CHAPTER ONE - Chickens.

Ezren:

Lior believed only cowards are called chickens. That, with a single ‘shuu,’ they bolt, fleeing into the shadows, even when there’s nothing to fear. Even when it's all pointless.

Maybe he was right because I’ve started to think of myself as a chicken. But my story is different, I didn’t retreat from a mere 'shuu'; I fled from a past poised to shatter me – a past tied to a face I never wanted.

Since his death, I've lived my life on the run, afraid of my own reflection. I've cloaked myself in a shroud of anonymity, bouncing from city to city and escaped the dark clutches of Blackreach and my father, Alaric Raveni.

To him, my existence is an affront; I've been both hunted and haunted. A perfect heir vanished, with a secret he suspects I hold – one that could pierce his empire.

I've received cryptic letters, laced with tempting offers to lure me back home. But I would rather watch him and his pride crumble into oblivion than go back to him.

Over the years, I’ve learned to blend seamlessly into the shadows. Under my hoodie and black face-cap, Ezren Raveni becomes a ghost. No one needs to know that the name ‘Raveni’ echoes in my veins. I've perfected that art of concealment; my presence is invisible and untraceable.

Yet here I am, back in the city where everything started, where my world was turned upside down six years ago.

To uncover the secret that Lior so fiercely protected, one that cost him his life. The answers I seek have brought me full circle, back to the place where I've been running from for so long – Villeybale city.

Right now, I'm standing outside the bar I vowed to avoid, but Eli's six frantic calls finally got to me. I've been here for ten minutes, torn between calling a cab and leaving or ignoring his missed calls.

This bar embodies everything I despise.

The cacophony of noise, the stench of cheap beer and sweat, and most of all, 'People’ – exactly what I'll have to deal with the moment I step inside.

It's Eli's birthday, and I know he's not a fan of these kinds of celebrations. We've been friends for two years, ever since I returned to the city where my past lingers. He's been whining about his stepbrother and the news that he'll come visiting soon.

He usually deals with his problems by getting drunk but what's the worst that could happen tonight, right?

I walked into the bar, and the first thing I saw was Eli, slumped over a table, half-conscious, with a silly plastic party crown on his head. A group of dudes surrounded him.

I spent nearly two minutes staring at the crowd, wondering what could have gone wrong and who these guys were. Could they be the Ravenites? Have they finally tracked me down through Eli?

I considered abandoning Eli, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. He would never leave me in a similar situation, and neither could I.

"Ay, he yours?" a voice called out, but I tuned it out, focusing on adjusting my face-cap and casually approaching them, mentally counting my steps.

"Who the hell is this guy?" another voice chimed in, which I successfully ignored too until I reached Eli and grabbed his arm, bending down to his level.

"Eli," I whispered.

His breath reeked of rum and birthday cake as he whispered back, "It-It's a game."

"Game? What is? Come on, dude. Let's go," I said, tugging on his jacket.

"They asked me to call someone who would..." He lifted his head, trailing off, giving me a good look at his tipsy face.

Eli has this unique brownish birthmark just above his jawline that complements his almost dark ginger-colored hair. Right now, though, the stupid plastic crown made his bangs sit a bit higher on his forehead, not doing his usual perfection much justice.

I reached up to remove the crown, but he grabbed my wrists, and his hold, plus his last words, brought me to a halt.

"..someone who would kiss me." His eyes held a hint of sadness, and his cold palms sent a shiver down my skin. "You ever think about kissing me, Ez?" he asked finally.

The thing is, I'd rather keep thinking Eli's on some kind of voodoo crap because, over the past few days, I've noticed how weird he's been acting around me, the weird questions, the awkward silences. It was as if he'd forgotten we were just friends, that I'm straight, and that boys don't usually wonder about kissing each other.

I stood firm, avoiding his piercing dark eyes as I wrestled free from his gentle grasp. I carefully removed the crown, and his bangs fell onto his forehead, veiling those sorrowful eyes that seemed to hold a thousand stories. “No,” I said resolutely, trying to sound convincing. “.. because I'm not into guys, Eli. You know that.”

A shrill voice chimed in from behind, “Hey, relax, it's just a game,” but I didn't bother responding. If anything, I was already fed up with how the night was unfolding and leaving as soon as possible was the only thing on my mind.

I attempted to hoist Eli up, but he crumpled back onto the table like dead weight. Whatever was in his system had taken over. He wasn't just drunk; he was done.

Ricco, Eli's arch-nemesis and rival, sauntered into the moment like it was his damn show. “Nah, you’re not bouncing yet,” he said, grinning like a punk. “He either kisses someone or someone else saves his sorry ass by doing it for him. You can’t leave until the game ends.”

I scoffed. “What kind of twisted game is this?”

Ricco leaned in, smug as hell. “The kind where rules matter. He knew what he signed up for.”

“Bullshit.” I stepped up, shoving a finger into his chest to release some of my pent-up frustration. “What the hell did you give him? Why’s he this wasted, Ricco?”

“Oh please. Don’t act like some damn saint. He poured his own drinks, Poppyboy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then quit acting like him. It’s a game, not a fuckin’ war.”

I clenched my jaw. “You drug him up and call it a game?”

“Nobody forced him to keep drinking,” Ricco snapped back. “He could’ve kissed someone and been done. But no, he wanted to act tough.”

I stared him down, breathing hard. “You think this is funny?”

“You gonna punch me now? Ruin your little princely image?”

I shoved him. “Answer the damn question!”

“He wanted to feel nothing. So I gave him nothing. The game’s called Kiss or Kill, sweetheart. He chose the kill.”

I froze. My chest tightened.

“What did you just say?”

“Kiss. Or. Kill.” He said it slow, like it tasted sweet.

I kept staring, my heart sinking. That name wasn’t supposed to exist anymore. It had died with Lior.

How did Ricco know about it?

Ricco leaned close, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “So, Poppyboy… what’s it gonna be? It's just one kiss, one round. No big deal.”

The way he said it, so nonchalantly, made my skin crawl.

What the hell isn't a big deal?

My gaze drifted to the figure seated behind Ricco. The man seemed completely absorbed in our conversation from two tables away, pretending not to listen but failing miserably at hiding it.

He appeared to be in his late twenties, his vibrant, curly ginger hair slicked back in an upward knot, and I could've sworn I spotted a tattoo etched near his neck, boldly stating 'KOK'.

His outfit wasn’t exactly subtle either: a tailored black coat, sleek slacks, dark turtleneck, giving off that dangerous, low-profile edge. The kind of look that screamed ex-military or off-duty spy.

I couldn’t see his face clearly, but there was something about his posture, his stillness, that made me certain. He was stupidly good-looking, and worse, he knew it.

I turned back to Ricco, and asked, “Do the rules permit me to kiss someone else to save him instead?”

Ricco’s lazy “Sure” was all the push I needed. I didn’t think, I just moved, chasing relief in the form of a stranger’s lips.

Maybe one kiss could untangle this madness, maybe it wouldn’t but, at least I’d be doing something. Everyone in the room looked too entertained to care and too gay to judge. And that, somehow, made it worse.

There was something about this stranger that stirred a deep-seated spark within me – a dare, a question I'd never dared to voice aloud.

As I approached him, I tucked away my face-cap and sat down across from him.

I introduced myself with a forced smile, "Hi, I'm Ezren," and as if the surrounding crowd knew I needed a cue for what was about to unfold.

A raucous chant erupted across the bar, growing louder and more boisterous with each passing moment. "Kiss or Kill! Kiss or Kill!"

The stranger looked me over once, just once, but it felt like a challenge. And before he could reply, I stood up and smashed my lips to his, the act feeling both impulsive and drawn-out.

It was a split-second act, a stupid one, but it felt longer than it meant to be.

The bar howled, and I quickly pulled back, my heart racing wildly. His whiskey-infused taste still on my lips, leaving me completely bewildered and my heart pounding in my chest.

Now what? How the hell do I walk away without looking like some ancient, unhinged freak?

"I-I-I'm so sorry about that..." I stuttered, still reeling from the kiss.

"Ezren, you say?" he interrupted, wiping his mouth as if the kiss meant nothing.

“Funny... my brother tosses that name around like it’s some kind of divine scripture. I’ve always wondered what made you so worship-worthy.”

His eyes, God, they are locked onto mine like I was the one thing he’d spent his whole damn life hating. But wait..

“Brother?!” I whispered under my breathe.

Who was he talking about?

Before the words could settle, Eli’s voice cut in, making me turn in his direction.

“Keep my name outta your fuckin’ mouth, Knox. And it’s step! step-brother!” Eli yelled, standing in the same spot where he was sleeping mere seconds ago. It was difficult to gauge his anger from where I stood, but I could sense his ire in those words, as he rarely swore.

Had I actually seen him sleeping just moments ago? Had he seen me kissing his step-brother? Did he watch me do all that?

And not to anyone but to his own brother? Step-brother!

The last thing I saw was Knox's dark smirk before I felt myself drifting away, eventually succumbing to unconsciousness.