chapter -1 The vision

Chapter 1 – The Vision

Elara Veyra, a cursed healer, experiences a haunting vision of a mafia heir’s death. She knows she shouldn’t interfere, but fate pulls her closer

Chapter 1 – The Vision

The city of Quirosity never truly slept. Its cobbled streets pulsed with the heartbeat of two worlds—one draped in velvet shadows of crime, the other cloaked in silver light of forbidden magic. Elara Veyra walked carefully between them, never belonging to either, yet cursed to glimpse both.

Her gift—if it could be called that—was not healing, though her hands could stitch skin and calm fever. No, her true curse was her sight. At the most unexpected moments, the world before her dissolved into fragments of what was to come: blood on stone, whispers in the dark, the fleeting kiss of death.

That night, as she pressed a cool cloth to a child’s forehead, the vision struck.

Her breath hitched.

The walls of the dim healer’s hut melted away, replaced by a moonlit courtyard lined with black iron fences. A young man knelt on the ground, his hands bound, his face shadowed—yet she knew him. Cassian Moretti. Heir to the Moretti syndicate. A name spoken in fear and respect across Quirosity.

Gunshots echoed. She saw his body jolt, saw blood spill across cobblestones like crimson petals. His eyes—gray and sharp as daggers—met hers in the vision, as though he could see her across time.

And then, silence.

Elara staggered, clutching the wooden counter. The child’s mother caught her arm.

“Are you ill, healer?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, though her pulse hammered like war drums.

The visions always came with a choice: to interfere, or to remain silent. Interference never ended well—her visions were cursed for a reason. The last time she warned someone, they died faster than fate had planned.

Yet something about those silver-gray eyes gnawed at her.

Later, when the night was heavy with fog, Elara stepped outside into the streets of Quirosity. She told herself she was simply restless. But her feet carried her north, toward the iron-clad district where the Moretti family reigned.

And there—exactly as she had foreseen—she found the courtyard.

Hidden in the shadows of a crumbling arch, she watched. Figures in black suits stood in a semicircle. At their center, Cassian knelt, his jaw tense, his pride unbroken despite the ropes cutting into his wrists.

“Cassian Moretti,” a cold voice declared, “your arrogance ends tonight. The family does not forgive betrayal.”

Elara’s heart pounded. This was it—the vision, unfolding before her eyes. She should turn away. She should never have come.

But she stayed.

The gun was raised. The shot rang out.

And then—something impossible happened.

Cassian did not fall. Instead, the bullet burned into his chest, and from the wound spilled not only blood—but silver fire. His head snapped back, his eyes blazing with unnatural light.

Every man in the courtyard froze.

And Elara, trembling in the shadows, realized this was no ordinary death. This was the beginning of something much worse

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