⋆ Still in Cyra's POV ⋆
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"And... done!" I yelled triumphantly, slamming my fist on the table like I’d just defeated the final boss of a video game. My homework — the one due Monday — had finally surrendered.
Zoey groaned beside me, dragging her gaze from her phone. Her auburn ponytail swayed as she leaned back, her smirk almost smug. "Finally..."
I narrowed my eyes at her. "You could’ve helped me, you know. You finished yours ages ago." I stuffed my books into my bag, still glaring for effect.
She just hummed in mock thought. "True... but if I did, you wouldn’t have learned anything. And where’s the fun in that?" She stood, stretching her arms overhead like a lazy cat, her yellow blouse catching the warm afternoon light and making her look annoyingly put together.
Before I could fire back, she eyed me from head to toe. "Well, you’d better go get ready — unless you plan to go out wearing... this." Her finger made a slow circle in the air, gesturing at my Pikachu onesie like it was some kind of fashion crime.
I let my forehead fall dramatically against the table with a thud. The plush fabric cushioned me a little, but still — ouch. "It’s not a crime to wear pajamas outside. I’ve seen you do it," I mumbled into the wood.
Zoey rolled her eyes. "Only when I’m taking out the trash," she shot back, smirk firmly in place. She leaned closer, voice dropping into faux menace. "Now go get dressed, Cyra... or you won’t get to go on the swings~"
I was out of the room in an instant, the comfort of my Pikachu onesie left behind like a distant memory. I slipped into my favorite oversized black hoodie and matching sweatpants — the perfect disguise to blend in. Bolting through the front door, I almost collided with Zoey, who stood waiting with a stopwatch in hand.
"36 seconds. That’s a new record," she announced, tucking the watch into her jeans pocket with a satisfied grin.
I let out a small smile, a mixture of relief and pride bubbling inside me. Breaking meaningless records with Zoey felt like a tiny victory in a life that was anything but ordinary. I dashed after her, eager to soak in the day ahead.
The silence between us was easy, like a warm blanket on a chilly morning. Our footsteps crunched softly over gravel as we walked side by side. I wanted to break the silence, to say something more meaningful than usual.
"I’ve been meaning to ask..." I began, glancing at her.
Zoey turned, olive-green eyes curious and open.
"Where’s your mum?" I asked, hesitating for a second — the question not quite fitting the lightness of the moment.
Her face softened, but she looked confused. "Hmm?"
I tried again, voice gentle. "She wasn't there to see us off. She usually says goodbye when we leave, right?"
Zoey chuckled softly, auburn hair bouncing with each step. "Oh, she went grocery shopping. Said someone around here tends to eat like a bottomless pit."
I smiled, a little self-conscious. "Hey, I’m just trying to eat while I still can," I teased.
Zoey laughed, the sound bright like sunshine. "Yeah, but even you don’t need that much."
I muttered under my breath, almost to myself, "Oh, I don't need to at all."
Zoey’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. "What was that?"
I shrugged, pointing ahead. "Uhh... Hey, isn’t that the place?"
She looked where I pointed and smiled. "It is!"
As we walked on, my thoughts drifted away from the crunch of gravel beneath our feet. Nights were always the hardest — when I couldn’t just blend in as a normal teenager. The angels watching over this world, the other supernaturals lurking in shadows, even my father’s distant presence reminded me to keep my power in check.
That’s why, months ago, I started searching for a place — somewhere hidden, where no one would see me practice. After wandering through alleys and forgotten corners of the town, I stumbled upon it by accident: an old train yard tucked behind a row of abandoned warehouses, choked by creeping vines and broken brick walls. The place looked forgotten, almost swallowed by time, but it was perfect — isolated enough to hide me, yet open enough to let me push my limits without worrying about watchful eyes.
Since then, I’ve come back, night after night, training silently on my speed and agility. No flashy supernatural moves, not yet. Just the basics to build up my teleportation skills.
I hadn’t told Zoey about it — not yet. Maybe someday, when the world felt safer. For now, this simple walk with her, the steady rhythm of our footsteps, was enough to remind me why I had to keep going.
My mind drifted again, and once more, the name of the place slipped away like a whisper on the wind. I really needed to stop doing that.
“C’mon, let’s go sit on the park bench!” Zoey called out, her voice carrying lightly across the open space.
As I followed her, my eyes caught sight of the familiar green-and-white sign nailed to a tall post near the entrance: “Willow Creek Park.” The name felt comforting, grounding—something to hold onto amidst the jumble of my thoughts. Ah, yes, the park. I really should remember that.
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[A/N: Sorry if you expected something more... exciting? Honestly, this was the best I could come up with for now.]
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Zoey led me to a sturdy wooden bench, its metal sides worn smooth by countless hands, long enough to hold a few people comfortably. It rested on a concrete path that cut through a lush carpet of grass, each blade swaying in the gentle wind. The park was alive with the happy chaos of children playing, their joyful voices blending with the soft rustle of leaves.
From her side bag, Zoey pulled out a pair of sleek headphones connected to a small, shiny music player. She handed me one, and I hesitated only briefly before placing it over my ear. Already lost in the music, Zoey closed her eyes, a soft smile curving her lips.
I, on the other hand, was still puzzled, unsure how to work the device, so I let my gaze wander instead—absorbing the calm, the sounds, the life around me—letting it all wash over me like a quiet wave of peace.
I watched the park come alive in vivid detail. Children darted across the soft, slightly rough grass, their laughter and shrieks blending into a joyful symphony. Some scrambled up the jungle gym, their small hands gripping tightly as they climbed higher. The swings creaked rhythmically, chains swaying back and forth while kids pumped their legs, reaching for the sky.
Then, something caught my eye — a distant figure moving with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. Not flying, exactly, but twisting and turning in mid-air, their body flowing through arcs with fluid precision before landing smoothly back on the ground. I squinted, trying to make sense of the strange aerial dance.
As I focused more, I realized the figure was balancing on a sleek wooden plank with wheels — a skateboard. I’d seen Zoey watch videos of people doing tricks with those before. The person launched themselves off something — a ramp, maybe? — though the thick trees blocking part of my view kept the details a mystery. At that moment, I wished I could unfurl my own wings and soar above it all.
A sudden breeze swept through the park, rustling the grass and sending leaves tumbling lazily through the air. My long, dark hair whipped across my face, its strands stinging my eyes and brushing against my nose. I flinched, not out of pain, but at the reminder. There were moments like this when I missed my true hair — pure white, like moonlight captured in silk. It had been more than a color. It had been a mark of what I was.
I glanced at Zoey, her auburn ponytail barely shifting in the wind, her eyes still closed as she remained lost in her music, untouched by the chaos of the breeze.
Without a word, I leaned my head against the cool metal railing beside me. It wasn’t comfort I sought — comfort was for mortals — but still, the chill against my skin grounded me. The rhythmic creak of the swings and the bright chatter of the children wove together in a strange sort of harmony.
I let my eyes close. Not to rest— I had no need for that— but to simply… listen. It was a rare sound for me; laughter untainted by malice, joy unclouded by corruption. The only time I’d heard laughter like that in Hell was from Lloyd, my older brother. The thought almost warmed me— almost. But I pushed it down before it could take root. I could never be certain if he, like our father, had been hiding rot beneath his smile.
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⋆ 20 Minutes Later ⋆
"Cyra, wake up!" Zoey’s voice cut through the air, sharp and playful.
My eyes slid open, the quiet I’d been savoring slipping away. I lifted my head from the bench’s backrest, fixing her with a flat look. "You just love shattering perfectly good moments, don’t you?" My tone was dry, but the corner of my mouth twitched in reluctant amusement.
Zoey rolled her eyes — a move she’d perfected — and flashed a grin that was all mischief. "We didn’t come to the park so you could zone out like a grandma. We came to have fun! And you know I’m not wasting a perfectly good Saturday."
Before I could argue, she hooked her arm through mine and tugged me along. Her mortal energy was exhausting and oddly refreshing at the same time.
We strolled for a while, the sun warm against my skin, weaving past families on picnic blankets and couples walking dogs. Fifteen minutes passed in a gentle blur — until the hum of the park shifted.
The sound of birdsong and casual chatter gave way to something sharper: the rapid rattle of wheels over wood, the clang of metal rails, and bursts of laughter layered over the faint scent of concrete dust. I glanced ahead and caught sight of a weathered metal sign:
"Riverside Skate Park — Ride at Your Own Risk."
The park opened up before us — a space devoid of grass, its expanse of smooth concrete alive with motion. Kids launched down ramps, spun on boards, and clustered near small balconies, swapping tricks and laughter. The clatter of wheels was chaotic yet oddly rhythmic, blending into a soundtrack of energy and recklessness.
I tilted my head. "Why are they away from the rest of the park?" I murmured under my breath, though Zoey was too busy grinning at the scene to answer.
As we approached a long, metal shelf lined with mismatched helmets, pads, and gloves, Zoey dove in without hesitation. She began gathering equipment with the efficiency of someone who’d done it a hundred times before.
"You remember I told you I used to skateboard when I was younger?" she asked, snapping the straps of her knee pads into place and adjusting the elbow guards.
I blinked at her, momentarily thrown. "Yeah… but by ‘used to,’ don’t you mean ‘not anymore’?" My brow arched in suspicion.
Zoey chuckled, the sound warm and unbothered. "I see what you’re trying to do…"
I tilted my head, genuinely puzzled. "And what exactly am I trying to do?"
Instead of answering, she stepped closer, fastening protective pads onto my arms and legs with infuriatingly practiced ease. "Don’t worry, I completely get you." Her grin was impossible to read — a mix of mischief and determination.
A dark blue helmet found its way onto my head. It felt… odd. I’d worn armor before — the kind forged for war, not weekend fun — and this strange, lightweight shell felt almost insulting by comparison.
Zoey led me to a rack crammed with skateboards, each one a burst of color and wear. She plucked two from the row: one sleek black board with blue wheels, the other with yellow. Without hesitation, she thrust the blue-wheeled one into my hands, her smile sparkling with unrestrained excitement.
The weight was unfamiliar, the texture smooth under my fingers. I wasn’t sure if the stir in my chest was excitement… or the mortal equivalent of dread.
Then I saw it.
A massive, circular concrete pit yawned in the middle of the skate park, its curved walls spiraling downward like the throat of some strange creature. Wheels clattered in its depths, riders darting along the curves like they were defying gravity itself.
Now, I understood exactly why they were separated from the rest of the park.
The sight before me was… daunting.
Kids and teens zipped across the smooth concrete, wheels clattering against ramps and rails. Some simply cruised along, weaving between the others like fish in a fast-moving stream, while the boldest among them hurled themselves into the air — boards spinning beneath their feet, arms out for balance before landing with a sharp, satisfying clack.
For a moment, I just stood there, watching in disbelief. Despite being a Nephalem — fast, strong, agile — I felt an unexpected flicker of unease. Mortals could be terrifying when they set their minds to something. No magic. No wings. Just sheer determination, and a stubborn refusal to let gravity tell them what they could or couldn’t do.
A boy sailed off a ramp, his board flipping once — twice — before his sneakers slammed back onto it. His friends erupted into cheers, their hands smacking together in loud high-fives.
I turned slowly to Zoey, my voice barely above a whisper. “…You seriously expect me to do that?” My eyes were wide, as if I’d just been asked to dive headfirst into a volcano.
Zoey was already at my side, her board tucked under her arm, her eyes sparkling like she’d been waiting for this all day. “Come on, it’ll be fun,” she urged, nodding toward the ramps like they were nothing more than a harmless playground slide.
“I think your definition of ‘fun’ might be different from mine,” I muttered, glancing back at the swirling chaos of boards and bodies.
But Zoey didn’t seem deterred. She set her board down with a soft clunk, stepping onto it like she was greeting an old friend. “Look, I’ll go first. Just follow my lead.”
I hesitated. My instincts screamed that this was reckless… but another part of me — the side that had fought devils, crossed burning battlefields, and stared down the King of Hell himself — bristled at the thought of backing down from a wooden plank with wheels.
When my foot finally touched the board, it wobbled, threatening to buck me off. I steadied myself, the pads on my elbows and knees feeling oddly restrictive. Slowly, I pushed forward — once, then again — and the board rolled beneath me in a strange but almost… thrilling way.
My balance kicked in. Muscles that had adapted to the weight of armor and the uneven terrain of Hell shifted easily to this new challenge. I bent my knees, leaning slightly, letting the momentum carry me across the smooth expanse.
It was… oddly simple. My body understood faster than my mind did.
By the time I made my way up the gentle slope of a ramp, a small group of teenagers had stopped what they were doing to watch. Their expressions ranged from mild curiosity to open-mouthed surprise.
“Whoa, Cyra, you’re a natural!” Zoey called, her grin so wide it was almost contagious.
I couldn’t help but smile, a strange rush of exhilaration bubbling in my chest. “This is actually… kind of fun,” I admitted, swerving slightly to avoid a younger kid who zipped past me with a wild laugh.
“Told you!” Zoey laughed, kicking off and gliding toward me. Soon, we were weaving around each other, our boards crossing paths in a kind of unspoken rhythm. She’d twist sharply; I’d follow. I’d speed ahead; she’d catch up.
When we rolled side-by-side down a ramp, our movements synchronized without planning. The small crowd around the edge erupted in cheers, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls of the skate bowl.
And for a moment — just a brief one — the laughter didn’t carry any hint of malice. It was pure, untainted. Almost like Lloyd’s…
I pushed the thought down before it could dig too deep.
Instead, I let the rush of the ride fill me. The wheels, the wind, the thrill of being just human enough for this to feel dangerous — and fun — all at once.
By the time we finally decided to call it a day, the sun had already begun sinking behind the rooftops. The air was cooler now, the sharp scent of rubber and concrete lingering in my senses. My legs ached in a way I wasn’t used to — not from battle, but from the relentless, repetitive motion of skating.
We trudged back home, Zoey still chattering about our “best moves” and how next time, she was going to teach me something called a kickflip. I wasn’t entirely sure what that involved, but judging by her enthusiasm, I suspected it would be dangerous.
The front door creaked open, and Molly’s warm voice floated toward us. “Welcome back, girls! How was your day?”
Zoey kicked off her shoes mid-step and grinned like she’d just won a gold medal. “It was amazing, mum! Cyra’s a skateboarding prodigy!” she announced before vanishing into her room with the speed of someone eager to relive the day through a dozen retellings.
I made my way to my own room at a far slower pace. My muscles didn’t tire easily, but even supernatural stamina had its limits — or maybe it was just the unfamiliarity of the movements. Dropping onto the bed, I let my limbs go slack, the mattress dipping under my weight.
Molly appeared at the doorway, leaning lightly against the frame. “And you, Cyra? Did you enjoy yourself?”
A faint smile tugged at my lips. “Yes. It was… different. But good different. Thank you for letting Zoey drag me along.”
Her eyes softened. “Anytime, dear. You look like you need to rest — even you can’t keep up with that girl all the time.”
I gave a quiet nod, and she slipped away, closing the door with a gentle click.
The room felt still after that, the distant murmur of Zoey’s voice barely reaching me through the walls. I lay there for a long moment, letting the memory of the day replay — the thrill of the ride, the rush of movement, the sound of laughter without the stain of cruelty.
A rare, almost fragile feeling settled over me — something close to peace. For a moment, my mind wasn’t filled with battles or orders or the weight of who I was. Just the image of a friend smiling beside me, and a world where the only thing I had to worry about was staying on a board.
But unfortunately, total peace can't be felt by a runaway Nephalem whose existence would spell chaos for the Realms below and above.
Instead, I rested in that half-state — my body still, my awareness sharp — letting the day’s moments settle into memory while I kept my watch over the quiet house.
.
.
.
I never got to go on the swings—
»»———————- ♔ ———————-««
Zoey: "Come on, Cyra, it'll be fun! You can't spend all day in your Pikachu onesie."
Cyra: "Why not? It's comfortable, and I'm pretty sure Pikachu would approve."
Zoey: "... If you don't change out of that onesie, I'm taking away your anime privileges for the rest of the week."
---
Teen Skater: “How are you so good already?!”
Cyra: “I dunno, maybe I’m just… naturally superior?”
Zoey: “She means she’s a freak of nature.”
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[A/N]: Thanks for reading! ^^111Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRsK6DLF7Qh
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