The Rose and the Obsidian
The room was silent but powerful, like the tension before a duel. It wasn’t an ordinary room—it was the Hall of Forgotten Lights, a cylindrical chamber encased in walls of crystalline onyx. Veins of glowing gold pulsated sporadically through the obsidian-like material, patterns shifting and writhing as though alive. The air shimmered with an ethereal hum, a haunting symphony of whispers sung by a memory-keeper AI embedded in the walls. Above, an ever-shifting dome of light cast dancing shadows across the polished floor, which looked like liquid glass yet felt solid underfoot. This sacred space had seen millennia of decisions, sacrifices, and betrayals, though few lived to tell its tales.
In the center of the hall stood Cyara Veyla, her lithe form a striking contrast to the twilight glow of the chamber. She didn’t blend in—she commanded attention. Her outfit was sleek and architectural: a tight-fitting white bodysuit designed with black angular patterns that ran like veins across the fabric, sophisticated and functional. At her shoulders and hips rested subtle but dynamic gold accents, like frozen flashes of sunlight. The ensemble glimmered faintly with nano-fabric enhancements, absorbing and refracting the shifting light around her. Every line of the costume seemed measured and deliberate, accentuating her toned curves while also serving as armor. She was both a weapon and a pin-up—a warrior draped in avant-garde fashion.
Cyara’s crimson hair cascaded down her shoulders, a waterfall of fire against her alabaster skin. It was gravity-defying in a way that seemed effortless, framing her angular, high-cheekboned face. The blue of her eyes was fierce enough to command obedience, but their gaze softened slightly when they landed on the artifact floating mid-air before her: The Obsidian Core.
A pulsating orb of pure energy, its color shifted between black and violet, tiny fractures revealing an infinity of stars within. Its edges shimmered with veins of liquid gold, almost mirroring the walls of the Hall. The Core was everything—and nothing. It could save her dying world or burn it to ash. That decision was left in her hands alone.
Cyara squinted slightly, the light of the Core brightening as if sensing her hesitation. The air grew heavier, pressing against her skin, the nano fibers of her suit glowing faintly in response. She inhaled deeply, the faint scent of ozone mixing with the aroma of something more alien and metallic.
The Interloper
A sound shattered the silence—a slow clap. Cyara spun around, her reflexes faster than thought. From the shadows that clung to one corner of the hall emerged Kael Draiven. His approach was deliberate, his gait that of someone who knew their exact level of power in any given room. Where Cyara’s outfit was cutting-edge and radiant, his was utilitarian and rugged—a long black coat layered with matte armor pieces, and boots that thudded with authority against the crystalline floor. His hair, coal-black and cropped short, complemented his lean yet muscular frame. A wicked scar curved from his temple to his jawline, giving his sharply-handsome face an edge of danger. His dark eyes glittered, half-amused, half-calculating. On his chest, strapped like a second heart, was a pulse rifle bristling with illegal modifications.
“Cyara Veyla,” Kael drawled, his voice laced with mock admiration. “I should’ve known you would make it this far. Always the indomitable one.”
Cyara didn’t lower her stance. She held her ground, every muscle in her body screaming to strike first. “Kael Draiven.” Her voice was ice over steel. “Always the opportunist.”
Kael smirked and spread his arms, as though the accusation was a compliment. “You wound me. But let’s not pretend, dear Cyara, that we’re here for anything other than the same thing.” His gaze flickered toward the Core, and in that moment, Cyara stepped instinctively to shield the artifact. Kael’s smirk widened. “Ah. As protective as ever, I see.”
The Cost of Choices
“Don’t come any closer,” Cyara snapped. Her fingers flicked toward her wrist, a silent command activating a shimmering golden blade that extended from her gauntlet. The weapon gleamed, humming faintly as it came to life. Its presence sent sharp reflections spiraling across the room, making Kael hesitate for a fraction of a second.
“You know,” he began, his tone shifting to something low and conspiratorial, “if we destroyed it, neither of us would have to bear the burden of choices it demands.”
Her lips tightened, the red of her lipstick stark against her pale features. “Destroy it, and you destroy every chance we have left. My people need this. They’re dying—starving.” Emotion cracked the rigidity of her tone just enough to make her humanity clear.
Kael cocked his head, a viper assessing its prey. “And what about my people, Cyara? They’re just as desperate as yours. Do you imagine that any ‘choice’ you make here will leave both of us intact?”
The question hung between them like a guillotine. The light of the Core fluttered, as if fueled by their tension.
The Strike
Without warning, Kael lunged—his body a coil of strength and precision. Cyara was faster. Her golden blade slashed through the air with a crackle, spinning in an arc that Kael narrowly ducked. He countered with a swipe of his modified rifle, the butt aimed for her side. She twisted, the nano-fibers of her suit absorbing the worst of the impact, but the force blew her off balance.
The fight was brutal yet beautiful, like choreography designed for gods. Her movements were lithe and calculated, the lines of her outfit shifting with the flow of her body. His motions were raw, primal, and unrelenting. Sparks flew between their clashing blades and rifle, the twisted light of the Core catching the fire and casting shadows of chaos across the hall.
Finally, Kael wrestled her against the crystalline wall, his forearm pinning her at the throat. They panted, faces close, their breath mingling with tension and unspoken history.
“Is this the only way you know how to win, Kael?” she hissed, defiance blazing in her sapphire eyes.
“Winning’s all that matters, Cyara,” he whispered, his voice almost gentle. The edge of his rifle’s barrel pressed into her side—but something in his eyes flickered, a shadow of hesitation.
The Revelation
Before he could pull the trigger—or before she could twist free and plunge her blade into him—the Core brightened. Its light exploded outward, engulfing them both in swirling violet and gold. All at once, the hall, the fight, and the tension fell away, leaving them suspended in a void of boundless stars.
Through the golden glow of the Core’s voice—a symphony, a storm, a whisper—they both heard the same haunting question:
“What price will you pay for salvation?”
For the first time, neither of them had an answer.
The Source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: White and Black Outfit with Gold Accent: A Cosplay Vision to Remember
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