Episode 1: Neon Bloodlines

The city of Castle nova thrums to its own wild pulse, a midnight jungle of neon veins and hidden shadows. Up on the Skybridge, a rooftop club roars with kinetic energy—glitter and sweat beneath pink and blue tube lights. Electro vibrates through bodies pressed close on a mosaic-tiled floor, every face flushed with midnight possibility.

Elysia Vale pushes her way through a crowd that looks like living art—tattoos, piercings, hair dyed in stormy colors. Her own black hair catches flashes of indigo under the strobes. Despite her confident strut, her stomach knots; tonight’s not about fun, it’s about answers.

Her phone vibrates. —Unknown number.

Elysia rejects the call, shoving the device away. Tonight is no place for old ghosts. She’s dressed for battle: combat boots, mesh top under a leather jacket, electric eyeliner winged sharp as a blade.

She slips to the bar.

The bartender, a raven-haired woman with gold septum jewelry, leans in, eyes glinting.

Bartender: “What will it be, shadow-girl?”

Elysia smirks. “Something that bites back.”

“Coming right up.” The woman sets a drink before her—glowing blue, rimmed with fire.

Elysia doesn’t flinch as she throws it back. Heat spreads down her throat, settling under her skin. Her eyes drift, catching a green-haired stranger—Seraphine—slick with confidence, sliding through the dancers with feline grace. Their eyes lock. Seraphine’s lips curl, a spark of danger.

Seraphine sidles close, her voice liquid.

Seraphine: “Watch your step, darling. Some floors can swallow you whole in Luminara.”

Elysia laughs. “Maybe I’m looking to be swallowed.”

Seraphine leans closer, her warm breath sweet. “Careful. Some of us bite too deep.”

The music drops low, a bass that twists and ripples. Elysia steps away, unsettled but drawn. Something tugs at her insides—the secret she came here for, the reason she needs to belong somewhere.

She slips to a balcony for air, the city’s heartbeat merging with her own. Flickering shadows play beneath the neon haze. Suddenly, her own shadow writhes, stretching long and unnatural. From the dark glass, it peels away—eyes of ember light fixed on her.

A chill licks her spine.

Shadow Creature (whisper): “Vale…”

She freezes. That name, carried like a secret curse.

Elysia (quiet, trembling): “What are you?”

The shadow’s mouth splits open, black and infinite, whispering her name again.

Suddenly, the crowd behind breaks into laughter. A dancer spins, sending laser lights tumbling across Elysia’s face. When she looks back, the balcony is empty—and yet her shadow still flickers and stutters, independent.

She returns to the club. Seraphine is waiting near a fire-exit door, watching her with unreadable eyes. Elysia ignores the crowd and follows, boots snapping against tile, heart thumping against her ribs.

Down a narrow flight of stairs, she finds herself in a hidden corridor—walls lined with mirrors, each reflecting a slightly warped version of herself. In one, her eyes glow violet. In another, a tattoo sprawls down her arm she doesn’t remember getting.

A twisting laugh echoes from the end of the hall. Shadows beckon.

Unknown Voice: “You want to know who you are? Turn back now, or lose yourself forever.”

Elysia inhales, stepping forward into the dark—determined to uncover the truth, even if it devours her.

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