Chronicles of Noirhaven

My hands were shaking.

Not from fear.

Not guilt.

Just… the adrenaline. The rush of survival. The weightless clarity of action after the weight of choice.

I stared at the knife, now heavy with reality, and slowly lowered it to the ground. The metal kissed the floor with a dull sound.

And in the mirror across the room, I saw myself.

Expressionless. Pale. My eyes darker than I remembered.

And then—

A flash of thunder outside.

And in its wake… memory.

(Flashback)

It was raining.

A hard, vicious kind of rain that sounded like it wanted to shatter the world.

I was cold. Hungry. My shoes soaked, my body shivering. Every sound was magnified: sirens howling in the distance, tires splashing through the streets, voices calling out names I didn't know.

I clutched my knees to my chest in the back of a pile of trash

I didn't speak. I couldn't.

I think I fainted.

When I woke up… I was in a hospital room.

Not just any room. This place looked like it belonged to someone rich. Powerful. The walls weren't sterile white—they were soft beige, lined with subtle gold accents. The floors were polished oak, not tile. There was a chandelier, not fluorescent lights. A massive monitor was built into the wall, with soft music playing in the background.

My body hurt. But my mind… it didn't.

It was clearer than ever before.

I could see the patterns in the stitching of the blanket. The sequence of heartbeats on the monitor. I read the brand name on the IV drip bag—recognized the chemical compounds listed below. My fingers twitched. I needed to know more.

There was a book beside my bed. A thick one, about human anatomy.

I opened it.

And I understood it.

Not just the words. The structure. The diagrams. Every label, every system—committed to memory in one pass. As if my mind had cracked open.

Across the room, my aunt was asleep on a mini-sofa, her face pale from exhaustion. I stared at her for a while. She looked fragile. But she was here.

That's when I realized:

Something had changed in me.

Something had woken up.

I wasn't just some poor kid anymore. I could see the world differently now. Like it was made of pieces—like every person, every moment, every system could be dismantled, studied… controlled.

I got up, still sore, and walked to the edge of the room. There were glass panels that opened to a private balcony. I watched the rain through the glass.

And I remember thinking…

If I understand how this world works, I'll never be powerless again.

(Back to present)

My reflection stared back at me. Older now. Sharper. And far colder.

I was that same boy—only now, the pieces I studied were people. The systems I broke down were made of lies, games, fear, and power.

"Reyna Solace," I muttered under my breath.

I looked at her lifeless body on the floor along with her head.

"You were too loud to live."

A knock echoed faintly down the hall.

I didn't flinch.

Instead, I picked up the knife again, wiped the handle clean, and slid it into my jacket.

This wasn't guilt.

This was control.

The door slammed shut.

A familiar face—but something about her energy was off.

Its Iris Denholm again.

She slid to the floor at first, gasping for air like she'd just outrun death itself. Her limbs trembled, not with fear—adrenaline. Her skin was streaked with blood that didn't seem to be hers. Her knuckles were raw. Her clothes were torn. Her skin is full of scars.

But the second her eyes locked on mine… everything changed.

She tensed. Like a coiled wire ready to snap.

Then—

She stood. Hands up. Defensive. Breathing sharp and fast.

"Who are you?" she barked, voice rough.

Then her gaze flicked to the floor—

To Reyna's corpse.

The air shifted.

"N-nevermind," she said quickly. "That was a dumb question."

She reached behind her jacket, fingers wrapped around something—

Metal. A blade.

"What I mean is…" Her voice dropped. Cold. Controlled. "Don't try anything weird. Or else I'll kill you."

I didn't move. Just stared. Calm. Assessing.

Her eyes scanned the room like a threat matrix—exit points, weapons, blood trails. She was trained—or surviving out of sheer instinct. She saw the blood leading toward Reyna's crumpled form. The trail. The stain. The knife.

And then—without hesitation—

"On Second thought."

She lunged.

Fast.

A flash of silver slashed toward my throat.

I stepped left, a half-inch from her blade's edge, grabbing her wrist mid-strike and twisting it with controlled pressure. She gritted her teeth and rolled through it, trying to use my own momentum to flip over—but I read it before she moved.

I countered with a sweep, forcing her off-balance. She landed with a grunt and rolled backward, kicking a chair at me as a makeshift distraction.

I didn't flinch.

Steel clattered against the floor beside me.

She moved again—lower this time—aiming for my legs. A feint. The real strike was high. Elbow to the throat.

I caught her forearm mid-air and slammed her into the wall.

Her breath hitched.

"Stop," I said coldly.

Her eyes burned. She spat at my feet.

"What are you?" she snarled. "Another psycho killer?"

I held her in place, my forearm across her chest. Firm, but not crushing.

"Does that look like murder to you?" I motioned with my head to Reyna's body. "That was justice."

"Bullshit." She writhed against the hold, but I didn't let her go.

"She tried to kill me. She's one of them. Mafia."

I saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes. Her lips parted—then clamped shut again.

"You've seen what they're capable of," I continued. "You've felt it. Lived through it. So ask yourself, Denholm… do I look like I was chasing blood, or ending a threat?"

For a moment, the fight left her limbs. Her body sagged, barely, against my hold. Her pulse still thumped violently under my grip.

"Why were you here?" I asked lowly.

"I was running," she muttered, her voice hoarse. "There was someone behind me. I don't know who. I think it was the crazy girl. Or maybe someone worse… The mafia, I slipped through the hallway shadows and made it here. Thought this room was empty."

"Lucky for you," I said.

"Lucky?" she laughed bitterly. "The moment I walk in, I find a corpse and you standing like a fucking ghost above it."

Her shoulders sank. She looked tired. Not just physically—but mentally tired. Her blade still glinted in her hand, but her grip had loosened.

I released her.

She staggered back a step, rubbing her wrist, staring at me through strands of disheveled hair.

"I'm not your enemy, Iris," I said, voice low and even. "You were at the edge of something. Something they wanted you to see."

She looked at me.

And finally… she nodded.

"Yeah, they are after of my life two my life is gone now" she said quietly.

She turned toward Reyna's body. A strange silence passed between us.

And then:

"Who else have you killed?"

I didn't answer.

Instead, I walked past her and locked the door behind us again.

Because tonight wasn't over.

The kill spree of the mafia will never end not until we can figure out who is the mafia.