Nezera's eyes narrowed as she set down her glass with an audible clink, turning her sharp gaze fully on Azrael. There was no playful banter left in her expression, just a cold and pointed glare.
"You act like nothing matters, Azrael," she said, her voice sharp. "But you're the most powerful person in this city. You should be taking some responsibility for it."
Azrael, still leaning lazily against the bar, simply chuckled and waved a hand dismissively, as if swatting away her words. "Most powerful? Oh, Nezera, you flatter me far too much. I'm hardly what I used to be."
Nezera scoffed loudly, clearly not buying a word of it. "Don't insult my intelligence. I've seen what you're capable of, even in your 'retirement.' You could squash those undead insects with a thought, but instead, you sit here acting like it's all some game."
Azrael's smile widened, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes. "I lost most of my power when I retired, little sister. I'm not the force I once was. Now, I barely have enough strength to manage this little slice of territory around The Afterlife. Certainly nothing to inspire grandiose notions of dominance over an entire city."
Nezera's scoff was louder this time, her disbelief almost palpable. "You really expect me to believe that? You've always downplayed what you can do, but that doesn't make it true. If you weren't so frustratingly complacent, you could have this entire city at your feet, and you know it."
Zane stood off to the side, watching the exchange in silence, feeling more lost with each passing word. The cryptic nature of Azrael's replies and the tension between him and Nezera only added to the growing list of questions that Zane had no answers for. Each tidbit he heard about Azrael seemed to contradict the last—one moment he was just a club owner, the next he was something far more powerful. But who was he, really?
Nezera glanced over at Zane, her lips tightening in frustration before she turned back to Azrael. "If you're not going to take this seriously, I will," she said, her voice low but determined. "Someone has to keep this city from falling apart."
Azrael, still smiling, raised a hand in a casual wave as she turned to leave. "Goodbye, Nezera! Take care, little sister. Try not to worry too much!"
Nezera didn't turn back, storming out of The Afterlife with quick, purposeful strides. As the door slammed shut behind her, Zane turned his attention to Azrael, still bewildered by the exchange.
"Little sister?" Zane asked, his confusion spilling into his voice.
Azrael chuckled softly, as if that single question amused him more than anything else that had transpired. "Oh, don't worry about that. It's just a term of endearment. Nezera and I go way back."
Zane frowned, his mind racing. "But she seems to think you're... something else. More than just some club owner."
Azrael's smile remained, though something in his gaze softened. "I've lived a long life, Zane. People like Nezera? They tend to hold on to their old perceptions, no matter how much things change." He leaned back, stretching his arms out. "But don't let that trouble you. Everyone has their secrets. You'll learn that soon enough."
Zane remained silent, the weight of Azrael's cryptic words hanging in the air. His mind was buzzing with questions, but none of them seemed worth asking at this point. Azrael had a way of dancing around the truth, dropping just enough hints to spark curiosity but never revealing too much. And as much as Zane wanted answers, he doubted he'd get them easily.
Azrael glanced at the door Nezera had stormed through, then turned back to Zane with a grin. "Well, she's always been dramatic. She'll calm down eventually."
Zane shifted awkwardly, still unsure how to process everything. "So… what now?"
Azrael's eyes gleamed with amusement, the tension of the previous conversation evaporating as quickly as it had come. "Now, my dear Zane, you go and rest. You've had quite the night, and I'm sure tomorrow will be just as eventful."
Zane was about to protest, but a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him. It had been an overwhelming day—between the encounter with the undead, the tense standoff with Rael, and Nezera's cryptic remarks, his mind was a whirlwind of confusion. He nodded, deciding to take Azrael's advice for once.
---
The next morning, Zane found himself standing in the club's back courtyard, a wide space lined with stone and thick ivy. The morning sun cast long shadows, and Rael stood at the far end, his arms crossed.
"We'll begin now," Rael said, his voice firm and to the point. Gone was the pretense of politeness he used when Azrael was around. The butler's sharp gaze scrutinized Zane, and there was no warmth behind it. "You've been given a second chance at life—or rather, something like life. If you don't learn to control it, you'll be a danger to everyone, including my lord. And that, I cannot allow."
Zane frowned, already irritated by Rael's tone. "I'm not a threat."
Rael's eyes narrowed. "Not yet. But if you remain ignorant of your powers, you will be." He gestured toward a shadowed corner of the courtyard. "Now, summon the shadows. You should already feel the connection between you and the darkness around you. It's part of what you are now."
Zane hesitated, unsure of how to even begin. He had sensed something—an odd sensation of being drawn to the dark edges of the city, where shadows lingered—but controlling it? That was another matter entirely.
Rael watched him silently, offering no further instructions. Zane's frustration grew, and he clenched his fists, focusing on the shadows. He could feel a tug, like something deep within him responding to his call, but it was faint, elusive.
"Focus," Rael snapped, his tone harsh. "You're not trying hard enough."
Zane gritted his teeth, trying to block out Rael's criticisms. Slowly, the shadows seemed to stir, pooling around his feet. A thin tendril of darkness rose from the ground, sluggish and unstable.
Rael clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Pathetic. Is that all you can manage? Do you even understand the weight of what you are?"
Zane glared at him, his frustration boiling over. "I'm trying! You think this is easy?"
"No, I don't," Rael replied coldly. "But it's necessary. If you don't master this, you'll be a danger to yourself and everyone around you. Do you want to end up like those mindless undead we encountered? Wandering without purpose, without control?"
The words stung, but Zane knew there was truth in them. He couldn't afford to fail, not when his existence was hanging by a thread. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to focus again. This time, he reached deeper, past the fear and confusion, and into the core of what made him… whatever he was now.
The shadows responded more readily this time, wrapping around him like a protective veil. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Rael nodded slightly, though his expression remained stern. "Better. But you've barely scratched the surface. Tomorrow, we'll continue. If you want to survive here, you'll need to be much stronger."
Zane exhaled, exhausted by the effort. He glanced up at Rael, who was already turning away, his posture stiff with disapproval.
As Rael began to leave, Zane called after him. "Why do you hate me?"
Rael paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His expression was unreadable. "I don't hate you, Zane. But I don't trust you either. Not yet."
Without another word, Rael disappeared back into the shadows, leaving Zane alone in the courtyard, still trying to make sense of his new reality.