English:

[Adastra, Luxamoris. 2028]

Rain. People scattered in every direction, seeking any shelter nearby. Cars sped down the highway at breakneck speed, trying to get home as quickly as possible. The sky was silent, as though all the birds had disappeared...

Only he stood there, unhidden. The heavy raindrops trickled down his face, and his clothes were so soaked that it seemed they were about to fall apart. The young man simply smirked. The mask he had been scratching away at for years, peeling off his skin, finally slipped away, taking with it every cell that once spoke of him... as a living being, a human, a personality.

[I remember him saying he hated the rain.]

But the rain was the only thing before which he became so weak and vulnerable. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t like it... Or maybe he couldn’t love it? Though... how could you not love something that always erases your traces? Traces of despair and pain, loneliness and the most repulsive betrayal.

BETRAYAL OF YourSELF...

He smoked cigarette after cigarette, standing at the very edge of the roof, not even trying to hide—denying his own vulnerability. No, he could be weak and miserable, insignificant and pathetic. He was just like everyone else. And that made him human.

It seemed as if despair had already caught up with him, and one wrong move could lead to the irreparable. Of course, he knew this, and with a ciga×ette clenched between his teeth, he stretched his arms out to the sides, as if denying the very existence of choice.

And the raindrops merged with tears of sorrow...

The 'something' smoldered, flying down in a blazing fire, at lightning speed.

The young man looked down, following the falling cigarette with his eyes. Later, it was 'finished off' by cars, oblivious to its presence. He furrowed his brows, and the corners of his lips trembled, falling.

— Pa-pa-paaa... tss, — he said comically, and with a sharp motion, his mood shifted.

— I’m a traitor, — the guy said with a suffocating laugh.

— My angel, I’m a traitor! — and his voice seemed to pierce the very sky. His gaze followed it.

— You cry with me! I cry because I lost you! And you because I lost... myself... — he swallowed the words of his pride.

— Ha-ha-ha! — and he fell to his knees, grabbing his head, unable to bear the weight of what he had said himself.

— They tossed me like this cigarette, and I kept coming back! They killed me, and I cherished... Like a curled soul, I came back, I forgave! — with a smile on his face, he said, and once again his gaze turned to the sky, and this look was filled with despair.

But he continued:

— And you watched me from the height of your flight and stayed silent, knowing I wouldn’t hear, — taking a breath, he swallowed his pride.

— But now I hear even your silence! I hear you telling me that I am a traitor, for all this time I was killing myself! I betrayed myself, — he hit himself in the chest, and a smirk appeared on his face.

— I’m sorry, but even in eternal rest, you’ll have to grab your head, because instead of the ci×arette, it could have been me! And here I am, like a psycho, talking to the sky... And as your SON — I’ll keep disappointing you... And one day, you’ll understand why...

The guy, rolling up his sleeve, extended his hand, and on his wrist was INFINITY:

— Because we are bound by despair, pain, and love! I am your continuation and the chaos and madness that will never betray its essence. N E V E R B E T R A Y.
 
He had turned, ready to leave, but stopped, adding:

— Watch over me from the sky... because life will show, AND I will fulfill.

With a slight smirk, the guy looked at the sky, and the moon appeared through the clouds. Captivated, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. He stood still, unmoving, and only his lips trembled. That’s when the guy realized that all this time, it wasn’t the rain he hated... but his weakness before it, his despair before the TRUTH.


    

[3 years ago. Adastra, Luxamoris. Office of the President and CEO of "Via Adastra"]

A dusty folder with documents lay at the edge of the desk, and next to it — an unfinished, already cold coffee.

The man was flipping through the reports for the month, seemingly not noticing anything around him. And he had no desire to. Life had already shown itself to him in all its colors, and all he had left to do was pretend that everything was perfect.

He rose from the desk, took a drag from the bitter tobacco, and looked out the window. Life flowed, and everything went on as usual.

He was meeting the dawn, locked in the old office, as if denying the existence of his own family... And the family? It seemed they didn't object. The smoke filled the room, and the man only then realized that he hadn't opened the window. He reached for the window handle, but miscalculated the force - the hinged sash hit him right in the nose. Irritated, he snorted, and when he was about to leave, he accidentally met his reflection in the window.

On the outside, he appeared unshakable and self-assured, and this was how people saw him when they stumbled upon the headlines of his new victories. His face was recognizable: a well-groomed man in his sixties with deep gray eyes and coal-black hair, styled to the side, yet with messy strands in the front and gray streaks, as if deliberately painted at the temples. His sharply defined eyebrows accentuated his thin pale lips, creating an image of severity and unbreakability.

In articles, he was often portrayed as an emperor: either because of the tattoo "impéro," or because of his lavish public appearances, or because he truly "ruled" an empire of businesses in the city, or rather, he was rebuilding them from the ruins. Everyone sought to enter his circle, but many knew: the closest to the king were the pawns.
 
Despite the general recognition, the man did not see himself as either an emperor or a king. He looked out the window, and before his eyes, a blank board appeared, on which pawns moved along their predictable paths. And they only defended their hypocrisy.

And suddenly, there was a knock on the door, breaking the quiet peace. However, the guest did not wait for a reply — he immediately opened the door and entered.

— As expected, — came the monotone voice, — to see you here, Mr. Evans.

— How... What do you want? — the man crossed his arms over his chest and looked sternly at the guest.

As always, he was in his best appearance. Dark brown hair lightly waved around his face, creating an impression of perfect dishevelment. However, what caught the eye the most were his plump, peach-colored lips, contrasting with his high forehead and refined, thin nose. The guest looked like a living Greek statue, and everything about him spoke of effortless chic. He approached Evans with the grace of a cat, smiling slyly.

The man adjusted his sunglasses, which perfectly complemented his dark suit and black-and-white fur coat, adding a sense of grandeur.

— Why are you staring? I don’t believe you’ve given up on unceremonious treatment, — said Evans, exhaling smoke directly into the guest's face.

— Ah! — the guest exclaimed. — How I hate it when you do that, Ray! — he hissed through his teeth, quickly stepping back from the interlocutor.

— You know, I can’t decide what I hate more: your perpetual peacock look, or the fact that you always wear those sunglasses, which most likely hide your contempt, or the fact that you’ve been barging into my office at 6 a.m. for several days in a row!

— Ha-ha-ha! Ray, I’m here because I know you’ll be here! — the man lounged casually in the chair. — Nevertheless, I’m here for another reason.

— I couldn’t care less about your reasons, — Ray leaned toward his interlocutor. — The door’s there! — he pointed at it, not taking his eyes off him.

— This is about business! We’re partners, after all, — said the guest, running his palm over Ray’s cheek.

Evans grabbed his hand, looked straight into his eyes, and responded:

— The diablo himself made me sign a contract with you.

— How hurtful, — the guest smirked, puffing his cheeks. — But I know you love me, — he added with a grin.

— As much as coming home.

— Ray, are you hiding from the journalists again?

— Why would I hide from those paparazzi... — confusion overwhelmed the man.

— Oh, so you haven’t heard! Markus is back in the headlines, and now he’s creating even more buzz! — the guest said emotionally.

— What has that wicked child done again?!

— Shh. Here you go, — the man lazily handed over the newspapers.

— “That same 'Trust fund kid' is back in the headlines...” — Ray quickly flipped through the newspapers, more and more surprised by the headlines.

He had already come to terms with Mark’s ingratitude and temperament, but he couldn’t accept that his son was constantly featured in the most unexpected contexts and doing it loudly. And each photo spoke for itself: here he is on a yacht with women, there — in a bar doing a dance on the counter, and here he sends the journalist away without taking his eyes off him...

— How... — with all his anger, Ray threw the newspapers on the floor and frantically started flipping through his phone’s contact book.

— Calling Mark... or your wife? — the guest smirked, watching with genuine interest as the man seemed to have lost his last nerve cell.

Evans didn’t answer, just pressed the phone to his ear, growing more irritated with each dial tone and tapping his right foot, as if that would speed up time.

[Perispera, Luxomoris. Hotel "Hēlios". 7 hours until the call]

And Mark was the complete opposite of his father. This was true even now, in the countryside hotel for the elite. Among all these serious faces, searching for only one thing — peace — Mark wandered around in a bathrobe with a bottle of absinthe, drinking on the go. While the others hid in their holes, he stepped out into the world, ironically, as no one even tried to stop him. Some women covered their mouths in surprise, and he winked at them, paying no attention to the stern looks from their companions.

Mark was convinced that any of them would jump into bed with him, as soon as he wanted. He knew he was lucky with his genes, and it was pure truth: his charisma, manners, gaze — all of it worked almost unfailingly, but it only complemented...

His sharp chin, straight nose, and slightly raised eyebrows, the confident gaze of his green eyes. Dark chestnut, thick hair, neatly styled upwards. Slightly tanned skin, and on his neck, there was a tattoo of a snake winding around the word "reputation" and a chain. Diamond studs gleamed in his ear, and below — a ring-earring. The cartilage was caught by a snake-shaped cuff earring.

His figure was chiselled, posture like a soldier's. His fingers were thin, like a musician's, and on each hand, there were three rings. On his wrists — gold watches and a bracelet. He was quite the magpie and knew it well, but he liked the way people looked at those shiny things. The young man curved his lips in a slight smirk, smiling and showing off his whitened teeth with a skyce. Surprisingly, they also sparkled, as if money were his second language. Now he winked at another lady, and she couldn’t take her eyes off his charming two moles under his eye.

There he was — the daring charm. There he was, Mark, and he was here to take what was his.

— Are you kidding me? — an epic scene is interrupted by a harsh voice.

Mark looks up and sees his friend standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

— Mark, what the hell are you doing here when we had a quad bike reservation half an hour ago?!

— Ostin, forgive the sinner, — Mark puts his arm around his friend’s shoulders. — I couldn’t resist when I saw this absinthe.

— Would you be making excuses if I saw you with someone in your room?

— You know... — the guy smirked. — You don’t make excuses for things like that, — and winked.

— Ha, Mark, just be a human being...

— Hmm, it’s hard when you’re the descendant of the diablo himself... — the irony in Evans' voice alone was enough to cause concern.

Ostin softened:

— Ahem... ahem, we need to go. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can return.

— Eh, maybe forget it... let’s just stay there.

— I appreciate your sick sense of humor, but go chan... — before Ostin could finish, Mark grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the exit.

Passersby only saw the silhouettes of two men. They argued endlessly — one kept throwing out curses, while the other tossed an unfinished bottle to the side before disappearing into the darkness.