The Game Begins

After a long day of work, Cyrus was cleaning the counter, his movements automatic, almost mechanical. He organized the café's utensils with precision, as he always did. But in his mind, a single thought kept echoing: Magnus's words.

A chance to escape. But was it real? Or just another illusion in a life that had always been a prison?

He couldn't tell.

"Magnus's words are still echoing in your head, aren't they, kid?" Louis's voice snapped him out of his reverie. The café owner was behind the counter, counting the bills before handing them to Cyrus. "At least once, everyone in this city has dreamed of the honor of becoming an Avatar, a chosen one of the gods. You've been given that chance. Just follow your heart, and everything will be fine."

Cyrus took the payment and stuffed the bills into his pocket without saying a word. He didn't know what to say. Was it really an opportunity? Or just another cage, gilded on the outside but still a cage?

He finished organizing everything, let out a tired sigh, and changed into his casual clothes. As he walked to the door, Louis called him again.

"Wait."

He handed Cyrus a sealed envelope with a red stamp. The symbol pressed into the wax resembled a serpent coiled around a circle. Cyrus stared at it for a moment before taking it. The paper felt rough under his fingers.

"Magnus himself left this for you. When you get home, take some time to read it."

Cyrus swallowed hard. The envelope felt heavier than it should. Something inside him warned that once he opened it, there would be no turning back.

With a slight nod, he tucked the envelope into his coat pocket and left, his mind still swirling with doubts.

Outside, the city looked the same as always. But something inside him told him that nothing would ever be the same again.

Then, the voice came.

"The game is over. Now it's time for the real work."

Cyrus felt his body stiffen. A heat ran down his spine, as if something raw and untamed was emerging within him. His fingers clenched into fists involuntarily.

"Just don't destroy our body." His voice sounded weak, muffled, as if it was already being dragged into the shadows.

"You think I'm a deadweight failure like you?" The reply was dripping with disdain. "Stay quiet and watch."

The air around Cyrus seemed to grow heavier. His shoulders squared. His gaze sharpened. The fatigue vanished as if it had never existed. His body now belonged to someone else.

Khaz was in control.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and, without hesitation, dialed a number. He brought the device to his ear and waited.

"Hello."

"It's me. Pick me up in front of the café. We're meeting with the others."

"Got it, boss. Give me 10 minutes."

The call ended without further words. Khaz tucked the phone back into his pocket and took a deep breath, feeling the energy pulsing beneath his skin.

Ten o'clock at night. The city still buzzed under the artificial lights, but he didn't care about the scenery around him. His focus was on the real work.

The work only he knew how to do.

Ten minutes later, the rumble of an engine echoed down the street. A motorcycle pulled up beside him, gleaming under the city lights.

"Where to now, boss?" asked the guy on the handlebars.

Khaz cast a satisfied glance at the Harley-Davidson Nightster Special. He had taken it from a rival gang, a trophy won by force.

The man on the motorcycle wore a worn leather jacket and dark jeans. His skin was tan, his curly hair cut short, and his face carried a serene smile, a stark contrast to the violent world they lived in. But his brown eyes had a sharp glint, as if they were always calculating the next move.

"Let's head to the warehouse. Did you let everyone know we're having a meeting?"

"Only Troy hasn't shown up yet. The rest are already there waiting."

Khaz took control of the bike while Salen climbed on the back. The engine roared louder, and they sped off into the night, heading toward the outskirts of the city.

For a few moments, only the wind and the noise of the city filled the silence. Then, Khaz spoke, without taking his eyes off the road:

"How are things, Salen? Did your mom get better after the meds?"

Salen let out a short laugh.

"You know how it is... a heist here, a gig there, everything's flowing as usual. But my mom's doing much better. Thanks for getting the meds, seriously. I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

Khaz snorted, impatient with formalities.

"Cut the crap. You and your mom are the only close family we've got left. If you need anything, you can count on me."

Salen fell silent for a moment, a rare glimmer of emotion passing through his eyes.

"I know, boss. Thanks."

The motorcycle accelerated, cutting through the night. The destination? The real game that Khaz knew how to play.