Under the fairy-lights and the hush of an actual surprise, Stacy's small garden bloomed into a world made for one night only. Lanterns swung like tiny moons, streamers stitched color between the hedges, and the air smelled of jasmine and warm sugar. The scene felt fragile, as if one misstep could undo it, yet it was alive, humming with the possibility of joy.
While the others fussed over final details—balloons that refused to sit still, a playlist threatening to skip at the wrong moment—Nyx moved through it with the careful ease of someone rebuilding bridges stone by stone. He checked the string of pearls on the cake table, adjusted a lantern, and made sure Joey didn't trip over wires while hanging lights. Every action was small, deliberate, and precise.
He teased Bob until the older boy laughed and handed him the wrench without thinking. Those ordinary courtesies, mundane and human, were his most deliberate work. He stored each regained laugh like a tiny victory against the memory of theft. No one spoke Jamie's name; the empty space where the fake Nyx had tried to live among them felt less like an accusation and more like a wound whose scab had finally formed—solid enough for life to move on.
The preparations hummed with the fragile safety of a community that had decided to forgive and forget. Nyx watched them with a practiced smile, savoring the small reclaiming of their trust. This is what it feels like to put the pieces back together, he thought. One laugh at a time.
When the moment came, it was simple and somehow holy. The lights dimmed, friends gathered close, and Nyx stepped forward from behind a lattice of roses with a cake he had baked himself. The crust was charred, the heart slightly lopsided, piped in honest icing, and the scent of cardamom curled off it like a private joke.
Stacy's face softened in a way that made the world tilt. She put her hand to her mouth, the surprise spilling into tears she quickly denied with a laugh. For a breath, the party belonged entirely to her joy.
"Happy birthday, Stacy," Nyx said softly, holding the cake toward her.
Everyone cheered. Stacy walked up to him, admiration plain on her face. She touched the icing with a tentative finger and looked up at him as if discovering a new detail about him she had never been allowed to see before.
They placed a single slender candle on the cake, the flame waiting like a wish. The circle leaned in as if the night itself had ears. Music swelled, voices grew soft, and for a moment, Nyx felt a warmth he had not allowed himself in a long time. This is fleeting, but it's mine, he thought, letting himself savor the human connection.
The candle's light trembled as hands reached to steady it—then, impossibly, a gust of breath stole across the flame. Someone had blown the candle out before Stacy could, and darkness swallowed the waxing laugh forming on her lips.
"Who the hell—" Nyx snapped, spinning around, protective flare igniting.
The voice that answered him was like a bell from a place he'd tried to keep closed. There, grinning and impossibly alive in the doorway, stood Nia Mare.
"Nyx—you're here! How?" she called, stepping into the lantern glow as if she had been waiting in the wings of life itself.
"That should have been my question, darling; I missed you a lot," she added, teasing, and the tight circle of friends collapsed into startled curiosity.
Stacy's brow folded. "Who is she?" she asked, voice raw with the sudden jolt of new information.
Nia answered without shame or calculation: "Nyx didn't tell you? I was with him for the last fifteen days."
The words landed like stones. Bob and Joey straightened, suspicion flickering across their faces. Ralph, blunt as ever, pushed through the group.
"What is your relation with Nyx?" he demanded.
Nyx had evidently rehearsed his answer. He stepped up, steadying a hand on Nia's shoulder.
"She is my girlfriend," he said plainly.
The words detonated instead of sealing a private truth. Stacy's expression shifted from confusion to sharp, hot hurt. Her palm shot up in a clean, furious motion and slapped him.
"Leave my house," she said, voice brittle with humiliation and sudden fury.
Whispers rose in a wave around them. Joey's hand curled into a fist. Bob's jaw tightened. Ralph's eyes sought answers.
Nyx bowed his head briefly, a silent acknowledgment of her pain, then without ceremony, left the garden with Nia at his side. Their exit cut the music to a sparse, awkward frame—a snapshot of celebration interrupted.
Outside, the air felt sharper, colder where the house's warmth ended. Nyx led Nia to the unlit stretch of grass behind the hedge, a space away from the prying eyes of friends.
"Dude," Nia said, mock gravity in her tone, "are you serious? When did I become your girlfriend?"
Her laughter was easy, but beneath it lay a sharp undertone that made Nyx's skin prickle.
"Stop it, Nia. Tell me why you're here," he demanded, fingers tight enough to leave pale crescents on his palm.
Her teasing slid into warmth and almost possessiveness. "For you, my boy. For you."
Nyx's worry spiked. I brought her into human spaces. This is dangerous, he thought.
"You don't understand this world," he said, brittle. "It's cruel. How did you even come here?"
Nia shrugged like someone who had stepped through fate's door and made herself at home.
"Making a vampire afraid of humans? Is that what you are now, Nyx Gald?" she teased, using his full name like a spell to hold him accountable.
Nyx's mouth went dry. "How do you even know my real name?"
Her smile dimmed, then flared with a different kind of fire. "I know everything now. The whole Mirror World knows. Vampires are on the move; they're waiting to come for you. They smell blood and betrayal, and they will not forgive."
"Why didn't you ask?" she added, her tone both accusation and verdict.
Nyx felt the world tighten around him. This was no longer just his secret; it was a signal flare across realms.
"I know what's happened," he said low, the cadence of a man with a plan. "It was necessary—"
"Necessary?" Nia cut him off with a laugh devoid of mirth. "You created the biggest clash between witches and vampires in living memory! You gave them reason to burn! And you come home to cake?"
Her voice painted pictures of burning forests, armies concentrating, witches screaming—chaos sprouting from his single misstep.
"I need seven days," he said quietly but firmly. "Seven days and I will stop it."
Nia's disbelief cracked her laugh. "Seven days? Everyone will die in seven days."
He explained the time skew between worlds. Seven days here meant seven hours there. Practical, small, yet insufficient against the scale of her dread.
"Why do you need time? What are you planning?" she pressed.
"I'm planning something big," he said, jaw tight. "I can't tell you. You don't have the right to know."
Her eyes narrowed, dangerous and weighty. Then she said simply, "I won't leave the human world without you. I'll stay until you complete your plan."
When Nyx demanded how she had crossed into the human world, Nia folded her arms.
"Why should I tell you? You've no right to know everything," she said, daring him.
Their quarrel held a strange intimacy, the stop-and-start rhythm of two people who loved on the edge. He led her home anyway; there was no other place to hide but inside the life he was trying to protect.
In the hallway, he introduced her to his father and Gald with precision. "This is Nia Mare, my girlfriend," he said. Their faces showed surprise, then small politeness, their smiles faint but real.
Up in his room, he set boundaries:
"Don't feed on anyone's blood here," he said flatly. "I need them—my friends, my family, the gentle web of human things I cannot yet sacrifice."
Nia cocked her head thoughtfully, then agreed with a shrug—part promise, part smirk.
Practicalities followed like chores after a storm. Nyx packed a small bundle: clothes, books, iron talismans Gald had taught him to bless.
"Where are you going?" Nia asked, amused.
"To the storeroom. You can use my room," he replied flatly.
Nia crossed her arms. "I will stay with you instead," she said, steel beneath her words.
"If you try to lock me away, I won't be so pleasant," she promised, smile untrustworthy.
Nyx considered it, then agreed. A small, ridiculous capitulation: a vampire who had traversed worlds choosing a mattress by a window to appease a woman he loved.
The truce felt fragile, stitched over a wound that still bled, but honest enough. Party lights twinkled inside like distant, indifferent stars. Outside, in the hollow where power and consequence met, Nyx felt the countdown tighten: seven days, seven hours, a world waiting with patient teeth.