Chapter 1
Lyra sat behind the wheel, parked along the edge of a deserted country road, staring at the gray sky reflected across the windshield.
The clouds hung low and swollen, heavy with something unsaid—like they were waiting for a signal before unleashing hell on earth.
Rain was coming. She could already smell it in the damp air slipping through the half-open window.
Not a single drop had fallen yet.
She inhaled slowly, trying to gather her thoughts.
It never worked.
The world didn’t care about her. Not even a little.
Sleepless nights had piled up inside her like stones, weighing down her body, her mind. Every city she’d passed through, every cheap motel where she’d collapsed for a few restless hours, every monster she’d faced—it all stayed with her. Nothing ever left.
Maybe she’d reached that point.
The one where you start wondering what the hell your life is even for.
At twenty-eight.
The supernatural was all she knew. And the price for it… was steep.
A drifter. A citizen of nowhere.
The face of Samuel crossed her mind.
She shut her eyes tight, fingers clenching around the steering wheel as if she could crush the memory out of existence.
It didn’t work.
She leaned back against the seat, hands still cold from the long drive.
Streetlights stretched shadows across the empty road, longer than they should’ve been. For a split second, she thought she saw something move at the edge of her vision.
But nothing was there.
Just a shiver crawling up her spine.
She was tired.
Tired of running. Tired of chasing signs no one else could see—or believe in.
Monsters that, to most people, only existed in stories told to scare children.
Paranormal events people loved to talk about. Loved to pretend they believed in.
But never really did.
And still… there was no other path for her.
Every time she thought about stopping, something new—something wrong—dragged her back in.
Lyra couldn’t ignore it.
Not after everything she knew.
A breath slipped past her lips as she lowered her head against the steering wheel, as if the cold surface could offer some kind of comfort.
But beneath the exhaustion—heavy, suffocating, like a soaked blanket—there was something else.
A faint vibration.
Electric.
Like something was about to change.
Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her jeans.
Very few people had her number.
When she checked the screen and saw the name Father Benedetto, a chill ran down her spine.
He never called without a reason.
She exhaled slowly and answered.
“Father Benedetto.”
“Lyra… I need to see you. Now.” His voice was low, tight.
Her stomach twisted.
“What’s going on?”
“There are… things happening. I can’t explain it over the phone.”
“What kind of things? Earthquakes? Natural disasters? Demons?”
“Not natural,” he said. His voice wavered just slightly. “People are seeing things. Lights in the sky. Dark presences. Violent, animalistic behavior that makes no sense. It’s not isolated. It’s happening in different cities… and there’s a pattern.”
Lyra inhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay calm.
“I’m on my way.”
—
The road to the church was swallowed by thick, threatening clouds.
The rain that had only lingered in the air before finally broke loose, drumming hard against the windshield as she pulled over.
She stepped out and ran toward the entrance.
The sky cracked open—lightning split the distance, followed seconds later by a rolling thunder that shook the ground.
The door was already slightly open.
Inside, the scent of wax and old wood wrapped around her.
Dark. Silent.
No mass at this hour—and even if there had been, the storm would’ve kept the faithful away.
Lyra lifted her gaze to the altar, to the crucifix looming above, a silent reminder of a sacrifice humanity barely deserved anymore.
Out of habit, she made the sign of the cross.
Then she moved toward the door leading to the priest’s private quarters.
Father Benedetto sat behind a large oak desk, surrounded by open books and yellowed pages.
Tall, slightly bent with age, neatly combed gray hair, and pale blue eyes that seemed to look straight through you.
His face carried time like a burden—deep lines carved by years of prayer… and exhaustion.
And yet, there was something in him.
A quiet authority.
The kind that could make even the most stubborn atheist lower their gaze.
He looked up when she entered.
For a moment, he studied her like he was seeing her for the first time.
Dark hair, damp from the rain, clinging in loose strands around her face. Shadows under her eyes carved deep, betraying weeks without sleep. Pale skin, the kind that belongs to someone who lives more in the night than in the day.
Her eyes… carried something older than her years.
Something tired. Something that hurt.
She was small—barely five foot three.
But there was strength in her.
Not muscle.
Something harder.
The kind you get when you’ve had to save yourself too many times.
“Lyra,” he said, straightening slightly. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“What’s going on?” she asked, stepping closer.
He handed her a stack of handwritten pages.
Notes. Witness reports.
“People swear they’ve seen the sky turn red. Heard voices in the night. Seen things… dark things they can’t explain,” he said before she could even start reading.
Lyra glanced down at the papers.
“These could be hallucinations. Atmospheric phenomena…” she murmured, searching for something rational.
“Lyra… it’s worse than that.”
His voice didn’t shake anymore.
It settled.
“I’ve gone through every possible explanation. I’ve tried to make sense of it.”
He hesitated.
“I’m afraid… this might be the beginning of the Apocalypse.”
Thunder rattled the windows.
Lyra felt it in her bones.
“The Apocalypse?” she said, almost breathless. “You really think this—” she gestured to the papers “—is a sign of that?”
“Father, come on… things like that don’t just happen. These are coincidences.”
“Lyra,” he said, stepping closer, “this isn’t about belief. Look at the reports. Compare them to the timeline I’ve been building.”
He tapped the desk.
“Don’t you see it? This matches the old prophecies.”
His voice didn’t rise.
But it held.
“I’m not asking you to believe me. Not yet. I’m asking you to observe. To judge for yourself.”
Lyra kept flipping through the pages.
Each word tightened something inside her chest.
“And you really think this is the beginning of a prophecy?” she asked, still skeptical. “I understand your faith, but—”
“I haven’t slept in three days, Lyra. This isn’t faith.”
He looked at her.
“It’s fear.”
That hit harder than anything else.
“You,” he continued, “of all people—you know what exists out there. You’ve seen it. You’ve fought it.”
He turned toward the bookshelf, pulling out an old, worn volume like it had been waiting for his hands.
“I don’t have answers,” he said quietly. “But listen to this… and then you decide.”
He opened the book carefully. The pages creaked under his fingers.
“Book of Revelation, chapter six, verses twelve through fourteen,” he read.
“I watched as he opened the sixth seal. There was a great earthquake.
The sun turned black like sackcloth made of goat hair,
the whole moon turned blood red,
and the stars in the sky fell to earth,
as figs drop from a fig tree when shaken by a strong wind.”
“But those are metaphors!” Lyra protested. “You can’t compare them to real events.”
“Maybe they are… maybe they’re not,” he replied, closing the book slowly.
“Look outside. The signs are there.”
Silence settled between them.
“I just want you to take these notes and investigate,” he added. “Do what you do best. Observe. Judge.”
He took her hands, his grip firm, grounding.
“I’m not losing my mind. And I wouldn’t ask you this if I didn’t believe there was a real possibility.”
His eyes locked onto hers.
“You’re ready for this. More than anyone I know.”
Lyra nodded, her heart beating faster now.
As she held the papers in her hands, she had no idea—
her life was about to change forever.
