In a city where even the rain carries secrets, two souls from different scars look back at the roads that led them to the same storm.
The neon haze of Nocturne City flickered as midnight rolled in — that strange hour when the towers of the megacorps gleamed like gods, and the gutters of the Ironshade District whispered like ghosts. Streets pulsed with synthetic life: hovercars whined past in streaks of color, sirens wailed in the distance like mechanical banshees, and the skies above churned with smog-drenched starlight.
For once, the chaos had paused. Just for a breath. Just long enough for memory to catch up.
And in that breath… old wounds stirred.
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The diner barely deserved the name. A half-collapsed neon sign buzzed weakly outside, flickering between "Nocturne Diner" and "No urn Die." Inside, the vinyl booths were peeling, the tile floors cracked, and the flickering holo-menu hovered slightly crooked. The kind of place that wore its grime like a badge of honor — and most of its customers came here either to vanish… or to remember.
Rosa sat in the farthest booth, bathed in flickering green-blue light. She stirred her synth-coffee absently, the cup long cooled, eyes far off — staring through time rather than space.
Lucien slid into the seat across from her without a word. His trench coat dripped acid rainwater onto the cracked leather as he leaned back with a theatrical sigh.
"Didn't think you still drank that stuff," he muttered, eyeing her mug. "Figured you'd upgraded to better poison by now."
Rosa didn't look at him. But a faint smirk ghosted across her lips.
"Some poisons… stick with you."
Lucien didn't answer right away. The air between them wasn't tense — just thick. Like a room filled with smoke that hadn't come from fire. Shared history. Ghosts of old streets.
For a moment, neither of them needed to speak. But tonight wasn't about silence. Tonight was about what the city had carved out of them — and what it left behind.
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Rosa's Past — The Velvora Child
She leaned back slowly, gaze drifting toward the stained ceiling tiles.
"Y'know…" Her voice was low, almost lost beneath the hum of old electrics. "I wasn't even born in Nocturne City. Not this version, anyway."
Lucien looked up, brow quirked.
"My family… they were old Velvora stock. Before the towers. Before the neon signs and Syndicate checkpoints. We lived near the edge — out in the ruins where even maps go to die. My grandmother called it the Veil's Border. Said the city wasn't built on stone. It was built on sacrifices."
Lucien blinked. The name sparked something old in the back of his brain — half-buried urban legends whispered in shadow markets. "Velvora? That's ancient. That's like… pre-Syndicate lore. I didn't even think that was real—"
"Because they erased it," Rosa cut in sharply. "First the corporates. Then the Churches. Then the underground. Every power structure that rose made sure Velvora fell off the record."
She curled her fingers around her cup until the metal groaned.
"But the bones? They're still here. Under our feet. Under everything."
Lucien watched her in silence, the usual glint in his eyes dulled. He noticed the faint shimmer beneath her skin — Pact markings, buried deep but never gone.
"I was seven when I made my first pact," Rosa said, her voice a whisper now. "It wasn't out of ambition. It was survival. Something crawled up from the drains, whispering truths my parents couldn't hear. I said yes because it was either that or die in the dark."
She looked up finally, eyes sharp and glowing faintly red.
"They took everything from us — our names, our faith, our memories. So I learned to take from them instead."
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Lucien's Past — The Orphan Watcher
Lucien gave a dry chuckle, pulling a crushed cigarette from his coat. He lit it with a flick of his finger, knowing full well Rosa hated the smell. That was part of the point.
"My turn, huh?" Smoke curled upward in lazy spirals. "I don't have a legacy. No old-world blood. Just moldy orphanage floors and streets that smelled like rust and regret."
He leaned back, tapping ash into a broken saucer.
"Red Vein Blocks. Back when they still trafficked kids for organ markets. I learned to count from the number of body bags wheeled out every morning. Learned to read from torn-up bounty posters and worse."
Rosa grimaced, but said nothing.
"There was this old guy though. Called himself Watcher. Real paranoid bastard. Taught me how to pick pockets, fake IDs, vanish between security drags. Said I had 'eyes built for the dark.'"
Lucien's usual smirk faltered for a moment.
"Then one day, he just… disappeared. Like he was never there. Maybe the city got him. Maybe something older."
He tapped his temple. "So I kept the name. Became the next Watcher. And kept surviving."
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The City's Curse
Rosa drummed her fingers against the tabletop.
"You ever wonder why this city? Why all the monsters, the contracts, the blood rituals in alleyways no one remembers walking down?"
Lucien's expression darkened. "Because this place is cursed."
"Not just cursed," she replied. "It remembers. It's like… it wants to remember. Every sin. Every death. Every broken oath. This whole city is a graveyard of promises. And it keeps pulling people in — the desperate, the hungry, the haunted."
Lucien nodded slowly. "Nocturne. Velvora. Doesn't matter what name it wears. It's a sinkhole. For souls."
For a second, their eyes locked — no jokes, no jabs. Just understanding. Survivors of a machine that fed on blood and memory.
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Their moment was shattered by a loud CLACK as a plate of steaming, suspiciously jiggly Synth-Eggs Deluxe was slammed onto the table.
"On the house, sweethearts," grunted Ms. Takako, the cranky owner and unofficial queen of the diner. "You two look like the ghosts of bad decisions."
Lucien smirked. "Death would sue for defamation."
Takako promptly whacked him upside the head with a wet towel.
"Eat your protein, detective. Demons love empty stomachs."
Rosa actually laughed — not just a chuckle, but a real laugh. The kind that startled even her. For a moment, the city noise faded. It was just them, a plate of congealed diner food, and the aching warmth of something almost like peace.
As they ate in comfortable silence, the neon light from outside cast lazy waves of color across the window.
Then — just for a breath, just long enough for the subconscious to blink — the flickering diner sign changed.
Nocturne Diner became:
"Velvora Eats."
Then it flicked back.
Rosa didn't notice. Lucien looked up — and froze.
The city remembers.
Even when no one else does.
[End of Chapter 87]
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Next Chapter Preview: Chapter 88 – "The Church of Burning Eyes"
Asher descends into the undercity to confront the elusive sect rumored to predate Nocturne's founding. There, under rusted cathedrals and endless flame-lit halls, he uncovers secrets about Rosa's forgotten bloodline, Lucien's vanished mentor, and the real reason memory itself is currency in Nocturne City.