked quietly.
"Huntresses," Arielle said. "They found my trail."
Xander reached into his pocket and closed his hand around his phone.
"Then we're leaving."
"No," Arielle said, panic rising. "If they engage here—"
"They won't," Xander replied. "Not if I move first."
He grabbed her wrist.
The contact sent a sharp pulse through both of them.
Arielle gasped.
The lights above flickered.
The Huntresses' heads snapped toward them in perfect unison.
Xander pulled Arielle close, lowering his voice.
"Next time," he said, calm as ice, "tell me sooner."
Outside, one of the Huntresses smiled.
And somewhere deep within Arielle's chest, the relic she had sworn never to use again—
Awakened.