The Prince of Storms

Lyra's footsteps were barely audible as she crossed the ballroom, her eyes locked on Eryan. Each movement he made seemed deliberate like he was part of the very air around him, and yet there was a weariness in his gaze, a shadow lurking beneath the surface that mirrored her unease.

As she drew closer, saw the way the crowd parted around him, as if instinctively sensing the power that hummed from within him. The room felt smaller, the laughter and music dimming into the background. Lyra's heart raced faster with every step, but her legs moved of their own accord, pulling her toward him, toward destiny.

Eryan didn't notice her approach at first, his attention fixed on the far end of the room. But as if feeling her presence, his head turned slightly, and his eyes locked onto hers. The world seemed to stop.

His mask was a simple piece of dark leather, accentuated by silver streaks that caught the light in strange ways, almost as though they were alive. It didn't hide his sharp features—high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and lips that, despite being hidden behind the mask, still exuded a quiet command. But it was his eyes that drew her in. They were stormy grey, swirling with an intensity that mirrored the tempest she'd been warned of.

Lyra hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. She had come here for answers, but standing in front of him, the answer seemed impossible to grasp. The air between them crackled with something unknown, something dangerous.

Eryan spoke first, his voice low but clear, cutting through the silence that had enveloped them.

"You've come," he said, his tone both an acknowledgement and a challenge. acknowledgementting for you."

Lyra swallowed, forcing herself to steady her breathing. "How did you know I would be here?"

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, though it was tinged with sadness. "The masquerade calls to those who are bound by fate. And you, Lyra, have been called."

The sound of her name on his lips stirred something deep within her. How did he know her name? She hadn't introduced herself, nor had anyone else. She studied him closely, the weight of his gaze pressing into her skin.

"I'm not here by choice," she said, trying to mask the tremor in her voice. "I'm here to find answers."

Eryan's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "Answers, yes. But sometimes, the questions we ask aren't the ones that matter most."

Before Lyra could respond, a sudden gust of wind swept through the ballroom, causing the candles to flicker and the silken drapes to flutter. The temperature dropped, and Lyra felt a shiver run down her spine. Her eyes darted to the windows, but they were all closed, and the storm outside hadn't yet begun.

The prince's smile faded, and the storm in his eyes grew darker. "It seems our time for idle conversation has ended."

Lyra watched as he took a step closer, the air around him swirling, thick with the weight of something ancient and powerful. "You were never meant to remain in the shadows of this masquerade, Lyra. Your destiny is tied to more than just this night."

Her pulse quickened. She could feel the pull of his words, the unspoken promise of secrets she hadn't yet dared to uncover.

"You don't understand," she began, but her voice faltered as she noticed the intensity of his gaze. "I don't belong here. I'm not like them."

Eryan's expression softened slightly, though his eyes remained stormy. "None of us truly belong, Lyra. That's the curse of the masquerade. But you, you are different. You're the key to breaking it."

She recoiled, confused and wary. "Breaking the masquerade? What are you talking about?"

Before he could answer, a loud crash rang through the room, followed by the sharp sound of shuffling feet and panicked whispers. The doors at the far end of the ballroom slammed open, and figures draped in dark cloaks poured into the hall. Their faces were hidden, but their presence was undeniable. They were not guests. They were something else.

"Trouble," Eryan muttered, his voice a low growl. He reached out and grasped her wrist with surprising force. "Come with me, now."

Lyra barely had time to react before he pulled her toward the shadowed alcove at the side of the room. The masked figures moved swiftly, searching the crowd, their movements deliberate and terrifying. Lyra's heart raced as she was tugged into the shadows. She tried to steady herself, but her thoughts were scattered, the events unfolding faster than she could comprehend.

"Who are they?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Eryan's gaze never left the figures as he pulled her deeper into the shadows. "They are the ones who've been hunting me. The ones who want to keep the curse alive."

The room outside the alcove erupted into chaos. The sound of glass breaking and frantic footsteps filled the air. The masquerade was no longer just a game. It was a battleground.

And Lyra, caught between fate and fear, was right in the centre of it.