Shadow Slave/// Oldest Dream

The district Klaus Zakharov once ruled was unlike any other. A place where the past and present intertwined, where the grandeur of forgotten eras stood side by side with the marvels of modern spelltech.

It was called Beauté du Passé—the Beauty of the Past—a poetic name chosen by Noah Zakharov, Klaus's younger brother. And true to its name, the district felt like a living museum, a window into history, its very streets infused with a sense of nostalgia and elegance.

A place That Remembered.

Walking through Beauté du Passé was like stepping into another time. Colorful buildings adorned with intricate iron balconies and lush courtyards lined the narrow cobblestone streets. Gas lamps flickered in the twilight, their soft glow casting long shadows that danced across the worn stones. The architecture was an exquisite blend of old French, Spanish, and Creole influences, remnants of a colonial past that refused to be forgotten.

Yet, for all its old-world charm, spelltech pulsed beneath its surface, seamlessly integrated into the district's foundation. Enchanted carriages glided noiselessly down the streets, streetlamps brightened at a whispered command, and spectral guides led visitors through the district's storied past.

It was a place of contradictions—where history breathed but never faded.

The Heart of Beauté du Passé was breathtaking.

Each corner of the district held a different tale, a different energy:

Bourbon Street – The soul of the city's revelry. Wild, untamed, pulsing with life. Here, lively bars and jazz clubs spilled music into the streets, their melodies mingling with the laughter of travelers and locals alike. The air carried the scent of rum, tobacco, and something electric—like the city itself was alive.

Royal Street – A stark contrast to Bourbon's chaos. Here, refinement reigned. Art galleries, antique shops, and boutiques lined the streets, their windows filled with treasures from across the ages. A street for those who appreciated beauty, who understood the value of time-worn masterpieces.

Listening Square – A place of stories. A historic plaza where street performers wove magic with music and words, where artists sketched portraits under the watchful gaze of the centuries-old cathedral that had withstood even the Dark Ages and the Age of Nightmare Spell.

The French Market – The district's beating heart. Stalls overflowed with fresh produce, rare antiques, and handcrafted relics. The scent of spiced gumbo and freshly baked bread lingered in the air, drawing in visitors with promises of indulgence.

And then, of course, there was the endless music.

Jazz, blues, and folk songs spilled from every alleyway. Second-line parades wove through the streets, musicians leading the way as revelers followed in joyous celebration. Colorful floats, beads, and masks transformed the roads into an ever-moving festival. Even in its quietest hours, the city hummed with a rhythm of its own.

For Klaus, Beauté du Passé was more than just a district. It was a reflection of himself—his love for history, art, and painting etched into every corner. A place where the past was preserved, not as something distant and forgotten, but as something alive and celebrated.

And because of Tatiana's desire for beauty and elegance, Klaus had spared no expense. He had poured wealth, time, and vision into making the district as enchanting as possible—a masterpiece carved into the NQSC.

___

Beauté du Passé no longer belonged to the Zakharovs. A pretender had taken their district, their castle, and their wealth.

Klaus wasn't the kind of man to let such things slide.

Noah, ever composed, didn't seem angry on the surface—but Klaus knew better. His brother's fury was silent, calculating, like a still lake hiding a raging storm beneath. The mere fact that Noah had proposed a plan to reclaim their home was proof enough of his wrath.

Isaac? He didn't care much for castles or riches, but he liked the tricksters in the district—the performers, conmans, gamblers, the liars, the chaos-makers. And now? They were gone. So Isaac, with his usual unpredictability, offered his help.

As for Tatiana… she wanted Beauté du Passé back, of course. But she was lazy. If left to her own devices, she would have waited for her brothers to fix everything for her. So they had to force her into action—an ultimatum, a push, a threat to her luxuries.

And Diego? There wasn't even a question. He would fight simply for the sake of fighting.

So the entire Zakharov family was in.

And tonight? Their kingdom would be theirs again.

____

Liam lay in bed, surrounded by four women, their warmth and perfume drowning him in indulgence. Klaus's warning? A bluff.

Sure, Mad Klaus was fearsome, but at the end of the day, he was just one man.

And what could one man do against a hundred Awakened? Against six Masters and his own personal guard?

Even Klaus wouldn't be foolish enough to challenge those odds.

Liam let himself sink into comfort.

Then, the explosion came.

A thunderous detonation rocked the mansion, blue flames bursting through the windows, licking at the curtains like a hungry beast. Then, a roar—deep, animalistic, and filled with something primal.

Screams followed.

Liam bolted upright, alarmed and confused. This wasn't Klaus's style. He didn't charge in recklessly, didn't cause mindless destruction.

And yet… the air smelled of burning flesh, the heat of the flames warped the air, and in the distance laughter was heard.

____

Diego laughed as he struck a man, his flaming fist reducing flesh to charred ruin.

The man's screams choked off, revealing glimpses of teeth and bone as his face melted away, his body collapsing onto the smoldering ground. Blood boiled, turning into steam, black miasma swirling around Diego's form.

His Dormant Ability, Cruel Flare, was in full force—blue flames burning wildly, hotter than any natural fire.

But that wasn't all.

The miasma thickened, wrapping around Diego like a second skin, drawn from the violence in the air. It was his Awakened Ability—Berserker, a power that fed off the chaos of battle, making him faster, stronger, more relentless with every passing second.

A massive, flaming sword materialized in his grasp, its heat so intense that the ground melted beneath it.

With a savage grin, Diego slammed the blade into the floor—

And unleashed an inferno.

Flames erupted outward, blooming like a deadly flower, blasting enemies apart with its petals of fire.

The Awakened warriors hesitated.

Some backed away. Others froze, fear creeping into their eyes.

Diego wiped ash and blood from his face, took in their hesitation And laughed.

"Now… that's funny."

A calm, composed voice interrupted the chaos.

"And what is?"

Diego turned, grinning as he recognized the speaker.

The Noah stood among the flames, utterly unbothered by the destruction, his expensive suit pristine, his posture relaxed. A faint smile touched his lips.

"Diego, it'd be better if you left." Noah glanced around at the battlefield, his tone still light, almost pleasant. "You know I don't enjoy unnecessary violence."

Diego snorted. "Then you probably shouldn't have brought me."

He leaped, chasing after a Master who had turned to flee, vanishing into the night.

Noah, left alone in the ruined hall, sighed.

He took a moment to survey the situation.

Liam wasn't here. Only two Masters remained, along with a number of Awakened.

More than enough.

He didn't need to summon memories or echoes. Didn't need anything but himself.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Noah raised his hand.

And the ground split open.

Corpses rose.

Those Diego had slain began to stir, their blank, empty eyes flickering to life.

From the Dark Gate that appeared behind him, ghastly creatures slithered forth—some half-decayed, some nothing but skeletons, some abominable, twisted things that had refused to stay buried.

Noah spread his arms and smiled.

"Gentlemen…" His voice was velvet-smooth, almost welcoming. "Shall we?"

One of Liam's personal guards, Master Aaron, stared at the scene in horror. He took one step back. Then another as curse fell from his lips.

"El Diablo and now... Ferryman, huh? Noble Noah... Fuck."

_____

Olivia wandered the streets of Beauté du Passé, her steps heavy with the weight of a life that felt like an endless cycle. She was the lover of Liam, the self-proclaimed king of the district. But to say he was an honorable man would be an insult to the word. He was brash, a man of impulses, never shy of indulging in pleasures that had nothing to do with her. She loved him, yes, but the distractions—the other women—hurt more than she'd ever admit.

Her heels clicked sharply against the cobblestones as she strolled aimlessly, the noise of the festivities fading into the background. The glow of the district's gas lamps, the music that poured from every corner, it all blurred as her mind wandered.

She sighed, heels clicking against the cobblestone streets as she walked through Beauté du Passé. her eyes drifting over the colorful buildings, the intricate iron balconies, and the lush courtyards. She was tired of drinking, tired of dancing, tired of pretending to be.

For all the sins of the Zakharovs, she had to admit—They had truly created something breathtaking here.

A city of old-world elegance and spelltech marvels, where the past and future danced together in a masterpiece of architecture and culture. Even in the midst of all her frustration, she couldn't help but appreciate the magic they'd woven into the district—the richness, the history, the beauty.

Then, the sound of footsteps broke her thoughts. Heels, unmistakably. The soft click of polished leather on stone. She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting a passerby, but what she saw stole the air from her lungs. she saw perfection.

A woman—striking in every sense of the word—was walking toward her. Tall, elegant, a vision. She wore simple black leather pants, but the way they clung to her form was anything but ordinary. A glowing strappy off-shoulder blouse shimmered faintly in the streetlight, and a cropped jacket, its sharp lines giving her an edge, completed the look.

But it was her eyes—those emerald jewels—that held Olivia's attention. They sparkled, seeming to catch every flicker of light, a stark contrast to her pale skin. The woman's blonde hair, cascading in soft waves, seemed to flow like liquid gold, catching the night's glow with each subtle movement.

Olivia's heart skipped a beat as the woman approached.

And then, as though the world couldn't get any more surreal, he appeared.

The man beside her was striking in his own right. Dressed simply in black trousers, a white shirt, and a black leather jacket, he wasn't adorned with expensive fabric or lavish accessories—but there was something in the way he carried himself that demanded attention. His black hair hung loosely over his shoulders, dark strands falling like a cascade, and his amethyst eyes gleamed, deep, vast, and full of secrets, glowing with an otherworldly light. so deep, so unnatural, they seemed to pulse with something ancient like they held secrets of Cosmos. He was so beautiful, so striking, that for a moment—

Olivia mistook him for a woman.

And as she stood frozen, staring as the man's smile widened in most disturbing way possible.

"I'm terribly sorry, sweetheart," he said, his voice dripping with charm. "But might I tempt you to join me for a little stroll?"