The Night He Roared
1417 Words
Chapter 20
The city lights shimmered outside Aria’s window, casting fractured colors across her ceiling like a living painting. She stood by her mirror, slipping into a silky, deep green dress that hugged her waist and danced with her every breath. Music from passing cars thumped through the walls, but her mind was elsewhere—on her phone, resting silently on the bed.
Just as she fastened her earrings, a soft chime echoed.
Caller ID: Unknown.
Her lips curled into a small smile as she walked over and picked it up. She didn’t hesitate.
Aria (brightly):
“You always call at the perfect time.”
Elion (his voice calm, warm):
“I have my ways.”
His voice, low and comforting, slid over her like a velvet breeze.
Elion (continued):
“You said there’s a party tonight. Are you excited?”
She let out a small, musical laugh as she perched on the edge of her bed, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor.
Aria:
“Excited? Hmm… more like… surviving it. I’m only going because Lola begged. And I hate the smell of cigarettes.”
Elion (chuckling softly):
“I can’t picture you anywhere near smoke. You seem… light. Like fresh air.”
She smiled shyly at her reflection.
Aria:
“Exactly. I like calm. Music, laughter—but not chaos. Not drama.”
Elion:
“Then just dance with joy in your heart, not with trouble at your back.”
His words were always like poetry, each syllable tailored for her, sewn delicately into her soul. She held the phone closer.
There was a pause—gentle, but heavy.
Elion (gently):
“And… be careful. I know your boyfriend might be there. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Her smile faltered, her gaze lowering to the floor.
Aria (quietly):
“I don’t love him anymore.”
Silence lingered, intimate and raw.
Aria (quieter still):
“I just don’t know how to tell him. It’s not fear… it’s guilt. I stayed too long.”
Elion (softly):
“You don’t owe anyone your peace. If something isn’t love anymore, it’s okay to walk away. You’re allowed to choose yourself.”
The line wrapped around her heart like a warm blanket. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry—not now.
Aria (whispering):
“Thank you… for always saying the right thing. Even if I don’t know who you are.”
Elion (smiling on his end):
“Maybe… I’m just someone who cares more than I should.”
They both laughed lightly, softly, like they were sitting under a sky full of stars.
Elion:
“Go. Have fun. Dance if it feels right. But only if it’s your choice.”
Aria:
“Will you call me tomorrow?”
Elion:
“I’ll be waiting for your voice.”
She hung up slowly, staring at her reflection again. Her face looked different—stronger. As if his words had stitched new steel into her bones.
Tonight, she wasn’t going as Alex’s girlfriend.
She was walking in as her own person.
⸻
The club was alive.
Beats thumped against her chest, lights flickered like restless stars overhead. The scent of cologne, wine, and faint cigarette smoke hung in the air. People danced in pockets of chaos, laughter curling up into the haze like incense.
Aria sat on a plush velvet stool near the edge of the dancefloor, swirling a glass of red wine in her hand. Her lips tasted the sweetness, but her thoughts lingered on the phone call.
Across the room, Lola threw her head back laughing, surrounded by coworkers. Aria smiled softly. For a brief moment, the world didn’t feel so heavy.
Then, the air changed.
She didn’t have to turn around. She felt him.
Alex.
His presence struck like a dropped match in a field of dry grass.
He stormed through the crowd, eyes locked onto her like a predator cornering its prey. His hand shot out and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet.
Aria (startled):
“Alex! What are you doing?”
Alex (low and tense):
“You’ve been ignoring my calls. Sitting here like you’re single.”
His grip burned her skin.
Aria (firmly):
“You don’t just walk in and grab me like that. I came here with a friend—”
Alex (cutting in):
“You don’t want to dance with me? Why? Is your distractor on his way too?”
His words were acid, and she could feel eyes turning, whispers beginning.
Aria:
“No! You were rude to me, Alex. You embarrassed me again.”
She tried to pull back, but he reached again, this time grabbing the back of her dress, jerking her slightly.
Alex:
“You’re humiliating me. You’re really doing this here?”
Then, he shoved her.
She hit the ground hard, the cold floor slamming against her hip, the wine glass shattering beside her.
The crowd went silent.
Lola (furious, charging in):
“Touch her again and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
She shoved Alex so hard he staggered back.
Someone cut the music. The lights turned from vibrant to sharp.
Bystander:
“Hey, man. You need to leave.”
Another voice:
“We don’t tolerate that here. Get out.”
Alex’s voice rose, trying to explain, to twist the moment into lies, but it was too late. Security arrived fast, too fast for him to escape. Within minutes, he was hauled out, kicking and shouting, his words bouncing uselessly off the walls.
Aria stayed on the ground, her hands trembling. Lola dropped to her knees beside her, brushing shards of glass away, holding her gently.
Lola (softly):
“You okay?”
Aria nodded once, biting the inside of her cheek. No tears. Not here. Not for him.
⸻
Far away, in a realm where time flowed differently, a darkness fell.
Not from clouds.
But from rage.
Elion stood before the sacred vision pool, his usually ocean-blue eyes locked on the glowing surface as it replayed the scene in vivid detail.
Her dress. Her smile. Her laugh.
Then—his hand. His shove.
Her fall.
A scream tore through Elion’s soul, but it never reached his lips. Instead, his body tensed, trembling under the weight of fury. His glowing silver eyes bled into red, pulsing like a beast just released from chains.
The marble beneath his boots cracked. A tremor ran through the floor.
He let out a roar.
Not of sound.
But of power.
The ancient trees outside bent slightly, whispering his pain through the leaves. The stars above dimmed for the briefest moment.
And in the next room, someone heard it.
Grandmother.
She rushed in, her blue robes trailing behind her like smoke. Her breath hitched. She knew that cry. She felt it in her bones.
Grandmother (urgent):
“Elion! My boy, what is it?!”
Elion fell to his knees.
Elion (with tears):
“Grandma… I watched her… He hurt her, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t protect her.”
He reached for her robe, clinging to it like a child.
Elion (pleading):
“I want to be with her… please… even if it’s just in dreams.”
She wrapped her arms around him, her heart breaking at the sight. Her fierce grandson—the warrior, the commander—reduced to a soul crying out for love.
She stroked his hair gently, as she had when he was young and afraid of thunder.
Grandmother (softly):
“You love her… That’s clear.”
He nodded into her chest.
Grandmother (firmly):
“Then listen to me. The war is in three days. Win it. Return with your head held high, and I promise you this…”
She leaned down, lips to his ear.
Grandmother:
“I will open the door of dreams. You will walk into her world—not as a voice in the dark, but as the man who sees her. Who stands beside her.”
His breath caught. His heart surged with hope.
Elion:
“You promise?”
Grandmother (nodding):
“With every drop of blood in me.”
He rose slowly. No longer shaking. No longer broken.
His voice was steel wrapped in fire.
Elion:
“Then I will fight. I will win. Not just for my kingdom… but for her.”
And in the glowing pool, Aria stood, brushing dust from her dress, lifting her chin high.
Not broken.
Not alone.
Elion smiled.
Their worlds would meet.
And next time—he’d be there. 
- Writer
