Revenge: A Path of Destruction

Morning crept into the hotel suite like a whisper, the soft hum of ambient wind crystals casting a faint silver glow across the room. The bed, draped in silk-threaded sheets, stirred gently as Nyxara blinked awake, her feline eyes narrowing at the absence of warmth beside her.

She lifted her head, stretching her limbs with a groggy yawn. Her ears twitched.

Something was off.

The air was still—but not in the way it should be.

She sniffed once.

No scent of Alex.

No rustle of movement.

Her eyes darted to the couch. Empty.

The bathroom? Quiet.

The entire room… empty.

She leapt to her feet, her fur bristling slightly—not in fear, but in irritation. Nyxara closed her eyes and reached inward, focusing on the faint, ever-present bond that tethered her soul to his.

He wasn't far. Still in the hotel.

But not in the room.

Her tail flicked.

"Where are you?" she asked, pushing the message along their shared link, her tone sharp but laced with concern.

A beat passed.

Then Alex's voice returned to her—calm, composed, and far too casual for her liking.

"Just decided to take a quick jog."

Her ears flattened. "Without me? Alex, why didn't you wake me up?"

"Didn't see a reason to," he replied smoothly. "You'd just be stuck in the pocket dimension anyway. Also, I wasn't ready to hear your nagging this early in the morning."

Nyxara scowled, but said nothing at first, the silence punctuated only by her annoyed breathing. He had a point. With Alex in disguise, she couldn't be seen alongside him—and appearing as a small tigress would raise more than a few eyebrows, even in a place like this.

Still…

"You could have woken me," she muttered, quieter now.

"Please," he shot back, amusement creeping into his mental voice. "If your so-called shape sense couldn't pick up when I left, then that's on you. And let's not forget the last time I tried waking you up."

Nyxara froze.

Oh no.

Not that story.

"Alex—"

"I still have the mark."

Her cheeks flushed beneath her fur. Embarrassment flared in her chest. "That was years ago! I was a cub!"

"And I suffered for it." His tone was mock-grim, as if recounting a battlefield injury. "Since then, I made a vow never to wake a sleeping beast. Who knows what you'd do now that you're stronger? I like my face symmetrical, thank you."

Nyxara groaned aloud and rolled onto her back in defeat, one paw draped over her eyes.

She hated when he was right.

"Fine. Just come back safely, idiot."

His laughter echoed down the link—warm, genuine, a subtle contrast to the cold edge she'd seen in him just last night.

For a moment, it eased something in her chest.

And as his laughter faded into the background, Nyxara curled back into the soft blankets, tail swishing lazily.

She said nothing else.

But the faint smile playing across her muzzle said enough.

---

The early morning air was crisp, kissed by a gentle breeze that swept across the sprawling grounds of the Pavilion—a five-star hotel carved with grace into the outer district of the Wind Clan's city.

Despite its size, the building flowed with natural elegance, its curved rooftops and spiraling wind-sculpted arches mimicking the gusts that danced perpetually overhead.

Alex's footsteps echoed softly against the polished stone pathways that wound through the gardens and courtyards behind the hotel. He wore a simple dark tracksuit, unmarked by logos or symbols, the hood pulled slightly over his head to shadow his eyes.

The jogging trail looped around carefully landscaped terrain—zen-like stone arrangements, soft green hills bordered with flowering shrubs that responded to the mana in the air, and a glistening stream that wove through the grounds like a silver ribbon.

Tall wind-crystals lined the path, softly pulsing with faint emerald hues as they regulated the climate within the outer perimeter.

A few guests were already making use of the morning quiet.

To his left, a young couple jogged side by side, their laughter drifting like chimes in the breeze. They looked recently married—perhaps honeymooners, drawn to the Wind Clan's prestige. The woman leaned on the man's shoulder mid-stride, both breathless but smiling, lost in a bubble of joy that seemed impervious to the world.

Farther along, a man in his forties jogged with his teenage daughter, matching her stride with easy patience. She was red-faced but grinning ear to ear as she pointed toward a cluster of levitating wind-lanterns. "Race you to the fountain!" she called, sprinting ahead. The man laughed and gave chase, clearly enjoying their little tradition.

A few older joggers moved at a calmer pace, nodding politely at Alex as they passed. Some, intrigued by his presence and cool demeanor, tried to strike up light conversation.

"First time here?" one asked with a friendly smile.

"Beautiful weather, isn't it?" another offered, stretching nearby.

But Alex gave no reply.

His gaze remained forward, detached.

Polite but distant.

Even when a small child toddled a few steps onto the trail chasing a floating petal and bumped into his leg, Alex merely sidestepped, offered a silent glance helped the child, and continued on.

To them, he was just another quiet guest enjoying the amenities.

But to Alex, this was merely terrain.

Scenery.

Noise.

The warmth around him didn't register.

Not because he couldn't feel it—but because he no longer allowed himself to.

Every smiling face was a reminder. Every laugh, every breath of calm, a soft dagger.

He wasn't part of this world. Not anymore.

He belonged to another one—built of shadows, silence, and purpose.

He jogged past a bridge arching over the stream, its surface etched with runes that caught the morning sun like glittering scales. Past a garden where wind lilies bloomed only when the breeze blew just right.

Past a stone gazebo where a noblewoman sipped tea, her Shwt guard standing respectfully behind her.

All of it, beautiful.

All of it… irrelevant.

Alex moved like a phantom among them. Present, but unreachable. Seen, but never touched.

He didn't pause.

Didn't slow.

His breath was steady, his heart silent.

He was only here to think.

To feel nothing.

And when the loop neared its end, when the golden light of the Wind Clan's rising sun crested over the horizon and spilled through the high glass walls of the hotel lobby—

He kept moving.

Because stopping meant thinking.

And thinking meant remembering.