"What I saw in the Keep's records intrigued me, Lord Blaze," Clarence said, his gaze unblinking.
"A slave with multiple Behavioural Abilities... unheard of."
He leaned forward slightly, voice cool and deliberate.
"I'm talking about... Lucian Verlain."
Silence fell over the room.
Eberhard looked at Clarence—no longer with the warmth of hospitality, but with a cold, evaluating stare.
Tension crept in like a storm front—
And then, just as quickly, it vanished.
"Ah, Lucian?" Eberhard's tone softened with practiced ease. "Yes, he's certainly... fascinating. Powerful, perhaps
even prodigious. But the people fear him. Sadly, I've had no choice but to keep him... restrained."
The smile on his face was civil. Too civil.
"How about an offer, then?" Clarence began, fingers steepled. "I'd like to propose a dea—"
A firm hand clamped over his mouth. Arlen.
"We'd like to discuss this in private first," Arlen interjected, gesturing toward the window.
Clarence looked out—and froze.
Troops. Ringing the villa like vultures. One wrong move could ignite a war.
Dawn clicked her tongue.
"Tsk. Arlen and his damn preference for diplomacy," she muttered, retreating into her food with surprising
ferocity—shoveling bites down in a manner unbecoming of royalty.
The rest of the lunch continued... without incident.
But not without tension.
But outside the villa… diplomacy was dead.
There was no negotiation in the alleyways. Just raw, brutal reality.
Rayen sat alone in a back alley, still waiting on the promised "hospitality."
A shadow passed. Then another. Then more.
A group of men approached, sneers curling their lips.
"You. New guy," one growled. "We saw you with bread today. Been snooping around, haven't you?"
"What? Why would I... do anything?" Rayen replied, confused—but his words held no weight here.
They grabbed him as if he were nothing but air.
"Don't play dumb, rat. We know. You'll pay for it."
Watching silently from a distance, Lucian stood. A sigh left his lips—
But someone else stepped forward first.
"I don't think that'll be necessary," a voice cut in.
Clarence.
"The hell do you think you are?" one of the men barked—
And then stopped.
Something sharp—no, wrong—pressed against his chest.
Clarence hadn't even drawn a weapon. Just a glance. That was enough.
Death stared him down.
Nothing more mattered then... .He ran away , The others followed, their bravado crumbling like ash.
Clarence stepped closer to Rayen, a gentle concern in his voice.
"Are you alright?"
Rayen nodded, brushing the dust from his sleeves.
"Yes, I'll be fine. You're the one from earlier, aren't you—?"
He didn't finish.
"Excuse me," came a voice—sharp, vigilant.
Lucian stood between them, positioning himself protectively in front of Rayen.
"What do you want with us?" he asked, eyes narrowed, tone skeptical.
Clarence raised both hands in mock surrender.
"Me? Nothing at all. I was just passing by," he replied, calm and collected—understanding Lucian's suspicion.
Lucian didn't budge. He glanced back at Rayen and gave a subtle nod.
"Come on," he said. "We're leaving."
As the two began to walk away, Lucian added under his breath,
"Never trust people like him. Royals, dukes, nobles, high-bloods—they only care about their own gain.
You're just a piece on their board."
Rayen said nothing, just followed.
Clarence stood in the alleyway, watching their silhouettes fade into the twilight.
He chuckled softly to himself.
"But I'm neither royalty... nor a duke."
Not long after, the sun dipped beneath the rooftops.
Darkness didn't fall—it took over.
And in the absence of light, darkness wasn't darkness at all.
It was simply everything.
The alley was narrow, hemmed in by crooked brick walls and draped in tattered banners that fluttered like ghost-silk.
The stench of rusted metal and sweat hung in the air. Rats scurried past discarded crates, and the walls bore scars of old
fights—gouged bricks, splatters that had long dried into silence.
Lucian moved silently through it.
He wasn't used to resting at night. Not because of insomnia—
But because for him, nights had always meant work.
Tasks. Chores. Hunting. Scrubbing floors. Dragging corpses.
Tonight, he had no orders. Eberhard's guests made that impossible.
So, for once, he was free.
And yet... he couldn't sleep.
And from above, a voice rang out like a breeze that carried mischief.
"Heeey there, Lucy boy~"
Dawn lounged atop the villa wall, her silhouette haloed by moonlight. She hummed to herself like this was all just a game.
Lucian glanced up, wary.
He didn't stop walking.
"What?"
His voice was laced with skepticism and just a touch of discomfort.
Dawn grinned wide.
"Speechless after seeing a pretty girl talk to you?"
Lucian stopped.
"What do you want?"
Defensive. Tired. Uninterested in games.
Dawn hopped down from the wall with an almost cat-like grace, her boots tapping against the cobblestone as she landed.
She stepped toward him slowly, eyes glinting.
"Me? Oh no, Lucian... The real question is—"
She tilted her head, smile sharpening.
"—What do you want?"
"Huh?"
Lucian tilted his head slightly, frowning.
What did he want?
He didn't know.
Dawn stepped closer, her voice calm—but sharp.
"You heard me. I asked what you want."
Lucian looked away.
"What do I want...? How the hell am I supposed to know?"
His voice dropped lower as he stepped to the side, putting distance between them.
By now, he'd probably figured out—Dawn wasn't here to hurt him. Not physically, anyway.
"I'm a slave," he muttered.
"Wanting something's a luxury. A piece of bread a day—that's enough."
Dawn stared at him like he'd just said the most pitiful thing imaginable.
Her voice was cold.
"Tell me something—do you even think you're alive?"
Lucian froze.
.
.
.
.
Alive?
He turned back toward her, confusion darkening into irritation.
"Excuse me? Are you asking me if I'm alive? Look at me. What do you see?"
Dawn didn't hesitate.
"A self-pitying coward."
She crossed her arms, annoyed.
Lucian gave a bitter laugh under his breath.
"Well, then let me be clear. I'm just living—not alive."
His gaze dropped to the ground.
"There's a difference."
Dawn watched him for a moment, like she was looking at some scrawny, pathetic insect trying to find its place in a sky full of stars—small, shrinking, resigned.
Then her smile vanished.
"Not alive, huh?"
She stepped forward, now face-to-face again.
"Then maybe I'll do you a favor... and unalive you for real."