House of the Celestials: Crown of Stars Rewrite

Leon

Chicago, Illinois, United States

Terra, Gaea solar system

Milky way Galaxy

Neutral Free Zone

January 14th 2019

The Greyhorn Club, located in North Broadway Chicago within Rogers Park, was one of the rare Terran bars tied to the Hidden World. It stood out as the smallest building on the block, dwarfed by surrounding food stores and local restaurants. Yet, its unassuming exterior concealed a powerful secret. Leon could sense the faint presence of the Grey—the enigmatic barrier that separated the Hidden World from the mundane realm of humanity. Terra was unique among the planets within the Neutral Free Zone, as it deliberately kept humans ignorant of the supernatural. Not only were they unaware of the Hidden World, but their civilization lagged far behind others. Leon paused outside the club, taking in its appearance. Humans passed by him without a second glance, oblivious to both his presence and the hidden club nestled inconspicuously among the neighborhood shops. A subtle smile tugged at his lips; it was amusing to see the Greyhorn Club here, in the heart of the city. Not long ago, it had been located halfway across the country, yet somehow, it had also manifested here.

The club's interior was dimly lit, its gothic décor painted in black and steeped in mystery. Dancers clad in flowing black garments moved sinuously to the pulsing rhythm of the music, their bodies weaving in hypnotic synchrony. At one of the exclusive tables, Leon spotted humans—wealthy elites, their tailored suits marking them as members of the rare few who were aware of the Hidden World. Their gazes soon turned toward him, their expressions betraying a mixture of awe and unease. Leon couldn't blame them. Somewhere deep in their primal instincts, they sensed what their conscious minds could not fully grasp: there was something extraordinary about him. His features were far sharper than any human's—chiseled cheekbones, a strong jawline, and an air of otherworldly perfection. He was dressed entirely in black: a sleek armored trench coat over a tailored black suit, with matching trousers and combat boots. His amber hair contrasted strikingly with his naturally tanned olive skin, and his luminous blue eyes seemed to pierce through the dim light. While the humans were captivated by his presence, the Demihumans scattered throughout the club had a very different reaction. They knew exactly who he was—and they kept their distance. Unlike the humans, who were drawn to his kind with a blend of fascination and curiosity, the Demihumans understood the power and danger he represented. On Terra, humans who were privy to the truth of the supernatural were called Mystics, and the Greyhorn Club was teeming with them.

"Leonard Haravok!" a voice boomed over the pulsating rhythm of the club. Leon sighed, pushing his way through the writhing crowd of dancers toward the source of the voice: Lance Al'Roth. Unlike the Demihumans scattered throughout the Greyhorn Club, Lance was a full-blooded Beastman—a humanoid race with animalistic traits. At the moment, Lance looked mostly human, if you ignored the telltale signs: sharp canine fangs, ash-gray hair, and striking yellow eyes that gleamed like those of a wolf. Lance sat at the most expensive table in the club, surrounded by female Demihumans who seemed utterly captivated by his presence. He wore an open-sleeved shirt that showcased his muscular frame, a silver chain hanging casually around his neck.

"Lance," Leon greeted curtly as he approached. Lance was the owner and proprietor of the Greyhorn Club, as well as the one responsible for its mysterious ability to change locations. Leon had known Lance since childhood, back when he used to visit Terra. They had been childhood friends—though, if Leon were honest, their relationship had always been somewhat one-sided. Lance genuinely valued their bond, while Leon appreciated Lance primarily for the connections and value he brought to the table. Lance's clan was renowned in the Hidden World, even among Offworlder Beastman clans.

"Are you stalking me?" Leon asked, his tone dry.

"Stalking? Who do you think I am?" Lance scoffed, snapping his fingers to summon a waitress. She arrived swiftly with more bottles of champagne, setting them down before slipping away. Lance popped one of the bottles open and poured Leon a drink.

"New York was starting to feel dry," he said with a grin. Leon downed the drink in one gulp, savoring the sharp sting of alcohol before grabbing the bottle from Lance and drinking directly from it.

"So... is she here?" Leon asked, his eyes scanning the room. Lance sighed, gesturing toward a dimly lit corner far from the dance floor and the crowded tables.

"Take it easy," Lance warned, his tone half-joking. "I don't want my club blowing up."

Leon ignored him, weaving through the throng of clubgoers toward the corner. His presence naturally drew attention, especially from the women, who began to gather around him like moths to a flame. He indulged in small talk for a while, recognizing a few faces from past flings, though their names eluded him. The more they spoke, the more bored he became. Finally, his gaze landed on what—or rather, who—he was looking for. Seated in the far corner, away from the dancers but with a clear view of the floor, was a woman unlike anyone else in the club. She wore a red fur jacket over blue jeans and brown boots, her white hair braided into a sleek ponytail. She had a smile directed at him, but it was her eyes that held his attention. Heterochromatic—one red, one blue—they seemed to pierce through him, brimming with a depth and knowledge that made even Leon feel momentarily unsettled. It wasn't just their intensity; it was as if they had witnessed things beyond what he could comprehend. Leon took another shot of champagne before making his way to her table. He slid into the seat across from her, ignoring the tense and almost oppressive aura she exuded. She looked up from her drink and smiled at him, but it wasn't a warm, inviting smile. There was something dangerous about it—something predatory. She was undeniably beautiful, but her beauty didn't evoke admiration; it left Leon uneasy, as though there was a hidden sharpness to her allure he couldn't quite put his finger on

"You keep breaking all those hearts. One day, it's going to come back and bite you," Vuelo Vysileaf said with a chuckle.

"I never promised them anything more than my attention," Leon replied, flashing a charming smile.

"Huh, is that so?" Her smile faded, her heterochromatic eyes narrowing slightly. Her skin was remarkably smooth, especially for someone who seemed older than she looked. "You're such a flirt, Leon. Toying with their feelings like that."

"I don't see myself as one," Leon said evenly.

"Really?" she said, arching a brow. "Interesting. Then tell me—how do you see yourself, Leonard Haravok?"

Before Leon could answer, Vuelo leaned back and changed the subject. "So, how's Chicago treating you? Did your hunt go as planned, or did it end in the same disappointment as usual?"

"I need to know who Vashin Priyham is," Leon said, carefully masking the flicker of excitement threatening to surface. He knew he was close—so close—but he couldn't let Vuelo sense his desperation.

"Ah, I see," Vuelo said, spinning a golden coin idly between her fingers. Her thumb and index fingers worked the coin with practiced ease, the flickering light catching Leon's attention for a moment. When his gaze returned to her face, the knowing smirk she wore sent a ripple of unease through him.

"And you need my help to figure out who—or what—they are," she continued, her tone playful but sharp.

"As a Seer, I figured you'd be the perfect person for this," Leon said. His voice was calm, but his words were edged with purpose. "The information you sold me led to an Erlking. The Beast was already infected with Infernal energy. Someone must have done it to silence him."

"Sounds like a curse seal," Vuelo mused, her gaze flicking to the bag Leon pulled from his dimensional storage. He placed it on the table with a soft thud, the Essence Shards within shimmering faintly—the currency of the Hidden World.

"And?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "Did anything else catch your attention?"

Leon hesitated, his mind flashing back to the Sewer. The runes carved into the walls, glowing faintly with a mysterious power. The Erlking had managed to activate them somehow, but the moment he died, the energy within the runes vanished. It didn't sit well with Leon—such a powerful and cryptic source of magic, here in Terra of all places. But as unsettling as it was, it wasn't his immediate concern.

"So there was," Vuelo said, her voice soft but laden with meaning. Silence stretched between them as their gazes locked, each studying the other.

"There was a gateway in the sewer," Leon admitted, the image of the mysterious Runic wall flashing in his mind. He had little interest in how the Gateway came to be there—his focus was singular. Deep in his gut, he knew the Fallen Stars were still out there, waiting. Memories of the mission that had driven him and Emily away from Agartha bubbled up unbidden, the horrors replaying in his mind like a cruel loop. He glanced at his hand, phantom traces of blood long gone but never forgotten.

"But that's not important," he said firmly. "What I need from you is information on Vashin Priyham." He slid the bag of Essence Shards across the table to her. Vuelo took it without hesitation, though her curiosity still prompted a warning.

"Are you certain you want to proceed down this path?" she asked, her tone unusually grave. "The future isn't a straight line, Leon. It forks into countless possibilities. But this path you're on—it's dangerous. There's a fixed point ahead, and I've seen where it ends. Trust me, it's not pleasant." Leon remained silent, her words sliding off him like rain against a stone. The path of the Haravok bloodline was never easy—that was a truth he had learned long ago.

"Don't talk to me about what's pleasant or dangerous," he said, rising from his seat. He already knew his next move. He had to return to that sewer. The answer he sought might still be there. "Just get me the intel."

"Death..." Vuelo murmured, her voice almost a whisper. "It surrounds you, Leonard. If you continue down this road, death is all you'll find." A sudden, visceral memory surged through him. He saw himself in a field of grass atop a hill, a Faceless entity standing before him. The blade plunged into his chest, piercing through his ribcage. Blood splattered from his mouth as a green-haired girl ran toward him, screaming his name. And then, just as suddenly, the vision was gone.

"I think I've had enough talk about the future," Leon said, his voice cold. The future—especially his own—was a topic he had no patience for. He turned to leave, but Vuelo's hand shot out, gripping his wrist with surprising strength.

"The web of causality tightens around you," Vuelo said, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. "I know you think you understand what you're looking for, but fate has a way of twisting our desires into something else entirely."

"What do you know about what I want?" Leon whispered, pulling his hand free from her grasp.

"I know it isn't your death," she replied. With a deft flick, she tossed the golden coin toward him. He caught it midair, the weight of it heavier than he expected.

"That coin is made of Adamant metal," Vuelo explained. "Be careful with it."

"And what exactly am I supposed to do with this?" Leon asked, holding up the coin. His patience was wearing thin, and he was already thinking of finding something—alcohol, maybe even a fleeting distraction—to take the edge off.

"It'll help you find what you're looking for," Vuelo said with a dry smile, rising from her seat.

Leon shoved the coin into his pocket, resisting the urge to snap at her. That infuriating smile of hers—made his blood boil.

"Yeah, I doubt that," he muttered as she walked away, leaving him at the table. He didn't stop her. Though he dismissed her words, a part of him couldn't help but hope she was right.

He sat there for a moment longer, his mind churning with possibilities. The Fallen Stars. The Gateway. The Infernal energy infecting the Erlking. It was all connected—he just had to figure out how. With a heavy sigh, he stood and headed for the exit, his grip tightening on the coin in his pocket.

Whatever lay ahead, he'd face it on his terms.

 ***

Watching the city from above as the sun dipped below the horizon was one of Leon's quiet pleasures whenever he visited Terra. There was something nostalgic about the place, something that reminded him of Agartha—perhaps the faint echoes of his childhood visits to this planet. The sky burned with hues of orange, streaking through the clouds in fiery brilliance. Hovering within those clouds, his senses stretched outward. Both his physical sight and Internal sight drank in the view of Chicago beneath him. Specks of humans scurried about their lives, blissfully ignorant of the shadows looming just beyond their understanding. Vuelo's words lingered in his mind, gnawing at his thoughts. The infection of the Erlking with Infernal energy was deeply unsettling. The creature had been driven mad with hunger, even preying on humans with minimal spiritual power. That trail of desperation had been how he and Emily tracked it down, following the grim case of missing homeless humans. It had started as a gut feeling, one Leon had learned to trust over the years.

The fight had been brutal, but he'd managed to bring the Erlking back to a fleeting moment of clarity—too fleeting. The Infernal energy had already corrupted the beast's mind beyond repair, reducing it to a ravenous husk. Leon's blood roared at the memory, a fiery rush demanding release. The distraction he had sought earlier—something to take the edge off—had shifted into an entirely different craving. His fists clenched involuntarily, the urge to hit something surging through him. He forced himself to calm down. Losing control here, above a city teeming with fragile humans, wasn't an option. Hidden within the Grey, his presence was cloaked from sight and spiritual detection. Still, he remained cautious, ensuring he wasn't sensed by any wandering Mystics. Fortunately, there weren't many Ascendants in this sector of the universe. Those who ascended beyond the mundane typically gravitated toward the Federation Quadrants. As the sun finally slipped beneath the horizon and the first stars began to glimmer, Leon descended, lowering himself toward the city. A sudden burning sensation in his pocket interrupted his thoughts. Frowning, he retrieved the golden coin Vuelo had given him.

She'd called it Adamant metal, a rare and precious ore highly valued by the Federation. It was surprising to see it fashioned into a coin, especially one of gold when Adamant was said to have a silvery-white hue. He turned the coin over in his hand as it began to glow softly, warmth emanating from it. The realization struck him. Adamant was known to be highly conducive to Odic energy and Magic Enchantments. It seemed the enchantment within the coin was able to detect powerful sources of Odic energy, even those concealed or sealed. Was it reacting to something—or someone? A Fallen, perhaps.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Leon muttered under his breath, shaking the thought away. The odds of randomly stumbling across one of the Fallen Stars were slim to none. He landed lightly on the rooftop of a nearby building, his eyes drawn to the scene below. An art gallery called the Reggie Sullivan Center was hosting an event. The name rang a faint bell. If he remembered correctly, wasn't this one of the Yesh Institute's properties? They were known for showcasing artists and their works.

"How the hell did I end up here?" Leon murmured.

The crowd of Terrans attending the event didn't particularly interest him. While he had no strong opinions about Terrans, he could acknowledge their creativity and passion. For all their physical and spiritual shortcomings, they possessed a spark of imagination that was undeniably compelling. Then again, most humans across the cosmos share that trait. Perhaps it was a byproduct of their fleeting lifespans—a desire to leave a mark before their time ran out. Leon dismissed the thought and turned away from the building, still wrapped in the concealment of the Grey. His destination wasn't far. The sewer tunnel where he'd fought the Erlking was just a short distance from his current location. He could've used Exodus to teleport there instantly, but tonight, he wanted to walk. The streets of Chicago, bathed in twilight, stretched before him like a tapestry of possibilities.

By the time Leon reached the tunnel hidden in an alley near a parking lot, the weather had turned bitterly cold. The wind whipped through the narrow passage, carrying with it small, delicate flakes of snow. The chill didn't bother him, though, as he jumped effortlessly into the sewer. Retracing his steps to the spot where he had slain the Erlking was straightforward. Yet, the closer he got, the hotter the coin burned in his hand. Leon was immune to heat, but the strange warmth emanating from the coin wasn't just physical—it carried an unsettling sensation. It wasn't pain, at least not yet, so he ignored it as he approached the Runic wall. The engraved symbols and runes stared back at him, their mystery as impenetrable as ever. But before he could examine them further, the heat from the coin flared, searing his hand with an intensity even he couldn't endure. Cursing, Leon dropped it, shaking his hand to ease the sudden sting.

Before the coin hit the ground, it hovered midair, radiating golden light. Without warning, it shot toward the wall. A section of the runic surface shifted, a hole forming to perfectly fit the coin's shape. Leon froze as an invisible force slammed into him, pulling at his mind and senses. His breath caught as the wall began to glow with an ethereal brilliance. Golden and green light intertwined, spilling into the air and enveloping the space in a mystifying aura. And then he heard it—the melody. At first, it was faint, like a whisper carried on the wind. But as Leon stared at the wall, the runic symbols began to move in a circular rhythm, glowing brighter with each rotation. They weren't just symbols; they were notes, a celestial symphony painted across a midnight blue sky of the mind.

He recognized some of the runes—they were familiar, the kind used by Terrans—but others were alien, crafted by civilizations that no Terran could possibly know. The song they formed stirred something deep within him, resonating with emotions and desires he couldn't fully comprehend. As the melody rose, the space in front of him began to crystallize, a shimmering mirror forming in the air. Within the mirror, a figure appeared—a girl. Leon's heart skipped a beat.

"Who are you?" a voice asked, soft yet piercing.

He whipped around, expecting someone behind him, but the tunnel was empty. Turning back to the mirror, his eyes locked on the girl. She was wearing a brown sweater and blue jeans, her feet clad in socks but no shoes. Her brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders, framing a beautiful oval face. Her slender nose, full lips, and well-defined cheeks were hauntingly familiar. Leon's breath caught. It was her—the girl from his dreams.

"Hello... Are you real?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear and doubt.

Her words struck something deep within him. She looked tired, the dark circles under her eyes betraying countless sleepless nights. As she extended a hand toward him, Leon felt an overwhelming pull. Without thinking, his hand moved toward hers. When their hands touched through the surface of the mirror, Leon felt warmth. Not just imagined, but real—her touch was soft, and the connection between them was electric.

"How is this possible?" Leon muttered, his voice barely audible. Suddenly, a pulse of energy exploded from their contact, rippling through the tunnel like a shockwave. The mirror fractured, shards of light scattering into nothingness, and with them, the girl's image disappeared.

"No! No, no, no!" Leon shouted, slamming his fist against the wall. He searched desperately for a way to bring her back. This girl, who had haunted his dreams for as long as he could remember, had been right there—real, tangible. All that remained was the coin, now lying on the ground. He snatched it up, staring at it as Vuelo's words echoed in his mind: It should help you find what you're looking for.

A sharp pain jolted through his head, breaking his thoughts. He staggered, clutching at his temple. Another wave of agony hit, stronger this time, forcing him to drop the coin. It clattered to the floor, but Leon barely noticed. The pain wasn't ordinary—it felt like something was invading his mind. Then, he heard it.

Leon! Leon!... Help me…

Emily's voice. An image flashed in his mind. Emily, trapped under rubble in a strange building. The ceiling had collapsed around her, and she was calling out for him.

"What the hell is she up to now?" Leon growled, picking up the coin.

He turned back to the wall, his curiosity about the gateway and the girl still burning within him. But Emily's voice, her pain, cut through everything else. Whatever mystery lay behind this place would have to wait. He clenched the coin tightly, his resolve hardening.

"Hold on, Emily," he muttered, stepping away from the wall. For now, his mission had shifted.