Lucian sat inside his camp, his breath ragged, his hands trembling. His thoughts spiraled out of control.
"What was that?"
"Did I do that?"
"Did I kill them?"
He turned to the mirror.
His reflection wasn’t his own.
A twisted, blood-soaked version of himself stared back. His eyes—pitch black, with only thin rings of burning red—bored into his soul. The reflection tilted its head, smiling—a wide, jagged grin too wide for any human face.
Lucian stumbled back, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs. But when he looked at his hands—
Blood.
Thick. Dripping. Staining his fingers, his wrists—his entire body.
And then—corpses.
They surrounded him. Some lay motionless, their blank eyes staring into nothingness. Others—still alive—reached out to him, their bodies torn apart, mouths forming silent pleas.
Their fingers curled around his ankles. Begging.
Lucian''s breath caught. He kicked at them and scrambled backwards, but the bodies wouldn’t let go. Their lips moved, whispering in unison:
“You did this.”
"No… no, this isn’t real."
The world started spinning. The soldiers'' screams, the brutal massacre, his monstrous laughter—it all came rushing back.
"No, it’s not me."
“You’re a monster.”
The voice slithered into his mind.
Lucian clawed at his ears, trying to drown it out, but it only grew louder.
The voice changed.
It was his mother’s voice now.
“I should never have given birth to you.”
His father’s voice.
“You are a monster who will kill everyone.”
Chloe’s voice.
“If I had known what you were, I would have killed you myself.”
James.
“You disgust me. Stay away from me.”
Joe. Lucy. Del. Novel. Everyone.
Their faces twisted in hate.
They surrounded him, closing in. Hands reached for him, clawing at his skin.
Lucian screamed.
"SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
The voices stopped.
A silence so unnatural it made his skin crawl.
He staggered to his feet, gasping for breath. His reflection remained unchanged.
It grinned.
“Who are you?” Lucian whispered.
His reflection tilted its head.
“I’m you… You are me.”
Lucian’s stomach twisted. He shook his head violently.
"No. I''m Lucian. You are not me. You are a monster."
The reflection laughed.
A deep, guttural, inhuman laugh.
“Really?” it whispered. “Didn’t you enjoy it?”
Lucian’s pulse stopped.
No.
His reflection stepped forward.
“Didn’t it feel good?”
Lucian backed away. “No… No, I—”
“Didn’t you smile?”
The mirror shattered.
But the reflection remained in each shard.
Hundreds of pieces.
Hundreds of bloodstained, grinning faces.
“HAA…HAA…HAA…”
The Camp Awaken to a Nightmare
The entire camp heard the scream.
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Some soldiers bolted upright, thinking it was an enemy attack. Others rushed outside, their hearts pounding.
James and Lucy ran toward Lucian’s tent. The closer they got, the worse the feeling became.
When they entered—they froze.
Lucian was on the floor, his body shaking violently. His nails were digging into his arms, his skin torn from scratching. His breath was uneven, erratic, and broken.
But what truly horrified them…
Was his smile.
Lucian’s lips curled upward, but tears streamed down his face.
A smile of pure madness.
It wasn’t Lucian’s smile.
It was the same one they had seen on the battlefield.
James reached out, trembling.
“Lucian?”
Lucian''s head snapped toward him.
James felt his stomach drop.
Lucian’s eyes—deep, empty pools of red.
James staggered back. His breath hitched.
Lucian laughed.
Low. Guttural. Unhinged.
Then, he started rubbing his hands against the ground.
Again.
And again.
Until they bled.
"Lucian!" Lucy grabbed his arms, trying to stop him. "You''re hurting yourself!"
But he didn’t stop.
He didn’t even hear her.
The words kept leaving his lips.
“It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it.”
Again.
Again.
Like a prayer. Like a curse.
The news reached the Duke.
He ran to the tent, his heartbeat racing. The moment he entered, his breath caught.
Lucian wasn’t himself.
He had seen men lose their minds before. He had seen warriors break under the horrors of war.
But this—
This was something else.
The Duke moved swiftly, taking a small vial from his coat.
“Hold him down.”
James and Lucy hesitated, but they obeyed.
Lucian thrashed violently.
It took five soldiers to restrain him.
The Duke injected the medicine.
Lucian''s body jerked—then went still.
His eyes fluttered closed. His breathing slowed.
The tension didn’t leave.
Not even when the madness faded from his face.
The Duke turned—and froze.
At the entrance of the tent, standing in the shadows—
The Crown Prince.
He stood there, watching.
No emotion. No surprise.
Like he expected this.
The Duke’s lips parted, but before he could speak—
Novel turned and walked away.
A whisper escaped his lips, too quiet to be heard.
"It’s already begun."
The sky burned in hues of deep orange as the sun bled into the horizon. The air was thick with anticipation.
Something was coming.
The vice-commander’s voice rang out, sharp and unwavering.
“All soldiers, assemble! The Crown Prince will address you.”
A ripple of movement spread through the camp. Boots pounded against the ground. Soldiers rushed to line up, standing tall and waiting.
But one man hesitated.
Lucian.
He lingered in the back, his body rigid. He should not be here.
Yet, his feet refused to move.
His heart pounded against his ribs, a deep unease gnawing at him. The past was getting closer.
He could feel it.
Then—the Duke’s voice sliced through the air.
“Attention!”
The camp froze.
And then—he arrived.
Novel Al Pestelio.
The Crown Prince of Astria.
He moved with effortless authority, his eyes sweeping over the men—until they landed on Lucian.
Lucian inhaled sharply.
But then—Novel smiled.
“I am Novel Al Pestelio, Crown Prince of Astria, standing before you today.”
A silence.
Then—a chuckle.
A low, genuine laugh.
The soldiers relaxed, mirroring his grin. Some even laughed with him. The tension broke—but only slightly.
Novel let them settle before continuing.
“You all know why we are here.”
His voice shifted. Stronger. Commanding.
“For years, Astria and Velkan have fought over land. A war fueled by ambition. But tell me—has this land been worth the blood spilled?”
There was a tense silence.
The soldiers shifted uneasily.
“…No,” someone murmured.
Lucian’s breath caught in his throat.
“I will not stand here and tell you to continue this war. I will not ask you to die for something that should have never begun.
I want to end it.”
A shockwave passed through the camp.
End the war?
The air felt heavier. Soldiers exchanged glances, their grips on their swords tightening. Was he serious?
Novel’s voice softened.
“I do not want to lose more people. I do not want to see families torn apart. I do not want to lose any more family members.”
His voice wavered—just slightly.
And his eyes flickered—
And they found Lucian.
Lucian’s stomach twisted violently. He knows.
Novel blinked—and turned back to the soldiers.
“I swear to you all—I will bring peace. But I need your trust.”
The weight of his words hung in the air.
Then—a soldier spoke.
“And how do you plan to do that?”
Novel exhaled slowly.
Then—he smiled again.
“This.”
A figure stepped forward.
A man clad in armor, his presence unnatural.
The soldiers tensed.
Something felt wrong.
Lucian’s hands tightened into fists.
Then—the man stepped into the light.
Gasps ripped through the camp.
Novel’s voice remained steady.
“Let me introduce you to the Crown Prince of the Velkan Empire.”
A deafening silence.
The soldiers froze.
Lucian’s chest tightened. His breathing became shallow.
Velkan—the very empire they were at war with.
Standing before them.
The enemy.
The man held his ground.
His emerald-green eyes burned. His presence commanded attention.
Alexzander De Cerci.
The rightful heir to the Velkan Empire.
The tension reached its peak.
Then—someone snapped.
A soldier stepped forward, his voice filled with rage.
“He’s the enemy! We’ve lost too much to his kind!”
His words cracked the silence.
Others nodded. Hands tightened around swords.
But then—Alexzander knelt.
The camp stilled.
And then—he spoke.
“I know what my people have done to you. I do not expect forgiveness.”
His voice did not waver.
“My uncle, the current king, is the one who seeks war. Not me. And for his greed, I was exiled.
Now—I stand before you, not as a prince, but as a man who wants to end this war.”
He bowed his head.
The Crown Prince of Astria lowered his head too.
For the first time—the soldiers saw them not as rulers.
But as men.
Men who had lost.
Men who wanted to end it.
The silence dragged on.
Then—
One whisper.
“…He bowed.”
A second voice.
A third.
Then—a roar.
A deafening cheer.
Lucian stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest.
He saw it.
Novel’s gaze never left him.
And in his eyes—Lucian saw the truth.
This was never just about the war.
He was here for him.
And deep down—Lucian knew it.
But he wasn’t ready.
His hands clenched tightly. A sharp, burning sensation crawled up his arms. He itched—his skin felt too tight.
A whisper curled in his mind. “You don’t belong here”.
Lucian swallowed hard, his breath uneven.
No. This can’t be happening.
He’s not looking for me.
I don’t exist to him.
I stopped existing to them years ago.
Didn’t I?
The cheering faded into static in his ears. His vision blurred.
He felt like running.
But Novel’s voice broke through the haze.
A whisper. Just for him.
“I finally found you.”
The long-awaited moment had come.