Flashing lights. Cameras. Screaming fans.
Adrian Skyre stood on the red carpet, wearing his usual smirk—the one that made him a household name. His black suit caught the camera flashes, sparkling like it had its own light. Microphones pointed his way. Fans screamed, "Adrian! Adrian! Over here!"
He was only 26, but already one of the biggest stars in the world.
In just eight years, Adrian had seen everything—fame, scandals, heartbreak. He'd lost his mother. Been betrayed by his first manager. Nearly broke down at 22. But every time life pushed him down, he came back stronger. His roles left a mark: the angry prince in Bloodline Requiem, the broken soldier in Ashfall, the mysterious anti-hero in Eclipse Reborn.
People called him The Chameleon, The Method Oracle. Some even said he was The Last Golden Actor—one of the few humans still shining in a world where AI actors were taking over.
He had five Golden Arc awards. Studios fought to cast him. Directors shaped entire films around his talent. Fans cried for him.
But later that night, as the gala ended and he walked alone through a quiet hallway, something felt off.
In the back of the limo, he watched raindrops race across the window. Outside, New-Verra City glowed—a maze of neon and noise. Adrian leaned his head against the glass. He didn't know why, but his chest felt heavy. Like something inside him was quietly slipping away.
Adrian is in bed, asleep. But the dream wouldn't leave him.
That night, the dream returned.
He stood in a strange world. Two moons hung in the sky—one blood-red, the other a swirling mass of purple mist. Thunder rolled beneath them. Wind howled like animals through towering trees made of crystal. Rain fell hard, but the land itself glowed as if lit from within. In the distance stood a white palace, massive and radiant, like something out of a fairy tale.
The wind whispered a name: Lorian.
Then a voice—not quite his own, deeper, ancient—spoke through the storm:
"You are not yet who you were meant to be."
Adrian woke up drenched in sweat, heart pounding. He didn't understand what it meant. He didn't even know what Lorian was. But the name clung to his mind like it had always been there. Familiar. Real.
He got out of bed. Walked past his expensive furniture, his designer everything, to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror. His skin looked pale. His eyes were tired.
Maybe it's just stress. Maybe I need a break.
After some silence, he picked up his phone and called his manager.
Sung answered almost immediately. "Yes, boss?"
"I want to clear today's schedule."
There was a pause. "Uh... clear the schedule?"
"Yes."
"But... you have an appointment today with Miss Helena. CEO of Silver Studios. It's important."
"Clear it anyway. I need the day."
Sung hesitated, then said, "Okay. I'll take care of it."
Ten minutes later, Sung returned to his villa in person. "Boss," he said, "Miss Helena wants to speak with you. Right now."
Adrian groaned. He hated dealing with Helena. She was cold, calculating, and way too good at getting her way. But he took the call anyway.
"Hello, ice lady," he said dryly.
A pause.
"Adrian," she replied, her voice crisp and emotionless. "I advise you to speak with respect."
"Yes, ma'am. Always a pleasure." Yeah right.
She got to the point. "You're breaking your commitment. Do you know how much time and money it took to arrange today's meeting?"
"I get it," he said. "But I'm not feeling up to it. I need one damn day off."
"Do you think this industry runs on your mood swings?" she snapped.
He sighed. "Can we reschedule for Saturday or Sunday? I'll show up then. I promise."
There was a brief silence on the other end, the kind that didn't just carry disappointment—it carried calculation.
"Adrian," Helena said, her voice softening just slightly, "we've already moved mountains for this. The entire Silver Studios board will be there. You cancel, and it won't just reflect badly on you—it'll jeopardize the project."
"I said I need a break."
"I understand," she said, though her tone made it clear she didn't. "But the industry doesn't stop because you're tired. You know that better than anyone. You built your name on showing up when others collapsed."
"That was different."
"How?" she asked sharply. "You think I didn't notice the way you walked into that set after your mother's funeral and gave the performance of your life? You think I didn't watch you pull yourself together after what happened with Dorian, after the breakdown?"
Adrian's jaw clenched. He hated that she brought that up. Dorian—his first manager, his mentor, his betrayer. The man who stole years and millions from him.
Helena continued, quieter now, "You've been through hell, Adrian. But every time, you came back stronger. Smarter. That's why we built this next project around you. You're not replaceable. Not this time."
"I'm not a machine, Helena."
"No, you're not," she said. "But you're something else. Something people still believe in. This new film—'Rise of the Mirror King'—it's not just a movie. It's a legacy. Yours. You think I'd come begging to anyone else? No. But I know what this means. You should too."
Adrian leaned back on the leather couch, rubbing his eyes. The name of the film hit harder than he expected. Mirror King. He didn't know why, but it stirred something deep in his chest. Like the dream. The palace. The moons. Lorian.
"You still there?" she asked.
"Yeah."
He looked out the window again. The sky over New-Verra was heavy and gray, the rain now just a drizzle. Neon signs flickered on in the distance. The city was always moving, always pulsing.
He remembered something suddenly—something stupid. He and Helena, years ago, drunk on a rooftop after a small indie film had unexpectedly gone viral. She had laughed for the first time in front of him.
"You're going to burn out," she had told him that night.
And he had laughed too, saying, "Not before I make something that outlives me."
That was before the awards. Before the pressure. Before he became Adrian Skyre™.
Now here she was, reminding him who he said he wanted to be.
He exhaled.
"Fine," he said, voice flat.
"You'll attend?"
"I'll be there. Don't expect a red carpet mood."
"I never do," she replied dryly. "Just wear something that doesn't make the investors nervous."
The call ended with a click.
Adrian sat in silence for a moment. Then, almost to himself, he muttered:
"Lorian... what the hell are you?"
He didn't expect an answer.
But something in his chest pulsed—quietly, like a ripple in still water.
And far away, in a dream he didn't remember falling into, the red moon turned.
━━━◇◆◇━━━
The Meeting
Adrian arrived right on time.
His black car pulled up to the towering glass building of Silver Studios, the city reflected across its windows like a second world. A valet opened the door, and Adrian stepped out in a sharp, dark-blue suit—formal, clean, but not flashy. He looked like a man doing business, not chasing the spotlight.
Inside, the studio lobby was already buzzing. Sung met him at the elevator.
"They're all upstairs. Waiting," Sung said, adjusting his glasses nervously.
Adrian gave a slight nod. "Let's get it over with."
They took the elevator up to the top floor. The meeting hall was sleek and cold, with high ceilings and a panoramic view of New-Verra's skyline. Around the long table sat a dozen people—executives, producers, legal reps. Some of them Adrian recognized from old industry events. Others were new.
Helena stood near the head of the table, dressed in a pale gray suit, arms crossed, cool as ever. She gestured to the empty seat beside her.
"Adrian," she said. "Glad you could make it."
He nodded and sat without saying much.
Introductions began. Some of the guests had flown in from the U.S.—big names from Titan Entertainment, a global powerhouse in AI-assisted filmmaking. They had come with a proposal: a high-budget, cross-continental production that would merge real performance with hyper-intelligent visual technology. They didn't just want Adrian to star in it—they wanted him to co-produce.
"The character was written with you in mind," one executive said. "We don't want anyone else. You bring the soul. The human part."
Another added, "And frankly, this deal puts you at the center of a new era in cinema. A real legacy."
Adrian stayed quiet for most of the meeting, listening. Watching. Half the time, his mind drifted—to the dream, the voice, the name Lorian. But the rest of him remained grounded. These were the types of moves that shaped entire careers.
Eventually, Helena leaned in and whispered, "It's your call. But this puts you behind the camera too. Power. Real power."
He looked around the room. Everyone was waiting for him to speak.
He took a slow breath, then nodded.
"I'm in," he said.
Smiles broke out around the room. Helena gave a small nod of approval.
Papers were passed around. A few handshakes. Some minor questions. But the deal was sealed.
After the Meeting
Adrian stepped out onto the rooftop terrace of the building as the sun began to set, the city below glowing with early evening lights. Helena followed him.
"You did well in there," she said.
"I said yes. That's all."
"Still," she said, pausing beside him, "you handled it better than I expected."
He smirked. "You expected me to storm out?"
"I expected you to vanish again."
Adrian looked out at the city. "I thought about it."
Helena didn't reply, but her silence said she understood. She always understood, in her own cold, calculated way.
After a moment, she said, "This could be the project that defines your generation."
He turned to her. "You always talk about legacy."
"Because you have one," she said simply. "Others don't."
Adrian nodded slightly. "Thanks."
She raised an eyebrow. "That sounded dangerously close to sincere."
He chuckled. "Don't get used to it."
With that, he turned and headed for the elevator. Sung met him downstairs and drove him back to the villa.
That Night
The villa was quiet when Adrian returned. The city lights outside pulsed gently through the large windows, casting patterns on the walls. He took off his jacket, tossed it on a chair, and wandered into the kitchen. Made himself tea. Took a sip and stared into the cup like it might have answers.
He didn't feel triumphant. Just… tired.
Eventually, he moved to the bedroom, changed clothes, and collapsed onto the bed without bothering to turn off the lights.
Sleep came quickly.
And so did the dream.
The Dream Again
Rain poured from the sky like falling glass. The air was thick with energy, humming with something ancient and alive.
Adrian stood once again beneath the two moons. The red one pulsed like a heart. The purple one whispered cold thoughts he couldn't understand.
Ahead, the glowing white palace stood tall on the hill. Its walls shimmered, almost breathing. The forest of crystal trees around it howled with the wind, their leaves chiming like bells made of ice.
This time, the ground trembled beneath his feet.
He walked forward, the storm swirling around him. Lightning split the sky—but the light that followed didn't disappear. It hovered, like a tear in reality, and through it, he could see figures moving. Shadows. Soldiers? Spirits?
And then, from somewhere beyond the trees, the voice came again.
"Lorian waits."
The name struck him like a memory half-remembered. He tried to speak, to ask who Lorian was, but no sound came from his mouth.
Suddenly, the crystal forest parted—and in the distance, standing alone on the palace steps, was a figure. Tall. Cloaked in white and silver.
They raised one hand and pointed at him.
"Awaken."
And Adrian felt himself falling—backward, out of the dream, out of the light—