Back in Geza, things were locked in war mode. Like full-paranoia, nobody-smiles kind of mood. The kind where if you blink too slow, you get mistaken for a spy and wake up in prison—or not at all.
Max Donman? He didn't care. He walked right through it like he belonged, blending in just enough, always keeping his hoodie up and mouth shut. He wasn't there to make friends. He was there for that girl. That damn Miteon girl he saw six months ago fighting alongside Jim—the same day everything went sideways.
Max was the last human in Senedro. Real talk—dude had no business being here. Earth didn't exactly stamp visas for interrealm drama, but Max had made his own way. With hate.
He hated Jim. Like, deep hate. Like "broke-his-brain-over-a-girl" kind of hate. The kind that makes you do stupid things like betray your species, buddy up with immortal beings, and steal magic relics just to get a win. And it worked. Kind of.
He helped Jessen—the big Setrum boss—jack the scepter from Jim. If it weren't for Max, Jim would've won. Would've completed the mission. Would've been alive. But instead? Boom. Dead. Ghosted from the story. And now? Now Max hated himself more than he ever hated Jim.
The irony? It wasn't even about Jim anymore. Not really. Not Jenna either. Not even the way Jim won her back in New York, right when she was very sick. That race for her heart was old news.
What haunted Max now was how he didn't show up for her in the end. Jenna Kossel. The girl who made him feel like he wasn't just another dude floating through life. She needed him when she was dying—and he was too damn busy chasing revenge to even pick up the phone. Coward move.
Regret doesn't punch you in the face. It just sits there, quiet, forever. Like a heavy-ass playlist on repeat.
He had sold out to the Setrums, thinking he'd feel powerful. Thinking he'd finally win at something. But Jessen played him like a fiddle. Used him. Tossed him. Welcome to Senedro, no return flight.
And now? He was stuck here. One-pass realm. No portals. No way back to Earth. He was human, yes—but in Senedro, that just made him extra weird. Like an unplugged toaster at a laser party.
Still, there was one thing keeping him sane. That girl. The Miteon. The one who moved like a shadow and stared like she knew your secrets. He didn't even know her name—but he had seen her with Jim. And right now, that was enough.
So he followed her. Kept his distance. Blending into the war-torn streets of Geza. No one recognized him. Everyone had their own trauma. No one had time to spot the lonely human with nothing left but guilt and a stubborn-ass sense of maybe-redemption. Maybe. Just maybe.
So he kept on her trail.
Quiet. Focused. Maybe kinda creepy. But hey—Max wasn't trying to be a weirdo. He was just… lost. And the Miteon girl? She moved like she knew the wind. She didn't walk—she slid through the alleys of Geza like someone born in them.
But even she felt it. That little twitch. That head tilt. That damn someone's behind me moment.
She paused. Eyes scanning. A vibe shift. You could smell the tension in the air—well, that and the burnt metal stench of war.
Max froze. Oops. Busted.
She didn't wait. Just zoom. Dashed through this weird shimmer-rip in the wall like some glitch in the Matrix. A portal. Not one of those fancy Setrum-engineered gates. This was raw. Natural. Like the world just decided to open up for her because... Miteons. Freakin' magic birds.
And Max? No wings. No powers. Just dumbass guts. So he jumped in.
It hit like a tequila shot chased with a punch to the face. The whole world twisted. His brain did a backflip. And boom—
He landed. Hard. Ass-first. Classic Max. The place was green. Like, green green. Green sand. Green sky. Even the air had that "I-just-licked-a-lime" vibe. Trippy as hell.
And then— Cold steel, right at his throat.
"Bro, really?" Max whispered, not moving a muscle.
The Miteon girl stood over him. Dagger at his neck. No expression. Murder mode: activated.
"I know you," she said, calm AF. "Why are you following me?"
Max didn't blink. He wanted to say something smart, something cool. Instead:
"I don't know," he said. "But… it's the same reason Jim trusted you."
That hit her like a slap. Not a big one. Just a tap. A memory tap.
She hesitated—just for a millisecond. And in that tiny crack, Max felt it.
The thing that had been messing with his brain for months. The déjà vu. The weird ache in his chest. It was her. She looked like Jenna Kossel. Not exactly. Not in a way you'd post on Instagram like "yo this girl's Jenna's twin." It was deeper. Her vibe. Her pain. The way she stood there, half-ready to stab him and half-ready to cry.
He didn't say it out loud. No way. That would've been peak creepy. But he felt it.
She stared at him. Eyes locked. And saw it. Not danger.
Just Max. The human fail. The walking regret. Guilt dripping off him like bad cologne.
She lowered the dagger. Finally.
"I'm not here to start anything," Max said, standing slow like an old man with a bad back. "I thought maybe you were scared of me… 'cause last time, yeah, I was kind of a dick."
She gave a soft shake of her head.
"I already knew you weren't a threat."
Damn. Okay. He didn't expect that level of chill. Then came the icebreaker:
"My name is Ella."
"Max Donman," he replied, brushing off green dust from his hoodie. "Nice meeting you again, Ella. And, uh… where are we?"
She smirked. "Good question."
This wasn't Geza. Hell, this wasn't anywhere in the known zones. This was... somewhere off-the-grid. Between worlds. A vibe-only zone.
Max didn't get it. But Ella? She didn't need to explain. You could tell just by looking around—this was her place. Her secret.
See, Ella had power. Not the basic lightning bolts or fireball kinda stuff. Nah. She got her juice from Zeebal, healer of Zela. Long story. (Look it up in Night's Chosen: Bound to the Dark if you're feeling nerdy.)
Now she was the eyes of Senedro. The one who sees the future. Trips into time like some mystical space grandma. And this weird green sandbox? Her go-to vision zone. The chill-spot where she could plug into fate like a damn USB stick.
But here's the problem.
When she's visioning—seeing stuff—her body turns into a sleeping beauty moment. Totally open. Vulnerable. Which means... She needed a guard. And now? She had Max.
Not a knight. Not a hero. Just a guy with no wings, too much guilt, and a deep hunger to do one thing right. Sometimes, you don't need a Thor. You just need the broken guy who stayed.
Ella launched into the spiritual realm like she was diving into a dream made of static. Max sat there, arms crossed, trying not to freak out every time she twitched. She was still, but her energy pulsed—like invisible waves pushing against him. It was intense. Kinda beautiful. Kinda terrifying.
Meanwhile, inside that other plane—Ella saw things. Glimpses. Flash cuts.
Fien, holding the scepter. Her aura burning like a flare in the dark. Somewhere far from her, shadows rippled into form—thin, tall figures with cracking skin and light bleeding out of their joints like lava veins.
The Shams. They weren't summoned. They weren't awakened. They were done waiting.
These weren't the products of dark rituals or secret armies—nah. These things were born from chaos itself. The leftovers of bad deals between Setrums and Senedro's more desperate locals. Spirit hybrids. Half-wrath, half-"oops-that-wasn't-supposed-to-happen." They didn't need a leader. They needed a home.
And Earth had kicked them out. Too many exorcists. Too much salt. Too many Christians getting serious with their prayer lives. They were getting booted like broken apps, and Senedro was the only unguarded space left. So they gathered—silently, strategically, and pissed. And they weren't here to talk. They were here to take.
Ella gasped and snapped back into herself like someone yanked her soul through a keyhole.
Max jumped and dropped his grass-snack. "Oh shit—you alive?"
She was pale. Breath shallow. Eyes wide. He knelt beside her, hand hovering like he wasn't sure if she needed a hug or a slap. "What did you see?"
"They're not following anyone," Ella whispered. "The Shams. They just… came."
Max squinted. "Like showed up uninvited? Like cockroaches in a five-star hotel?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "No one brought them in. No one opened a door. They found a crack, and now they're nesting. Fien's not commanding them"
She continued "But they're watching her. That scepter—it's a beacon. They think she'll either destroy the system... or open enough holes to help them through."
"Great," Max muttered. "We've got a rebellion on one side and demonic squatters on the other. And here I was thinking I'd just chill today."
Ella stood, brushing green dust from her pants. "This isn't about sides anymore. This is about survival."
Max sighed. "Alright. Let's go be heroes, I guess."
"Let's go warn someone," Ella corrected.
"Kk, Guess I'm your babysitter now, huh?" Max muttered.
Ella rolled her eyes. "You talk too much."
"You're welcome."
And somewhere in the silence that followed, something changed. A new alliance. Weird. Unexpected. But maybe… kind of beautiful?
But still in that silent green world, the war no one asked for had already begun.