Lucien navigated through the bustling streets of Ravenshire, clad in a travel-worn hooded cloak of coarse, faded linen. Dyed in muted earth tones, it blended seamlessly into the chaotic district, drawing no second glances.
Around him, the streets teemed with frantic energy—people rushed past in panic, their hurried footsteps echoing against the worn cobblestones. Shouts of alarm filled the air, though he paid them little mind.
The thick fabric clung uncomfortably in the heavy sunlight, dampening his back with sweat. Frayed edges and hastily stitched patches spoke of years of wear, while the deep hood cast his features in shadow. Perfectly unremarkable.
Lucien''s eyes flicked to the screen lingering at the edge of his vision. It pulsed faintly, an intrusive presence against the chaos around him. The lines of text shifted, updating in real-time.
[MISSION]
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Survival of Ravenshire [Urgent Quest]
Rank: A
Objective: Marquis Ravenshire has been exposed for conspiring with cultists against King Aetherion. In response, a decree of total annihilation has been issued. Survive.
Bonus Objective: Defeat a commanding officer from the opposing side.
Rewards: +100,000 XP (Additional rewards may vary based on performance.)
Bonus Rewards: Unknown
Failure Consequence: Death
[Hint: You may align with any side—if they accept you.]
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Lucien cursed under his breath. Dammit. The difficulty just skyrocketed. He had expected trouble, but this? This was execution on a city-wide scale. A massacre.
His fingers twitched as he clenched his cloak tighter, heart pounding against his ribs. Now what?
A sudden blast tore through the air, a deafening roar that sent tremors through the ground. In the distance, fire erupted, swallowing buildings in a surge of searing heat. Thick plumes of smoke coiled into the sky, staining it a deep, hellish orange.
Screams rang out—raw, panicked, unrelenting. People ran, their faces twisted in terror as they fled the growing chaos. The once-bustling streets of Ravenshire had turned into a battlefield of fire and despair.
Someone from the panicked crowd slammed into Lucien, shoving him off balance. He stumbled, his foot catching on the uneven cobblestone. Damn it! He barely managed to steady himself before another person barreled past, their face wild with terror.
The chaos around him only grew—shrieks of fear, the acrid scent of burning wood, the distant clash of steel. His cloak tangled around his arm as he fought to regain his footing. I need to move—now.
He forced his way out of the crowd, shoving past panicked bodies. Then—boom! A massive fireball struck from behind. Screams tore through the air. Those too slow to escape were either trampled underfoot or swallowed by the flames.
Lucien''s gaze darted around, searching for an escape. His eyes locked onto a narrow gap between two crumbling stone houses—barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through.
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Without hesitation, he lunged toward it, slipping into the shadowed space just as another explosion rocked the streets. The moment he pressed himself against the rough wall, the noise of the panicked crowd dulled, swallowed by the confined alleyway.
His breath came fast, ragged.
Through his narrowed vision, he caught sight of a dark-cloaked figure sprinting ahead, weaving through the way. They moved with precision, deflecting attacks from heavily armored soldiers bearing the insignia of a radiant sun crowned in gold—the mark of the king''s forces.
The clash of steel echoed sharply in the confined space, each strike met with bursts of fire and crackling lightning. Spells illuminated the battlefield in erratic flashes, casting wild shadows against the crumbling walls.
Lucien''s gaze flicked between them. The cultists—once relentless—were falling back, retreating under the soldiers'' relentless assault.
Suddenly, the soldiers halted, their disciplined ranks holding firm. Across from them, the cultists moved in unison, forming a tight defensive circle around a lone figure at the center.
The air crackled with tension. Embers from the fires danced in the wind, flickering between the opposing forces.
Stepping forward from the armored ranks was the commander of Aetherion''s army—a towering figure clad in radiant steel. His armor gleamed in the firelight, the golden insignia of Aetherion displayed prominently on his chest, flanked by two crossed swords.
He planted his feet, his stance unyielding. He spoke, his voice was like rolling thunder, carrying unquestionable authority.
"Surrender yourselves, and you will find salvation under the Emperor''s grace."
The cloaked cultist sneered, their lips curling in disdain. Then, a dry, hollow laugh escaped them, soon joined by others. The sound echoed through the road, warped by the flickering firelight, a mockery of the commander''s words.
"Emperor, huh?" the cultist spat, their voice dripping with scorn. "Salvation? You mean slaughter."
"I would rather die by fighting you heathens and reach the creator rather than, bow to your false salvation."
The fire crackled through the silence, tension thick in the air. They stood motionless, runes shimmering on their blades and spells poised at their fingertips. The first movement would shatter the stillness—and ignite the battle.
Suddenly, the earth trembled, a deep, rumbling quake shaking the ground beneath them. The shattered remnants of buildings vibrated, dust and loose debris cascading from crumbling walls. The cultists faltered, their formation breaking as panic took hold.
"Is it a spell?" someone hissed.
"Doesn''t look like it. Probably their trick—hold your fire."
Murmurs of commands rippled through their voices as they struggled to assess the unseen threat.
Lucien, driven by urgency, moved toward the outer edge. It was a risky maneuver—stepping into the open could expose him—but the alternative of being crushed beneath collapsing debris was far worse.
Then the shadow fell.
A deep, dark shape fell upon the district, swallowing the flickering firelight. The cultists'' eyes snapped toward the towering city wall—No, beyond it, stretching as high as ten wyverns. Their breath hitched, fear flashing across their faces as the sheer scale of the looming presence sank in.
Their defiance crumbled into disbelief and resignation.
"No way..." one of them whispered.
"How... How is this possible?" another choked out.
Lucien''s gaze followed theirs, locking onto the looming presence. His breath caught in his throat, eyes widening as the sheer scale of the conflict—and the looming specter of death—settled in. A cold chill ran through him, sweat beading on his skin as his body instinctively tensed, the weight of the moment crashing down on him.
He instinctively reached for the locket, seeking the familiar cold touch to steady himself.
But his fingers grasped at nothing.
Panic flickered in his chest. His breath hitched as realization sank in—the locket was gone.
His eyes darted around, searching frantically for any clue to its whereabouts.
"No... No... No... NO WAY!" Lucien clutched his head, his breathing ragged.
"NO DAMN WAY I LOST IT!" he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.
Then, without warning—impact.
Something struck him, hard. His body lifted off the ground.
Weightless. Floating.
He soared, the chaos fading. The heat of the fire vanished. He drifted, surrounded by endless sky, speaking with birds, swimming through clouds, hearing the distant murmurs of angels.
Then, pain.
Reality came crashing back.
The impact was brutal. The ground slammed into him, jarring every bone in his body. The dream shattered, replaced by searing pain and the cold, unforgiving earth beneath him.
The disgusting drool pooled on the dirty wooden floor of the carriage. Lucien lay in an uncomfortable position, his legs sprawled across the seat while his upper body rested awkwardly on the floor.
He pushed himself up with shaky arms, his cheeks twitching from the lingering pain. Leaning back against the seat, he let out a slow breath before muttering aloud,
"A nightmare, huh."