Lucian POV
The flickering glow of the office lights cast long shadows across the room as I
sat hunched over a desk littered with ancient scrolls and encrypted records. The
silence was deafening, save for the occasional rustle of parchment as I flipped
through yet another stack of documents, desperate to find any thread that might
lead me to the next piece of the puzzle.
There were rumors, whispers from the deep corners of history, that the Goddess
of Time had hidden relics across different planes—artifacts tied to her power.
If I could find them, I'd unlock even more strength. But it was a needle in a
haystack. The text was cryptic, scattered, broken into pieces that made no sense
until the right moment.
I found myself staring at a faded map, the ink long since smudged by time. It was
a map of an ancient city—Cylvana—long since crumbled to dust, swallowed by time
itself. The ruins were hidden beneath layers of history, buried beneath the earth,
barely spoken of in the oldest texts. Some said it was nothing more than a myth,
a place where the divine once walked. Others, like me, believed it might hold the
key to something far greater.
The search had led me here, to this point. The Ruins of Cylvana.
A place of forgotten power. A place where the last piece of the puzzle might lie.
My fingers hovered over the ancient texts as I pieced the fragments together.
Cylvana. It was no ordinary city. According to these records, it was a temple, built
at the very edges of time, a place of immense power. A city where relics from
beyond this world were kept.
But the records were old, almost too old. Each page seemed to taunt me, offering
only the slightest hint before slipping back into the void. And yet, despite the
frustration, something gnawed at me—something told me I was close.
With a sigh, I closed the final scroll and stood up, rubbing my eyes. The demon's
mark burned against my chest, a constant reminder of my purpose. There was no
turning back now.
I had a destination. The ruins would be mine.
The faint hum of the city faded as I stepped out of my office. The weight of
what I'd just uncovered pressed down on me like a storm cloud—looming,
inevitable. The Ruins of Cylvana weren't just some forgotten relic. They were a
key to something far greater, something I couldn't yet see. But I would. I would
see it all.
The journey ahead wasn't going to be easy. It never was. I'd learned that long ago,
back when the world was nothing more than a dark maze of alleyways and broken
promises. But now, as I walked out into the cool evening air, the city lights
flickering in the distance, I was no longer the same desperate boy who fought for
survival. No. Now, I was something different—someone who'd already crossed the
point of no return.
I'd come a long way since I first acquired the Demon King's mark. The power that
coursed through me was both a blessing and a curse, a force that had shaped me
into who I was today. It was strange, how the mark had changed me. Once, I'd
fought for justice, for something pure. But now? I wasn't sure anymore. What
was justice when everything I once believed in had crumbled?
The memories of my wife, Lilith, still haunted me. Her death, the loss—those
moments were burned into my mind, sharp and unforgiving. They were the driving
force behind everything I'd done. But I had learned to silence the pain, to bury it
beneath layers of darkness and power. It was easier that way.
I moved through the city, my footsteps echoing on the pavement. The air tasted
of dust, tinged with the bitter scent of smoke from the burning remnants of the
old world. I passed familiar streets, but none of it felt like home anymore. This
city, these people—they were ghosts, shadows in my rearview mirror. My eyes,
once blue, had darkened over time, a reflection of the chaos that had become my
life.
As I boarded the transport, I stared out the window, the city shrinking behind
me, swallowed by the horizon. The journey to the Ruins of Cylvana wasn't going to
be quick. The ruins were located far from civilization, tucked away in the
forgotten corners of the world, guarded by time itself.
It took hours—maybe days, I wasn't sure. My mind wandered, drifting back to
those dark days in the slums when survival was the only thing that mattered.
There were faces I couldn't forget—those who had fallen along the way, and those
I had stepped over to get where I was. It had been a blood-soaked path, but I
had chosen it. I had chosen to become what I was, and now, I was paying the price.
But what was I really after? Power? Revenge? Redemption? I didn't know anymore.
I only knew that I had to keep moving forward. The mark, the power—it was my
only constant. It was my only ally. And it would take me wherever I needed to go.
I could almost see it now—those first few years after Lilith's death. The rage,
the fury, the feeling of betrayal from a world that had robbed me of everything.
It was then that I first met the Demon King.
The memory was still vivid. His voice, so dark, so tempting, had promised me
strength, vengeance, power beyond imagining. He had seen something in me,
something in my pain, and had offered me a way to exact the revenge I so
desperately sought. And I had accepted.
Now, with each step I took toward the ruins, I could feel the weight of those
decisions bearing down on me. But it was too late to turn back. The power was
already mine.
As the transport bumped over uneven terrain, I leaned back, eyes closing for a
moment. The sound of the engine faded into the background, and I was left with
the quiet hum of my thoughts.
Cylvana would test me. I knew that. The guardian, the trials, everything waiting
for me there—none of it would be easy. But that was the price I had to pay. The
relics were the only way forward. Well, that's what I'd read in novels, but let's
see what happens to me this time.
Soon, the landscape began to change. The barren wasteland gave way to jagged
cliffs and deep canyons. The journey grew more treacherous, the air colder as we
neared the heart of the ruins. It wasn't just the landscape that had shifted,
though. I could feel something in the air—an energy, ancient and powerful. It was
as if the very ground beneath me knew I was getting closer.
The Ruins of Cylvana were just ahead.
The city of Cylvana came into view as the transport rounded the last bend, and
what I saw felt almost like a cruel mockery of time itself. Once a thriving city,
its bones now lay shattered in the dust. The remnants of ancient structures
towered like jagged teeth in the skyline, their once-pristine marble facades worn
and cracked. The air here felt different—stale, like the weight of history pressed
down on it.
I stepped out of the transport, my boots crunching against the dry earth, and
took a deep breath. The scent of decay and forgotten ages filled my lungs. This
place had been untouched for centuries, and it showed.
The ruins were more than just a decaying city; they were a testament to the
passage of time—something I had learned to despise since I first marked my pact
with the Demon King. Time. The one thing I couldn't control. The one thing I could
never change. But now, I wasn't here to defy time. I was here to harness it. And
the relics, those pieces of power, would be the key.
The path ahead was overgrown, hidden beneath layers of debris. Yet I knew the
way. I'd done my research. The Ruins of Cylvana were a labyrinth, a place built to
conceal the relics from those who weren't worthy. If I was going to get what I
came for, I had to make it through the trials.
And judging by the stories I'd read, I would not be alone.
I stood before a massive gate, its surface covered in intricate runes that pulsed
with an unnatural energy. A low, gravelly voice echoed through the air.
"Who dares enter the Ruins of Cylvana?" it boomed.
I glanced around, half-expecting an army of sentinels to spring forth from the
shadows, but saw nothing. Just the wind, swirling the sand around me in little
tornadoes. I stepped forward.
"I am Lucian Blackwell, and I seek what lies within," I called out, my voice steady.
A figure appeared before me—tall, armored, and ethereal, constructed from
swirling sand and runes that seemed to shift with the wind. It was the guardian
of the ruins, the protector of the relics.
"You seek power," the guardian intoned, its glowing eyes fixed on me. "But power
comes at a price. Are you willing to pay it?"
I smirked. "Isn't that the game we've all been playing?"
The guardian was silent for a moment, its form flickering. Then, it spoke again,
its voice echoing in my mind. "Only those who can face themselves can claim the
relics of time. If you are prepared to confront your past, then enter. If not, turn
back now."
I didn't hesitate. I had already faced my demons. There was nothing this place
could show me that I hadn't already seen.
The guardian gestured toward the opening gate. "Enter, Lucian Blackwell. And
face your trial."
I stepped forward into the darkness beyond the gate, the air thick with the scent
of ancient dust. The stone walls of the ruins seemed to close in around me as I
made my way down a narrow corridor, lit only by the faint glow of the runes etched
into the walls. Each step echoed with a sense of finality. There was no turning
back now.
The air grew colder, heavier, as if something was watching me. I had a feeling this
trial wouldn't be as simple as facing an enemy or solving a riddle. No, this was
about me—my past. And that made it far more dangerous than anything else I'd
encountered.
As I walked deeper into the ruins, the world seemed to warp around me. The walls
shimmered, then melted away, leaving me standing in a familiar place—a place I
hadn't thought about in years.
The streets of Caelum. The same dirty alleys, the same rough, crowded corners
I'd once roamed as a child. The memories hit me like a punch to the gut, raw and
suffocating.
And then I saw him.
A figure stood ahead of me, his back turned, staring down at the same grimy
street I used to tread.
It was me. Younger, more desperate. The eyes that stared back at me were filled
with hunger—ambition—and yet, they lacked the hard edge I'd developed over
the years. He was a boy, lost and scared, just trying to survive.
"You…" The words came out before I could stop them. My voice shook with
disbelief. "What is this?"
The younger version of myself turned slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I
could ask you the same thing, but we both know what this is."
I took a step back, my pulse quickening. "This isn't real. This is just a trial. A test."
"You think so?" The younger Lucian smirked, his voice laced with bitter humor. "I
don't think you've ever been more real than this. Look at you. All your power, all
your success, and you still can't look at yourself without disgust."
My heart clenched. The words stung in ways I didn't want to acknowledge.
"You're not real," I repeated, though my voice was less sure now.
"You're right. I'm not real. But what I am is the truth you've been running from."
His gaze hardened. "You used to care about people. You used to have a heart. But
you threw it away, just like everything else. What was it all for, Lucian? What did
you sacrifice to get here?"
I wanted to shut him out. To tell him he didn't know anything about me, about how
far I'd come. But the pain in his eyes—the regret—was all too familiar. It was the
same regret that I had buried deep down, the one I refused to face.
"I did what I had to," I said, my voice colder now. "I did what I needed to survive."
"You think that's all it was? Survival?" Younger Lucian's eyes flickered with
something darker. "You sold your soul for power. You became someone you hated."
The words hit like a physical blow, but I didn't flinch. Not now. Not after
everything I'd done.
"You don't understand," I muttered, clenching my fists. "I did what had to be done.
This world… it doesn't care about you unless you take what you want. I took it."
The younger version of me shook his head, disappointment clear in his eyes.
"That's the lie you've been telling yourself. You've lost yourself, Lucian. You've
become a monster. And deep down, you know it."
A sickening cold washed over me as he took a step forward, his eyes glowing with
an eerie light. "Do you still think you're doing the right thing? Do you still think
all the blood you've spilled is justified?"
I didn't answer him. There was nothing to say. I had already made my choice. But
the question lingered in the air, like a shadow, a haunting reminder of everything
I had given up.
"You're nothing but a shell now," the younger Lucian said softly. "A shadow of who
you once were."
I couldn't stand it any longer. I lunged at him, my fist connecting with his jaw. But
he didn't fall. Instead, he grinned, his face twisting into a mocking expression.
"You'll never escape this," he taunted. "You'll never escape yourself."
I clenched my teeth, rage boiling inside me. This wasn't just a trial—it was my own
damnation. The part of me I hated the most, the part I had buried beneath the
weight of my own darkness, was now staring me down, forcing me to confront
everything I had tried to outrun.
I couldn't just stand here. I couldn't keep fighting myself.
But the only way out was through. And so, I did what I had to. I fought—fought
with everything I had left.
The battle was brutal, but it was mine. I fought my way through the darkness,
acknowledging the past, the guilt, the regret—and in doing so, I defeated the boy
I once was.
As the final blow struck, the illusion shattered. My younger self disappeared,
leaving me standing alone in the silence.
My chest burned with pain—an old wound, an old scar—and I could feel it intensify,
the mark of the Demon King throbbing in time with my heartbeat.
The trial was over. But I wasn't sure if I had won.
The silence after the battle felt almost suffocating. The air, once thick with
tension and the sound of my younger self's taunts, now hung still and cold. I could
still feel the weight of the trial pressing on my chest, the mark of the Demon
King pulsing in rhythm with my heart, like a reminder that I wasn't finished yet.
As the illusion faded, I was left standing in a dark chamber, the remnants of the
battle lingering in the shadows. The walls around me were carved with intricate
symbols, their meaning lost to time. But there was no time to study them. No time
to dwell on the past.
I turned my attention to the pedestal in the center of the room. A faint light
radiated from it, and beneath the dust and debris, I could make out the shape of
something important. Something I had come here for.
I walked towards it slowly, my every step feeling heavier, as if the weight of the
trial had transferred into my limbs. When I reached the pedestal, I could see it
clearly—an ornate crystalline shard, pulsating with a strange energy. The air
around it seemed to crackle, the power radiating from it almost tangible, as if the
very fabric of reality itself was reacting to its presence.
I reached out cautiously, my fingers brushing against the cool surface of the
shard. The moment my skin made contact, a surge of energy shot through me. The
shard reacted to my touch, glowing brighter with every passing second, and I
could feel the pulse of the Demon King's mark on my chest grow stronger, almost
as if it recognized this relic.
It was the first fragment. The key to the power I was searching for.
I gripped it tightly, the shard now glowing with an intense, radiant light. It
seemed to resonate with something deep within me, something I hadn't felt in a
long time. Power. Unfiltered and pure.
The room around me seemed to shift, the walls warping and bending as if time
itself was breaking around me. But I held on. I couldn't afford to lose this. Not
after everything I had fought for.
For a moment, I closed my eyes, feeling the surge of energy course through me.
The pain in my chest—though faint—intensified, and I knew that this relic, this
fragment, had awakened something deeper inside me. Something I wasn't sure I
was ready for.
But it was too late to turn back now.
I took a deep breath, opening my eyes to the glowing shard in my hand. It was
still pulsing, its light fading and then brightening with each beat of my heart.
"Now, the real journey begins," I whispered to myself, my voice almost drowned
out by the sound of my own pulse in my ears.
The first piece was in my possession. One step closer to unraveling the rest.
I stood there for a moment, holding the shard in my hand, its light flickering in
my palm like the last remnants of a dying star. The pulse of energy that had
surged through me slowly began to settle, but the weight of the mark—the Demon
King's influence—remained, throbbing beneath my skin.
The ruins around me seemed to breathe in the aftermath of the trial, the dust
and shadows slowly creeping back into place. The silence was thick, almost
suffocating, and for a brief moment, I considered what this meant. What all of
it meant.
I was one step closer, but the path ahead was still shrouded in darkness.
I turned away from the pedestal, my mind already racing with thoughts of the
next piece, the next trial, the next test. But for now, I had what I came for. And
that was enough.
I walked through the crumbling halls of the ruins, each step echoing in the quiet
as I made my way back toward the entrance. My thoughts were a blur—filled with
questions, doubts, and the weight of what was yet to come.
But one thing was clear: I wasn't the same person who walked into this place. The
relic was mine now, and with it, I had the power to shape my own future. No more
running. No more waiting.
I was going to finish this.
As I stepped out into the open air, the cold wind biting at my skin, I knew the
world had changed. And soon, so would I.