Black crystal

Lyra realized she'd made a tactical error somewhere between her third and fourth drink.

The taste was sharp, sweet and fizzy on her tongue, but it was the warmth that tricked her the way it slid into her veins, unwinding the knots of competition and fatigue that had bound her all week.

She'd thought a little loosening up wouldn't hurt. But she'd forgotten how easily celebration could tip into chaos, especially in this world, among humans whose hearts burned so close to the surface.

The party was a living, writhing beast. Students packed the auditorium wall to wall, the lights shifting through neon pink, violet, and blue.

Music thundered, so loud she could feel it in her bones. Laughter was everywhere—wild, high, untamed.

Bodies pressed close on the makeshift dance floor, some dancing, some just moving for the sake of being seen.

Lyra found herself swept along by the current, a hundred hands reaching for her—compliments, grins, fingers tracing her hair, her dress.

She let it happen, laughing with them, letting herself be carried by the flood. Crystals shimmered and spun around her: pink for infatuation, deep red for lust, golden admiration.

She hadn't expected to feel so… wanted. It was exhilarating. Addictive. It made her reckless.

And yet, there was an edge. A cold, sharp awareness that cut through the alcohol's glow. Some part of her remained alert, counting the faces, the patterns in the crowd, the way magic flickered in the corner of her vision.

She saw Alayah once or twice just a silhouette, backlit by strobes, surrounded by her usual orbit of admirers. Every time Lyra looked, Alayah wasn't looking at her.

At some point she lost track of the hour a hand caught her wrist. Not a friendly one. She turned and saw the football player. His grip was just a little too tight, his smile just a little too thin.

"Hey, where you going?" he slurred, leaning close. His breath was sharp with liquor and cheap aftershave.

Lyra twisted her wrist, testing his hold. "Let go."

He didn't, not at first. "C'mon, don't be like that. We're just having fun."

She stared him down, purple eyesc lear despite the alcohol. "I said: Let go. I'm not interested."

He frowned, clearly not used to resistance. A dark pulse of energy sparked between them—a crystal, black as ink, swirling at his chest.

Lyra felt its emotion like a cold wind: envy, frustration, anger. Dangerous, the kind of feeling that never stayed contained.

Before she could say more, Zoe appeared at her side, all bright hair and frantic energy.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere!" She slipped an arm around Lyra's waist, grinning up at the guy with the disarming confidence only Zoe could muster.

"We need water, right? You look like you need a break."

Lyra's face softened with relief. "Definitely. Thanks, Zoe." She gently but firmly pulled her wrist free, ignoring the guy's low growl. The black crystal hovered, pulsing, but she turned her back on it and followed Zoe into the throng.

"God, you really know how to draw a crowd," Zoe said, leading Lyra to a table loaded with drinks and plastic cups. She poured two glasses of water, pushing one into Lyra's hand. "Are you okay? That guy looked… intense."

Lyra nodded, the noise of the party finally catching up with her. She sipped her water, letting the cold soothe her throat.

"He's not worth worrying about. Probably just wanted to feel important." She forced a laugh, trying to brush it off.

But even as she tried to move past it, her senses prickled. She felt the swirl of energy in the room, the way magic hung heavy in the air.

Most of it was harmless crushes, admiration, fleeting lust but the black crystal at the edge of her mind was like a shadow on her tongue.

Zoe followed her gaze, squinting. "You know, when that guy grabbed you, I could've sworn I saw Alayah stand up. Or maybe it was just someone with the same hair. She kinda vanished after that."

Lyra snorted, trying to keep it light. "Probably her. She's everywhere these days."

Zoe sipped her own water, glancing at Lyra over the rim of her cup. "She's probably off seducing someone else. Anyway, you look amazing tonight. I don't think anyone's ever seen you like this—well, not on purpose."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well. New country, new rules. Maybe I'll even dance before the night's over."

Zoe's eyes lit up. "Deal! But first, more water. And maybe food, if you can find any that's not just chips and sadness."

They both laughed, but Lyra's thoughts were already elsewhere. She scanned the crowd, searching for Alayah—partly because she wanted to see her, partly because she wanted to prove to herself she didn't care.

But Alayah had disappeared, her orbit of admirers collapsed. The party surged on, oblivious to the tension brewing at its edges.

Lyra checked the time on her phone. Past midnight. She'd been here for hours, and exhaustion finally crept into her bones.

She'd collected a bounty of crystals—enough that her magic hummed in her chest, sweet and sharp.

She almost wished the contest with Alayah could end tonight. Maybe then she could stop trying so hard. Maybe then she could just… exist.

"Hey, I'm gonna get some air," she told Zoe, who nodded, already drawn into a conversation with someone from her club.

Lyra slipped out the side door, the thumping music muffled behind her. The night air was crisp, the campus quiet except for the distant sound of laughter and a stray car.

She breathed in deep, letting her senses expand. The stars above were cold and clear, grounding her in a way the party never could.

She stepped out onto the pavement, her heels clicking on the stone. For a moment, she let herself just be—no contest, no pressure, just a girl in a black dress beneath the moon.

She didn't hear him approach. The football player's presence pressed at the edge of her mind—a shadow where there should be none. He stepped from behind a pillar, anger written in every line of his body.

Lyra stiffened, instinct sharpening, the lingering warmth of alcohol burning away in an instant.

He moved closer. "You think you're too good for me?"

She sighed, every trace of patience gone. "I told you I'm not interested. Go home."

He reached for her arm again, grip tight, fingers digging into her skin. The black crystal swirled at his chest, darker and thicker now, fed by every sliver of rejection and resentment. It pulsed, trembling on the edge of something catastrophic.

Lyra's eyes flashed—blue and gold. "Let. Me. Go."

He didn't. "You fucking bitch—"

In that instant, the crystal at his chest cracked, a jagged line of energy splintering down its core.

Magic spilled out, violent and raw, a darkness that sucked the warmth from the air. The guy's grip loosened as his eyes rolled back. He made a choking sound, then collapsed to the ground, out cold.

Lyra staggered backward, heart hammering, as the crack in the crystal spread. The air itself twisted, shadows boiling up from the broken magic.

From the splintered crystal, a shape formed—a monster dragged from the worst corners of nightmare and hate, all jagged limbs and snapping jaws, its eyes a feverish, vengeful red.

Lyra stood frozen for a heartbeat, staring at the horror she'd unleashed—born not from her magic, but from the poison that had clung to this world long before she'd ever set foot in it.

The monster turned its eyes on her, and the night trembled.