The Arrival of the Titan
248 Words
"Don't touch me," Elara whispered. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a heavy, terrifying "aura" that acted like a physical blow. Sofia was thrown back three feet, her face draining of all color as she hit the stone wall.
Suddenly, the sound of a dozen high-performance engines shattered the unnatural silence. A fleet of matte-black motorcycles and armored SUVs roared around the corner of the Gran Vía, cutting off the festive traffic with military precision. These weren't police; they were something far more disciplined and far more dangerous. The motorcycles bore a crest—a silver wolf entwined with a golden crown.
The crowd in front of the Gala froze. The air grew heavy, saturated with a scent of cedar, ozone, and pure, unadulterated dominance. A man stepped out of the lead vehicle. He was a titan in a charcoal suit, his presence so magnetic that the onlookers involuntarily dropped their gaze. This was Valerius—the man legends spoke of in whispers, the Alpha of Alphas whose shadow governed the continent's underworld and upper crust alike. He didn't look at the flashing cameras of the paparazzi. He didn't look at the opulent Palace.
His eyes, burning like twin suns, locked onto the shivering, broken girl slumped in the dirt. Step by step, the God-like figure approached the "beggar." As he moved, the snow around Elara began to steam and melt away, as if the world itself was making room for their meeting.
- Writer
