Circle Of Twelve

Chapter 11: "Midnight Encounter"

The city’s pulse beat in chaotic rhythms as neon lights flickered in and out of the darkness. On the corner of a busy street, barely illuminated by the orange haze of a nearby streetlight, a young woman staggered against the tide of the crowd. Dressed in a tight, scandalous outfit that clung to her small frame, she looked out of place amidst the rushing city life. Her heels clicked unevenly on the pavement, and her eyes, though half-closed, glimmered with confusion and exhaustion.

The sway of her body hinted at intoxication, or something deeper. Every step she took seemed uncertain, as if her legs might give out beneath her at any moment. A few people passed her by, some glancing over in curiosity, others looking away, pretending not to notice. But none stopped.

She stumbled toward a nearby trash can, leaning against it as her body heaved violently. With a shudder, she vomited, her hands gripping the rim of the trash can for support. Her breathing was labored, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, though she didn’t know why. Was it the alcohol? No. She hadn’t drunk enough to feel this way. There was something wrong.

As she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to collect herself, a voice interrupted her turmoil. It was soft at first, almost too kind, but laced with something unsettling.

“Well, well… what’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a place like this?”

The voice belonged to an old man, short and hunched, his smile wide and unnatural. His eyes gleamed as they trailed over her body, lingering too long in places that made her skin crawl. He stepped closer, far too close. She recoiled, taking a half-step back, but she was still unsteady on her feet.

“You don’t look so good,” he continued, his voice smooth but oily, a predator sensing vulnerability. He reached out and put his hands on her waist, gripping her as though it was his right. “Come on now, you’re drunk. Let me take care of you.”

Adrenaline surged through her fogged brain, bringing with it a sudden, sharp clarity. Partly sober, she shoved his hands off, her voice shaky but firm. “Get away from me,” she spat, her breath still labored.

But the old man’s grin widened, his fingers twitching as they reached for her again. “Come on now, don’t be like that. You need someone to take care of you tonight.” His tone was insistent, a serpent’s hiss. He stepped forward, crowding her, his hands reaching out once more.

Panic flooded her senses. She stumbled backward, but she was too weak, her legs threatening to give way beneath her.

“Get away!” she yelled again, her voice carrying over the busy street, but the city was a cruel mistress tonight. No one seemed to hear. Or worse, no one cared.

At that moment, as if summoned by fate, a figure emerged from the shadows of the bustling street. Tall, broad-shouldered, and cloaked in a long, dark coat, he moved with the ease of someone who knew how to fight, how to survive. His presence radiated calm, but beneath that calm lay something dangerous, something primal. His name was Elias, though few knew it. Fewer still knew what he was: the Guardian of Leo, a protector in a world that had long forgotten its heroes.

He had been taking his nightly stroll through the city, his sharp eyes always scanning for trouble, for people in need. And tonight, he found her.

Elias walked past the girl and the old man at first, his steps deliberate but casual. He observed the scene for a moment, his jaw tightening as he saw the way the man’s hands lingered on the girl, the way her body tensed with fear. And then, he turned on his heel.

“Hey,” Elias called out, his voice low but filled with authority.

The old man froze, his hands pausing mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face Elias, his smile faltering as he took in the sight of the stranger towering over him.