Revenge: A Path of Destruction

Night draped the Wind Clan like silk woven from deep indigo.

Though the moon hung low and veiled behind sheer clouds, the city refused to sleep.

Lanterns shaped like floating blossoms drifted above silvered walkways, pulsing with wind-aspected mana that bathed the rooftops in soft green and blue hues.

The air shimmered faintly with enchantments and night wardings—beauty and security entwined.

Laughter echoed from alley bars and open-sky lounges. Mana-clad couples danced through elevated glass bridges suspended between spire-like buildings, their joy framed by the whispering wind.

Neon sigils blinked from club facades, promising music, mirth, or whatever trouble one sought. And in the midst of it all—hidden in motion—a shadow raced across the heights.

A small tigress, no bigger than a juvenile, bolted silently across rooftops. Her body was made of pure black lightning, a stunning contrast to the calm pastel light of the Wind Clan's outer estate.

She wasn't real—or rather, she wasn't truly there. This was a projection, a living fragment of Nyxara's will forged from her elemental mastery.

Back in the hotel, her real body rested beside Alex, her consciousness split through her avatar. She had made sure Alex was fast asleep, cloaking herself with her finest layers of silence and electromagnetic interference, slipping away unnoticed in a form light enough to pass through walls, but dense enough to touch the ground.

The tigress flickered and zipped forward with supernatural grace, each step almost invisible to mortal eyes.

She leapt from curved parapets to glistening tiles, from wind-swept arches to hanging walkways, as lightning tendrils burst beneath her paws, launching her with impossible speed.

To any hidden sentries or surveillance wards, she was nothing but a residual spark or a trick of the mana wind.

She didn't slow until she reached the gilded estate on the far eastern quadrant of the district. Here, unlike the bustling avenues below, a stillness lingered.

This was where foreign dignitaries and selected noble guests were housed—a cluster of elegant buildings surrounded by runic walls and private gardens.

Atop one such building, Nyxara paused, her form crouched low beside an air vent etched with detection runes. Her crackling tail flicked.

"Found you..." she murmured in thought.

Inside one of the rooms, high-ceilinged and softly lit by a floating glass orb, Lauren Blackwood sat in a modest nightgown at a circular glass desk. The guest rooms here were luxurious, yet restrained—Wind Clan aesthetics leaned toward graceful minimalism. Wind-chimes hung near the open window, humming faintly with elemental harmony. A table of mana-steeped flowers gave off a soothing scent.

Lauren leaned forward, brow furrowed, flipping through a slim portfolio of documents—a tactical overview passed to her by one of the Masters in her retinue. They were intelligence reports, half-redacted and filled with threads that led nowhere. Her fingers tensed.

The search for Alex had become more complicated with every passing day, and the Wind Clan's quiet meddling only made it worse.

Then—

The air shifted.

It wasn't loud. Not even magical. It was the type of stillness that made one aware they were no longer alone.

Lauren slowly raised her head.

Across the room, near the window, a shape stood—a small tigress, but like no creature she had seen before. Its body was made entirely of sizzling black lightning, yet it held shape, detail, and weight. Eyes of burning violet stared at her, intelligent and ancient.

Lauren didn't move. She didn't scream. She didn't attack.

She simply narrowed her eyes, calculating, as her hand subtly shifted closer to a concealed artifact near the edge of the table.

The tigress tilted its head.

"You're more beautiful than I thought," it said, its voice oddly soft, womanly, mature, warm, yet undeniably feline. Sparks danced along its whiskers.

"Seems Alex has eyes for gems."

Lauren froze.

It wasn't the compliment.

It wasn't the oddity of a lightning-tigress speaking in fluent, calm tones.

It was the name.

Alex.

Her heart skipped a beat—not in romance, but in the collision of truth.

Her lips parted slightly. A breath caught. She slowly stood, every muscle taut.

"…Who are you?" she asked, voice calm but cold. "And what do you know about him?"

The tigress didn't answer immediately. Instead, it walked a few steps into the room, the floor beneath it faintly scorched in the shape of small pawprints. It stopped before Lauren's bed, coiling its tail around itself as it sat, eyes never leaving hers.

"I know him better than anyone alive," it said simply.

Lauren's expression hardened. "That doesn't answer my question."

The tigress blinked. Then let out what sounded like a sigh, the crackle of static accompanying the gesture.

"I'm not here to threaten you, girl. If I wanted that, you'd already be unconscious. I came here to look at you. To see what kind of person could pull even a flicker of emotion from him. And now I understand."

Lauren was silent. Studying. Calculating. She no longer reached for the artifact.

"I need to see him, please," she asked finally. "Can you take me to him? please—"

"Sorry, I can't do that." The words were instant. Firm.

Lauren's brows furrowed. The tigress's gaze did not waver.

"Just know that he is doing okay. He's doing things he believes he must. Things no one else will do. Things… most people would curse him for."

Lauren took a deep breath, her voice quieter now. "Then what is he?"

Nyxara didn't answer right away. She stood up, pacing slowly, lightning trailing behind her.

Then she said, softly—

"He's a storm that is trying to remembers being human."

The wind outside the window picked up slightly, rustling the curtains. Lauren's thoughts spun, the implications hanging heavily in the room.

Before she could speak again, Nyxara turned to her, eyes softer this time.

"He's still watching. And wondering." A pause. "and I want your help with something"

Then, with a flick of her tail, she leapt backward—

"But for now continue living, I will send a message when I need you, and don't worry it's for his own good"

—and burst into a ripple of black lightning, flashing out the window and vanishing into the night.

Lauren stood still, her hand now pressed flat on the desk, her breath steadying.

But her thoughts were anything but calm.