The Velkan Commander.
He was a towering man, clad in black armor, his face marred by an ugly burn scar. His eyes—sharp, predatory—bore into Lucian like he was something less than human.
He knelt down, gripping Lucian’s jaw with an iron grip.
Lucian barely flinched. He felt nothing.
Then—the commander smiled.
"So… it was you."
Lucian didn’t understand.
The commander’s grip tightened.
“The one who slaughtered my men.”
Lucian’s breath caught.
What?
The commander leaned in close.
“You think we didn’t see what you did?” he whispered. “We saw everything.”
Lucian’s blood turned to ice.
The commander’s smile widened.
“You weren’t fighting,” he said softly.
“You were hunting.”
Lucian’s mind screamed. No. No, that’s not true.
But the commander’s next words nearly stopped his heart.
“I saw the way you smiled when you tore them apart.”
Lucian’s stomach twisted.
Then—he was thrown to the ground.
The commander stepped on his chest, pinning him down.
Lucian met his gaze, and for the first time—
He saw fear in the commander’s eyes.
“…You’re not human, are you?” the commander murmured.
Lucian stopped breathing.
The commander stood.
“Lock him up,” he ordered. “He’s not a prisoner—he’s a monster we need to contain.”
Lucian was dragged away.
His mind was fracturing.
His hands trembled.
Not from fear.
Not from pain.
But because… he couldn’t remember.
He couldn’t remember what happened that night.
And that was the worst part of all.
Lucian lay in the cold, damp cell, his hands and legs bound. The silence around him felt suffocating, yet his mind was anything but quiet. The betrayal, the pain, the voices—they all clawed at him, whispering, gnawing, breaking him apart piece by piece.
Then—
"Hey... do you remember me?"
Lucian stirred, his head tilting slightly toward the voice. The cell was dimly lit, the torchlight flickering against the stone walls. A figure stepped closer, his boots scraping against the ground.
"No?" The voice sneered. "Then let me remind you."
The soldier moved into the dim light, and recognition hit Lucian like a blade to the chest.
He was one of them.
One of the soldiers from that night.
The night of the massacre.
Lucian’s expression remained blank, but the soldier’s face twisted with rage. "Do you remember how you killed my comrades? They begged you. They cried. And you—" his voice shook, "—you slaughtered them like animals."
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Lucian said nothing.
The soldier’s anger snapped. With a guttural roar, he drove his boot into Lucian’s stomach. Pain exploded through his ribs, but Lucian barely reacted.
Furious at his silence, the soldier struck again. And again. Each kick is more violent, more unhinged. Blood dripped from Lucian’s lips onto the floor.
"Feel that?!" the soldier screamed. "This is for them! This is for—"
"Enough!" Another soldier pulled him back, gripping his arms. "You’ll kill him before the commander gets his turn."
The enraged soldier spat at Lucian before storming out. The others followed, leaving him alone in the suffocating dark.
Lucian lay still, bleeding. His body screamed in agony, but his mind was elsewhere.
"Did you really think we were friends?"
James’s voice echoed in his head.
Lucian clenched his fists.
Back at the camp, a soldier burst into the commander’s tent, gasping for breath.
"Sir! I saw those— Velkan soldiers! They captured one of our men!"
The commander’s eyes darkened. "Who?"
"I... I don’t know." The soldier hesitated. "But they dragged him into their camp."
A chilling silence filled the room.
Then—a voice.
"We have a traitor."
The soldiers turned as Alexzander De Cerci stepped forward. His emerald-green eyes burned with certainty.
"They knew our every move. Someone leaked our plan." He looked around. "And I intend to find out who."
The tension in the camp thickened. Soldiers glanced at each other, suspicion creeping in.
The commander stepped outside and ordered a headcount. No one seemed missing—until the Crown Prince’s sharp gaze locked onto a single figure.
James.
James’s hands fidgeted. He took an uneasy step back, his eyes darting for an escape. His fingers clenched around something in his pocket.
Too late.
A soldier moved toward him. James turned to run—
His foot caught on a rock.
He crashed onto the ground, and gold coins spilled from his pocket, glinting under the torchlight.
Silence.
The Crown Prince approached slowly, picking up a coin. His face remained unreadable as he turned it over in his palm.
The royal emblem of Velkan.
His voice was quiet. Dangerous.
"So you are the traitor."
James trembled. "No—it’s not mine! It’s—" His breath hitched. "Lucian! Yes! Lucian gave it to me! He said to hold onto it!"
James’ heartbeat pounded in his ears as the Crown Prince’s blade pressed against his throat.
“Where. Is. He?” Novel’s voice was ice, sharp and unforgiving.
James swallowed hard. “I—I don’t—”
The blade pressed deeper. A single drop of blood trickled down his neck.
The Duke’s voice was low. Dangerous. “You sold him out, didn’t you?”
James stammered, eyes darting around, desperate for an escape. “It wasn’t—It was Lucian! He’s the traitor, not me!”
Silence.
Then—
The unmistakable sound of a sword unsheathing.
Novel’s voice was a whisper. “Liar.”
James let out a choked sob. "I-It was them! The Velkan soldiers took him! I don’t know what they’re doing to him!"
The Crown Prince exhaled sharply, lowering his sword. "Lock him up."
James was dragged away, screaming.
Lucian was thrown into the cell, his hands and legs bound in thick chains. The cold, damp floor beneath him was stained with old blood—his or someone else’s, he didn’t know. His body ached from the relentless beating, but the pain in his chest was far worse.
James.
Lucian’s mind kept replaying the moment. The look in James’ eyes—void of warmth, void of guilt. The words that shattered something inside him:
“Did you really think we were friends?”
His breath hitched. His fingers curled into the dirt. Betrayal. Again. His heart pounded so violently he thought it might burst.
Then—
A voice.
“Didn’t I tell you?”
Lucian’s entire body stiffened. No. Not now. Not this. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out.
“They never cared. They never will.”
His breathing grew ragged. No, no, no—
“Your ‘friends’—they were never yours to begin with.”
His head throbbed as a pressure built inside his skull. The air around him felt thicker, suffocating.
“Look at where you are. Look at what you’ve become.”
Lucian opened his eyes, and his blood ran cold.
The cells around him had changed. It was no longer just a prison—it was a graveyard. Corpses littered the ground, their dead eyes staring right at him. The walls dripped with fresh blood, the stench of rot thick in the air. Hands, twisted and broken, reached for him, clawing at his legs.
And then—
He saw himself.
Standing amidst the carnage, drenched in blood. His face twisted into something monstrous, a jagged smile stretching across his lips. His eyes—black voids with rings of burning crimson—bore into him, unrelenting.
“You did this.”
Lucian trembled. “No… I didn’t—”
“Didn’t you?”
Images flooded his mind—flashes of the massacre. Of him standing in the moonlight, surrounded by dismembered bodies. He saw their faces—terror-stricken, pleading, broken. He heard their screams.
And worst of all—
He saw himself laughing.
“No,” he whispered, voice cracking. “That wasn’t me.”
“Then who was it?”
Lucian clutched his head, nails digging into his scalp, trying to drown out the voice. But it wouldn’t stop.
“Take my hand.”
The chains rattled as he flinched. In the darkness, a pale, ghostly hand emerged, reaching toward him. It was long, clawed, unnatural.
“I can take the pain away.”
Lucian panted, chest rising and falling erratically. His hands twitched. A terrifying stillness filled the air. A part of him wanted to reach out.
No more suffering.
No more betrayal.
No more pain.
But then—
A memory.
A woman’s voice. Soft. Fragile. “I’m sorry… this is the only way to protect you.”
His breath hitched. The voice—the blurry figures—who were they?
The voice in his head snarled, furious. “They abandoned you. They left you to rot. Why do you still hesitate?”
Lucian gritted his teeth. “No…”
“You have no one.”
“No.”
“You are alone.”
Lucian’s eyes snapped open, fire igniting in his veins. His breathing steadied. His fingers twitched—but not to reach out. Instead, they clenched into fists.
A slow, sharp grin formed on his lips. “I will never be yours.”
The voice screeched, enraged. The hand lunged for him, shadows curling around him, trying to consume him whole—
But Lucian did not move.
Instead—
He smiled wider.
And the darkness shattered.
He gasped, back in the cell, his heart racing.
"What… was that?" he whispered.
The shadow loomed over him. "The truth."
Lucian’s breathing was uneven. "Who… are you?"
The shadow’s voice was calm. "The first ruler of Astria."
Lucian froze. "That’s impossible."
The shadow chuckled. "Shall I tell you a story?"
The flames in Lucian’s mind flickered again.
The soldiers came again to check on Lucian, Lucian was unconscious, and they saw and left.
The voice started its game again, dragging hidden memories from Lucian’s mind. He felt himself slipping—pieces of his past unravelling, forcing him to confront what had been buried for so long.
A vision.
He was ten years old again, standing in the darkness of his childhood room. But he was not alone.
A shadow loomed before him—shapeless, featureless, yet undeniably there. It pulsed with an unnatural presence, tendrils of darkness curling at the edges of Lucian’s perception.
Lucian swallowed hard. “Who are you?”
The shadow chuckled, a deep, distorted sound that made his skin crawl. “I am the ruler of this land.”