7413 Crescent Drift Blvd, Apt #4B. A vintage, art-deco apartment building nestled between modern glass towers. Balconies of rusting iron curl like vines above narrow windows. The smell of overwatered jasmine fills the air. The evening sky hangs in faded gold.
CRESCENT DRIFT APARTMENTS – HOLLYWOOD – SUNSET
Kyren steps out of a rideshare and trudges up the front steps. His duffel bag slaps his hip. He exhales hard — not from exhaustion, but from existing.
A figure peeks from behind the curtains of Apartment 1A. The door opens before he even reaches the second step.
MRS. VEGA
"Oh! Kyren, sweetie — you're just getting home? You poor thing."
Mrs. Vega, a petite widow in her 70s with curlers still in her hair, leans on the doorframe holding a mug of chamomile.
MRS. VEGA
"You're too polite to be from L.A., I swear. You need a girl to feed you properly. You eat like a ghost."
KYREN (soft chuckle)
"I'll take that as a compliment, Mrs. Vega."
MRS. VEGA
"You shouldn't. Ghosts don't pay rent. You do. That's why I like you."
She smiles and disappears inside. Kyren climbs the stairs slowly, the sunset casting long shadows across the worn tile.
KYREN'S APARTMENT – NIGHT
He enters quietly. Clean but minimal. Warm wood floors, secondhand furniture, and a coffee table stacked with old notebooks and martial arts manuals. A single framed photo of him and his parents sits on the shelf near the door.
He shuts the door, drops his bag, and leans against the wall for a long moment. Silence fills the space — deep and echoing.
Kyren moves with quiet ritual. He showers, steam curling out from under the bathroom door. Then, in boxers and a hoodie, he fills a kettle, pours hot water into a styrofoam cup of instant noodles, and sets it aside.
The smell of artificial beef flavoring fills the room. Comfort food for the soul, or what's left of it.
He walks to the couch, kneels behind it, and slowly pulls out a hand-built investigation board — a grid of threads, sketches, and printed documents mounted on a repurposed chalkboard. It hums with a strange kind of grief-driven brilliance.
INVESTIGATION BOARD:
MOTHER: Leona Vale
Status: Unknown
Last Seen: Nevada Desert. Day of the Storm
Occupation: Head of energy sciences GAA, Division 12.
Notes: "The storm didn't just change people. It chose. Mom must have known something about it."
Her four old journals rest nearby, filled with jagged diagrams labeled "natural awakenings," "light-beings," and "storm keys."
FATHER: Marcus Vale
Status: Deceased
Incident: Nevada Black Site Alpha-Level Villain Outbreak (Classified). Day of the storm.
Former Role: Black-ops engineer, ex-military pilot, GAA-adjacent
Notes: "How does a nobody like me infiltrate the GAA?" Scribbled in the corner, circled three times.
UNCLE: Riko Vale, Marcus' brother.
Status: Unknown
Last seen: Two days before the storm at home during family dinner, and a heated argument between him and my parents about him being incapable of controlling the energy.
Former Role: Military general, often in conflict with the GAA. Brilliant strategist, beloved by soldiers.
Notes: Where did my uncle disappear to? What does he know?
Kyren stares at the board, noodles forgotten. His fingers brush over a weathered photo of his mother — caught mid-laugh, hair tied up, goggles on her head.
KYREN (quietly)
"Where did you go, Mom...?"
"How come you and Dad left me on the same day? I don't believe in coincidences, there must be something I am missing and the answers are inside the GAA."
"Both of you always said that I was special, mom you always said that your energy research was for my sake, it's as if you knew something I don't."
"I can't directly approach the GAA because they will find out that I am a Stormborne and put me away forever."
He swallows hard, then stiffens — a knock at the door.
Kyren jumps up. In a panic, he slides the board back behind the couch, hiding it under a blanket. He looks through the peephole. His heart skips.
He opens the door.
TALIA RIVERS (smiling)
"Evening, stunt boy."
She stands there, radiant in a casual red leather jacket, hair tied in a loose bun, a duffel bag slung across her shoulder. Confident. Alive. Real.
Talia works part-time as a martial arts instructor mainly for actors and actresses which earns her a decent amount of income compared to Kyren.
Kyren blinks, awkward.
KYREN
"Talia… hey. Uh—what's up?"
She sees the noodles on his table and raises an eyebrow.
TALIA
"You eating that again?"
KYREN(defensive)
"It's... traditional."
TALIA
"It's salt and sadness in a cup. Go grab your hoodie. I'm buying you a real meal. You need protein. And vegetables. You remember those?"
Kyren hesitates. He looks back at the couch, at the hidden board, then at her. The corners of his mouth twitch upward.
KYREN
"I mean... if you're paying."
TALIA
"Of course I'm paying. I'm not letting my best friend slowly dissolve into MSG."
Kyren pulls on his hoodie, grabs his phone, and follows her out the door. For a moment, the apartment feels lighter.
At the restaurant
A warmly lit bistro tucked beneath ivy-covered brick walls. Murmurs of laughter and clinking glasses swirl in the background. A violinist plays near the back. The world feels distant for a while… until it doesn't.
Kyren sits across from Talia in a quiet corner of the restaurant, the soft glow of candlelight catching the glint in her hazel eyes. She always knew how to dress for evenings like these — casual enough to pass as "just friends," yet stunning enough to make Kyren's heart stutter.
He twists his fork around his pasta, barely tasting it.
"Still searching for your mom?" Talia asked, her voice delicate but genuine.
Kyren looked up. The flicker of hope in her tone made his chest ache.
"Yeah," he said, almost a whisper. "I haven't stopped. If she's still out there… I'll find her. If she isn't, I at least want to know more about her past especially her work"
Talia reached across the table, laying her hand over his. "What if you don't like what you discover."
He smiles faintly, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I am prepared for anything."
Just then, a man bumps hard into Kyren's shoulder, jarring his drink and splashing red wine down his shirt.
"Hey—" Talia yelled.
The man — tall, sharp-jawed, dressed in a sleek designer blazer — barely glanced at him. He scoffed, pulled a $100 bill from his wallet, and flicked it toward Kyren.
"Buy some real clothes."
Kyren bent to pick it up, but Talia's reflexes were faster. She snatches it before he can and shoves it right back into the man's suit pocket with a firm tap on his chest.
"We don't need your charity," she said coolly.
The man raised an eyebrow, amused. "Feisty. Why don't you ditch the dead weight and come enjoy a real man?"
Talia rolled her eyes and turned away, walking calmly back to their table.
She didn't make it two steps.
The man reached out and slapped her behind.
"You've got a fine ass, sweetheart."
Kyren froze.
"Let me out." The voice wasn't spoken — it echoed inside him, deep and booming, edged with static.
His left hand clenched into a fist beneath the table.
Let. Me. Out!
Talia spun around, fury burning in her eyes. She grabbed her wine glass and hurled it toward the man.
Before the wine could splash his smug face, it halted mid-air, suspended in a glistening ripple. The man raised two fingers, the wine dancing around them.
"I'd pick my battles more carefully, sweetheart," he said. "You're looking at an Awakened with hydro-kinesis. Not someone you want spilling drinks on."
Kyren's right hand buzzed. A streak of lightning flickered across his fingers — soft, almost invisible — as his fury boiled beneath the surface. Another fist tightened.
"Let. Me. Out."
The voice continued in Kyren's mind.
The man smiled smugly, guided the wine back into the glass with casual control, and took it from her hand.
"Thanks for the drink," he said with a wink, and sauntered off.
The lightning died down.
So did the voice.
Kyren's breath came slow and shallow, beads of sweat dotting his brow. He forced himself to inhale.
Talia sat back down and stared into her untouched entrée. "I really hate the Awakened," she muttered.
Kyren looked up sharply.
She sighed. "They act like gods. Untouchable. No one keeps them in check anymore."
There was a pause. Her eyes softened slightly, turning thoughtful.
"Maybe… maybe the storm created the Stormborne to balance them. Like nature trying to fix its mistake. But something went wrong. A flaw in the system making the Stormborne mentally unstable."
Kyren looked at her, stunned.
"That's a nice way of putting it," he said slowly.
"So," he said, "you don't have a problem with the Stormborne?"
Talia swallowed. "I… can't be near them either. But I get it. I sympathize with them."
He nodded, looking down at his plate.
Kyren stared at her — this strong, fierce woman who stood up for him again and again. He wanted to say it. That he loved her. That she was among the things keeping him from completely falling apart. That he was one of them — a Stormborne.
But he couldn't.
"If she ever knew…" he thought, "I'd lose the only real thing I have."
He forced a smile instead. "You always know how to make awkward dinners more awkward."
Talia laughed, and it was the best sound he'd heard all week.
Later that night...
Kyren walked Talia to her apartment door, the air cooler now, laced with the scent of jasmine and concrete.
She turned to him and smiled. "Thanks for tonight, Ky. Don't let jerks like that get to you."
"I've got thick skin," he said.
She tapped his chest. "Yeah? Well, make sure your heart stays soft."
She disappeared behind her door.
Kyren waited until the lock clicked. Then he turned, hands in his jacket pockets, walking back toward his place under the city lights.
Behind him, thunder rumbled faintly in the distance.
The wind had grown colder.
Kyren pulled up the hood of his jumper as he walked through the narrow alley cutting between Crescent Drift Boulevard and Hollowmere Lane. The moonlight barely reached down into the passage, smeared by rusted fire escapes and flickering neon signs. He just wanted to get home. To forget tonight. To forget the voice.
A slow, deliberate clap echoed behind him.
Kyren froze.
"Well, well... if it isn't the pathetic boyfriend," said a familiar voice, bitter and venomous. The arrogant man from the restaurant. He stepped out from the shadows, unfastening his cufflinks as water gathered in orbs around his palms. "You should have stayed on the sidewalk, punk."
Kyren tensed. "I don't want trouble. Just walk away."
The man sneered. "Trouble? You think you get to say that after what your whore did back there? I'm going to teach her a real lesson after I'm done with you. Tie her to that cozy little bed of hers and drown her slowly. Rip off her clothes and make her beg."
Something snapped.
Before Kyren could respond, a wave of pressurized water shot forward, slamming him into the alley wall with crushing force. The bricks cracked beneath his weight. He collapsed to his knees, coughing, ribs aching. The man walked toward him casually, water swirling like blades around his fists.
"You hide behind women. Trash like you shouldn't breathe the same air I do."
A kick to the stomach. Then another.
Kyren spat blood onto the pavement.
The man raised his hands. Tendrils of water lifted Kyren by his hoodie, suspending him mid-air like a ragdoll. His feet dangled inches above the ground.
"Let your girl fight your battles, huh? Don't worry. I like wild ones. I'll break her in for you."
LET. ME. OUT!
The voice screamed in his skull like a thunderclap. His fingers sparked. Eyes burned. Pulse surged.
NO! I CAN'T—
The man took one step closer.
LET ME OUT—LET ME OUT—LET ME—
Lightning exploded from Kyren's chest.
A storm ignited in the alley.
The man barely had time to register what was happening before a blinding bolt of pure energy lanced through him. He convulsed, suspended in the air, body outlined by crackling arcs before disintegrating into ash. Concrete walls ruptured outward, dumpsters tore from their bolts and flew. Neon lights shattered. Fire escapes buckled.
Kyren dropped to the ground, smoke rising from his back, breathing hard.
His hoodie was scorched. His hands shook.
He stared at the scorch marks on the wall. At the ashes drifting where a man had stood. His stomach lurched. "What did I just do?"
He looked up, heart pounding. No one.
No screams. No witnesses.
"What did I just do?" He repeated to himself.
"You dealt out divine punishment, death was the least that worm received for looking down on a god." The voice whispered to Kyren.
"It's a shame, he died too quickly, next time make your next victims' suffering last longer and rejoice in their despair as they realize that the only thing awaiting for them is sweet death making them beg for death." The voice continues to creep inside Kyren's mind.
He took a shaky step backward, then another, and turned to run.
But high above the alley, drifting silently behind clouds, a surveillance drone from the Global Awakened Authority hovered. Its lens blinked once, recording. The last image it captured was a silhouette surrounded by lightning. Then, its circuits fried. It dropped from the sky like a stone.
In orbit, a red beacon lit up the interface at the GAA HQ.
> ALERT: OMEGA-LEVEL STORMBORNE DETECTED
LOCATION: HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA
An operator looked up from his console, pale.
"Call the Director. We've got one."