Two of the hooded men moved toward him, their steps otherworldly on the stone. Chains shone between their gloved hands—slender, silver, and humming with power.
Lucien stiffened. "Don't touch me."
One of them paused. The other didn't.
The second man extended himself toward him, but Lucien pushed himself back against the wall, breathing hard.
"I said don't touch me," he growled, voice harsh but stinging.
The masked leader raised a hand again. The others stood rigid.
The leader stepped closer, just a foot away from Lucien. "You have no right to make demands."
"I didn't demand to be summoned," Lucien snapped. "I don't even know where the devil I am. And you treating me like some kind of animal.".
The leader leaned in, voice cold and flat. "You passed through an illegal ritual. No signature, no source to trace. That *is* unholy."
Lucien's fists shook. "I'm just a person."
"Then prove it."
There was a pause. The leader stared, as if daring him to open his mouth again.
Lucien looked down at the ground. "I can't. I don't know how."
Silence.
Then, gentler: "Good. That means you're still human. The ones who *know too much* are usually the ones we have to kill."
The leader at last turned and nodded. "Bind him gently. He walks, not drags."
As the two figures approached once more, this time more slowly, Lucien did not struggle. Cold metal wrapped around his wrists with a hiss of energy. The chains tightened—but not painfully.
When they began to lead him out from under the rubble, the leader lingered a beat behind, his words booming loud enough for Lucien to hear:
"If you are just a person… then gods help you. This world isn't kind to people like you."
Lucien didn't reply.
He just moved on.
Lucien lurched a little as the figures in hoods brought him through the shattered fragments. His wrists were still bound by that uncanny glowing chain, but loosely enough that he could flex his wrists. Not free. Only loosely enough to remind him he wasn't to be trusted.
The violet-grey sky overhead was etched with thin swaths of pale, sickly green light—like the sky itself had been wounded. The trees were curled, knotted things. There was ash and metal in the air.
They hadn't spoken for more than an hour. Only the sound of footsteps crunching, and an occasional rush of air between the burnt buildings.
Lucien walked in the center, flanked by two guards. Up ahead, the masked leader marched silently, blade strapped to their back.
Then, from behind, a voice whispered.
"You're not from here, are you?"
Lucien caught a sideways look. One of the guards—not masked like them, but hooded—had lagged behind just enough to keep pace with him. A woman, maybe mid-twenties, with sharp eyes and a faded scar running down her jaw. Her name, she'd grumbled before, was Kaela.
Lucien stopped. ".No."
Kaela smiled dryly, without humor. "Didn't think so. You don't look like you've ever seen a war-torn sky."
Lucien lifted his head. "That obvious?"
"Like a fresh wound among a grave of corpses."
He didn't answer at first. Then: "Where are we even going, then?"
Kaela looked at him. "Back to the Vault. That's our base. You'll be questioned. Scanned. Maybe drained."
Lucien stiffened. "Drained?"
"For magic," she said lightly. "Don't worry. If you're out, it'll only hurt a little bit."
He turned aside, face set. "Why are you speaking to me?
Kaela shrugged. "Because you looked like you were going to shatter. And we've dragged enough bodies across this wasteland already."
Lucien let his pace slow a bit, looking at the ruined horizon ahead of them. "I don't know what's happening. I don't even know if this is real."
Kaela did not speak for an extremely long time. Then, quietly:
"It's real. And if you're lucky, it'll remain that way."
Lucien frowned. "What do you mean?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, in front of them, the leader raised a hand—and all stopped.
Before them on the hills of garbage, a low, grinding growl rocked the ruined cityscape.
Kaela grasped her dagger.
Lucien stood staring out, thumping heart.
Something was coming.
They moved faster now, across shattered alleys and eroded walls. That snarl hadn't been echoed—but something was wrong in the atmosphere. Heavy, as if pressing down upon them.
Finally, they arrived at a half-destroyed cathedral, spire snapped and twisted like a broken fang. The leader approached a ragged altar and laid the hand upon a sunk sigil. It pulsed.
With a low growl, part of the floor fell away, revealing a spiral staircase lit by dim light of lanterns fashioned of bone and crystal.
"In," the leader commanded.
Lucien hesitated. The Vault was underground—and the air spilling out was colder than cold.
The leader nudged him. "Don't tarry. You'll freeze before you can rot. "
They descended.
The Vault wasn't a prison—at least, not in the classical way.
It was a maze.
Tunnels dug out of rock and metal veins stretched on forever, gently glowing with runes. Handle-less doors. Mirrors that showed you the past. Pools of memory-mist that hissed if you drew too close.
Lucien was led into a black room that contained three chairs of blackstone. Kaela and the leader stood behind him.
"Sit."
He did.
The leader removed their mask for the first time. A gaunt man—pale skin, blue as glass eyes. Ancient.
Worn.
"My name is Veyr," he said.
"I lead what remains of the Soulbound."
Lucien blinked. "You can do that funny thing where you're acting like I should be familiar with what that is."
"You shouldn't have to be," Veyr replied. "There was a circle that cantered you centuries ago. Sealed by a covenant of blood and fire. Only the outcasts can remember it."
Lucien swallowed. "And how did it address me, then?"
Veyr leaned forward. "That's what we want to know."
He nodded at Kaela.
She held up a sphere the size of her heart—black and silver, with veins of light woven through—and pressed it against Lucien's chest.
His mind exploded.
Visions, colors, screams. A tower shattering. A crown in flames. A faceless god with dark, reaching through stars. A red-stained mansion and whispering walls.
Lucien screamed. The room was red.
Then silence.
The orb vanished.
Kaela looked at Veyr. "He's been marked."
Veyr's expression hardened. "By what?"
Kaela slowly shook her head. "Not a god. Not a demon. Something older."
Veyr breathed softly:
"Then the war is already lost."