When Earth Trembled

Of course, he did.

And he was waiting.

I bolted toward the center, stopping just beyond the shimmering barrier that separated us. My heart pounded, but I refused to let him see any hesitation.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I muttered, my fists clenched so tightly that my nails nearly pierced my palms. My voice was steady, unwavering.

His eyes gleamed with amusement, but I didn’t let it shake me.

“If you think I came here for you, you’re mistaken,” I continued, my stance firm. “I came to warn you. Unlike you, I don’t stab people in the back. I face my enemies head-on.”

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Julia…” he mused, taking a measured step closer to the barrier. “Did I ever tell you about fireflies?”

I stiffened as his voice lowered, rich with eerie nostalgia.

“When I was little, I loved collecting them,” he said, his gaze distant as if he were lost in some fond memory. “I was fascinated by how they became their own torches in the dark. It seemed… hopeful.”