STARLIGHT UNBOUND by Deus Ex Machina - HTML preview

STARLIGHT UNBOUND

that lurked in the space between, the dark to the light. The negative to the positive.

His pulse quickened, a strange mix of awe and dread clawing at him. What am I seeing?

Instinct took over. He reached out, fingers brushing the air, but there was nothing there. The space looked dense, tangible —yet it felt no different against his skin.

The swirling patterns pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm, like the distant beat of a drum. Potential. A static charge before the spark.

And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.

The air snapped back to normal, the room once again silent and empty.

Lucien dropped his hand, falling back onto the mattress. I’m losing it.

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped him, brittle and hollow in the quiet. The dreams, the visions, the black disk, Lyra ’s words—now this. It was all too much, relentless and inescapable. It’s stress. That’s all it is. Stress and exhaustion.

But deep down, he knew better.

Pushing himself up and off the bed, he stood abruptly, the movement jerky and uncoordinated. He needed to do something—anything—to shake the feeling crawling beneath his skin.

Grabbing his coat, he stepped out onto the balcony.

The cool night air hit his face like a slap. Below, the city moved on but the usual comfort it brought him was gone.

Lucien pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with shaky hands. The first drag burned his throat, the smoke curling in his lungs, but the ritual steadied him. He exhaled watching the plume dissolve into the night sky.

His thoughts drifted back to the gallery, to the moment he stood in front of Lyra ’s painting. He could still see the colors, feel the raw energy that radiated from it—alive, almost breathing.

And then her voice, close and electric.

“You feel it, don’t you? That pull? It’s already in you. You know what you want.”

A shiver rippled down his spine, a flutter in his stomach. What is it about her?

He pressed the cigarette to his lips again, but it did little to settle the storm inside him.

He felt something.

Not a sound. Not a sight. But something.

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