Whispers Of Forgotten Days

The rain hadn't let up since dawn.

Aria Monroe stood beneath the overhang of Vale Tower, clutching her portfolio as fat droplets splattered against the concrete. The building rose into the mist like a blade piercing the sky - sleek, glassy, and cold. Even in a city full of steel giants, Vale Tower had a presence. A pulse. As though it watched everyone who dared approach.

She hadn't wanted this job. Archiving relics for some private collection sounded mundane. Boring. But Vale Industries paid triple what the museum had, and after two months of rent reminders and eating instant noodles, "boring" had become very appealing.

She inhaled, steeling herself. This was it. Just a job. Just a CEO.

The lobby's warmth hit her like a wave, her soaked clothes steaming slightly. Light poured from crystal fixtures above, casting glimmers on polished black marble. A fountain of what looked suspiciously like obsidian rippled silently in the center. Two receptionists sat behind curved desks, not typing - simply watching.

Creepy.

"I have a ten o'clock," she said, approaching. "Aria Monroe. For the historical consultant position."

One receptionist, a silver-haired woman with ice-blue eyes, nodded slowly. "You're expected."

No phone call. No computer check. Just... knew.

Before Aria could overthink it, the woman pressed her palm against a smooth panel. The wall behind them slid open silently, revealing a private elevator.

"Top floor," the woman said. "He's waiting."

Aria blinked. "Already? I thought-"

"He does not wait."

The doors closed before she could respond.

As the elevator rose, the air grew warmer, denser. Almost electric. The mirrored walls shimmered faintly, as if hiding something behind them. A trick of the light, surely. Or maybe she was just nervous.

She hated interviews. Always had. But this one felt different. Heavier.

When the doors finally opened, Aria stepped into a space that felt like another world.

Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a cloud-draped city. Rich mahogany shelves lined the walls, filled with books and artifacts - not replicas, real pieces. An ornate sword rested above the fireplace, runes etched into its blade. The air smelled of leather, fire, and something else - something wild.

And then she saw him.

Darian Vale.

He stood with his back to her, looking out over the city. Tall. Broad-shouldered. His black suit tailored to perfection, his posture impossibly straight. The kind of man who didn't just command rooms - he owned them.

"Aria Monroe," he said without turning. His voice was deep, smooth, with the faintest edge of something ancient beneath it. "You're early."

"You're not surprised," she said before she could stop herself.

He turned.

And the world stilled.

She'd never believed in soulmates. In fate. In any of that nonsense.

But the moment their eyes met - a piercing, molten gold gaze that saw straight through her - Aria knew something had changed. A pull. A recognition. Her breath caught.

So did his.

Darian's expression, carefully composed, faltered for just a second. Just enough to reveal something raw. Shock. Hunger. Need.

He took a slow step forward.

"You're not what I expected."

Neither are you.

Out loud, she said, "Your assistant said you don't wait."

"I don't," he replied. "But for you, I might."

Her heart thundered.

What the hell was happening?

He gestured to the chair across from his massive desk. "Sit."

She did, pulse racing.

"I've reviewed your background. Your thesis on pre-Elyrian symbology was... accurate."

She blinked. "That's not public. How did you-?"

"I have my ways." He sat, fingers steepled. "Tell me, Aria - do you believe in magic?"

The question knocked the breath from her lungs.

"Excuse me?"

"Magic," he said again, voice lower. "Real magic. Not sleight of hand. Not fantasy. Power. Energy. Forces older than civilization."

She hesitated. "I don't think that's relevant to the job."

He smiled - and something in the room dimmed. Not visibly, but... energetically. As though shadows leaned closer.

"I think it is," he said.

Her skin prickled. The air pulsed again. And then - the sword on the mantle glowed. Faint, but unmistakable.

Aria stood quickly. "Okay. I don't know what this is, but-"

"You're not crazy," he said, rising. "You feel it, don't you?"

She backed up a step. "What are you?"

The air shimmered again - and for a heartbeat, she saw something else. Scales. Wings. Gold. Fire

And then it was gone.

He took another step forward, slower this time, hands raised. "I didn't mean for you to see. Not yet. But I couldn't stop it. Not with you."

"I should go."

"No," he said, voice rich with something primal. "You should stay."

Aria's breath caught. Everything in her screamed to run - and yet... she didn't. Couldn't.

Because part of her wanted to stay.

She looked into those gold eyes again and whispered, "What are you doing to me?"

His jaw clenched, eyes darkening.

"Nothing," he said. "This... this is fate. And I've waited a long time to find you, Aria Monroe."

Aria stood frozen, her heart beating so fast it felt like it echoed in her ears.

"This is insane," she whispered. "You're insane."

Darian tilted his head. "You felt it the moment we saw each other. Don't deny it."

She opened her mouth to argue - but the words wouldn't come.

Because he was right.

The moment she'd looked at him, something had shifted inside her. Like waking from a dream she didn't know she was in. A hum in her blood. A warmth in her chest that felt ancient. Familiar.

No. She couldn't be thinking this way. He was just a man. A powerful, probably manipulative man. She didn't believe in magic. Not really.

"I don't know what this game is, but I'm not playing," she said, gripping her bag. "I came here for a job."

Darian's expression turned unreadable. "And you'll have it. If you want it. But understand this - working for me comes with truths you aren't ready for."

"Try me."

He regarded her in silence. Then, as if deciding something, he moved to the bookshelf behind him. He selected a thick leather tome - bound with what looked like iron clasps - and placed it on the table between them.

"What's this?"

"Your first assignment. Catalog it. Translate the inscription. If you can."

She glanced at the faded cover. Symbols were etched across the surface - but they didn't look like any language she recognized.

Except... they did.