Who will save the Day ?

One dark night in the city of Beliz, a city decimated by an atomic bomb, the smell of burnt ashes lingered in the air, stretching from the city's gate to the banks of the Roin River. Amidst the ruins of thousands of buildings, one structure stood miraculously intact, and within it, a lone survivor: Zeyn. He surveyed the desolate landscape with despair in his eyes. Everything was destroyed, his friends and family perished, leaving him the sole survivor at the heart of what was once a bustling metropolis. A small light appeared in the distance. As it drew closer, it took on the form of a human being, leaving Zeyn confused and disoriented.

"Long live the king of my world, long live!" the figure, Akira, greeted him.

Zeyn awoke with a start, the ringing of his alarm clock yanking him from his nightmare. Traumatized, he muttered, "A dream! Again?

These unsettling dreams were becoming disturbingly frequent. Zeyn, a towering figure at seven feet tall with fair skin, a black left eye, and a right eye that sometimes turned red, was a man of few words. Only he knew the truth about his eyes; to everyone else, he was the intimidating man with dark, piercing eyes. His short grey hair and muscular build, despite never visiting a gym, only added to his imposing presence. Surrounded by bodyguards and three personal assistants, it was nearly impossible for strangers to have a personal conversation with him.

Glancing at his wristwatch, Zeyn noted the time. "8 am! Should I go back to sleep? What's on my schedule? I need to call Daine. No, let me just go to work. This repetitive life is boring!"

Meanwhile, in a world starkly different from Zeyn's, life was a daily struggle. Across the road from Zeyn's opulent existence, people lived in hunger and poverty, surviving one day at a time. Layla, a 23-year-old fresh out of college with a degree in journalism, had been searching in vain for employment. Most job postings demanded ten years of experience, an unattainable requirement for her. But today, Layla woke up with renewed hope. Unlike other days, she felt energized and ready to seek opportunities, any job that would offer her a chance to work

Dressed in a formal black mini dress, black stilettos, and black lipstick, Layla ventured out. An hour later, she found herself at Zeyn's production company.

"Young lady, have you made an appointment?" the clerk asked.

"No, but I beg to see the manager, please," Layla replied.

"He's not in yet, but even if he were, you wouldn't be able to see him without an appointment. He schedules his meetings through his assistants."

Unfazed, Layla turned to leave. As she did, one of her worn-out stilettos broke, sending her sprawling to the floor.

Zeyn, arriving at that moment, rushed to her side. "Are you okay?"

Embarrassed, Layla stammered, "I'm fine. I just need to leave."

She stood up, clutching her broken shoe, and tried to make a hasty exit. Zeyn, however, ordered his guards to stop her.

"Leave me alone! I took nothing. I just wanted to—" Layla protested.

Zeyn approached her calmly. "What brought you here?"

"I'm looking for employment. I have my CV and—" Layla began.

"Follow me," Zeyn interrupted, his tone serious.

Layla nervously followed him, aware of the curious eyes watching them. They entered a grand office, its opulent furnishings fit for a king.

"Such beauty," Layla murmured, admiring the room.

"What?" Zeyn asked, confused.

"Oh, I meant the office. It's twice the size of my house," Layla explained.

Zeyn scrutinized her, concerned about her tendency to bluff. "May I have your CV?"

Layla handed it over, and Zeyn frowned as he read it. "A 50% average pass rate?"

"I had to juggle five part-time jobs as a student," Layla explained.

"I only employ the best of the best. I—" Zeyn began, but suddenly, a sharp pain struck his back. He struggled to maintain his posture as his right eye turned red. Layla, terrified, backed towards the door.

"Who are you?" she whispered, scared.

"Please don't open the door," Zeyn pleaded, trying to regain control. After a few tense moments, his eye returned to normal. "Please, sit down."

Layla hesitated but complied, though the comfort of the room had vanished. "As I was saying, I had to deal with—"

"You are employed as my personal assistant. Report to work tomorrow, and please wear something more lively. I can't cope with that dress code," Zeyn cut her off.

Layla's fear was momentarily replaced by excitement. She thanked Zeyn profusely and left, thrilled with her new job. But as she departed, the room grew cold again.

"What have I done?" Zeyn muttered to himself. "That girl is disoriented and knows too much. My eye never turned red in the office. What if it happens again? What will become of me?"

Zeyn was deeply unsettled. He knew he needed to investigate his condition but was wary of becoming a lab experiment. Canceling his schedule, he decided to call it a day.

"Daine, please cancel all my meetings or get Quinton to handle them," he instructed his assistant.

"Yes, sir. Do you need any help?" Daine asked.

"No, I need to leave. We'll discuss this tomorrow," Zeyn replied.

Back home, Zeyn loosened his tie and collapsed on the couch, exhausted from the day's events. As he drifted into a nap, a familiar voice echoed in his mind.

"You met your destruction. I knew this day would come. You must return home, for you don't belong here," Akira's voice warned.

Zeyn jolted awake, questioning his sanity. "Was that a dream? Am I running mad? The past days have been tough, and my secret is harder to keep. Today, someone learned about my eye. Tomorrow, who will?"