By day, Lucien was nothing.
A shadow in the slums. Another half-starved boy with no future and no name worth remembering. He sold scraps in the market, fetched water for drunken laborers, scrubbed floors in run-down inns for a handful of copper. People ignored him, spoke over him, sometimes even stepped on him.
And Lucien let them.
He kept his shoulders slouched, voice timid, and eyes downcast. His devilish smile—the one that stirred fear in demons and unease in holy men—never once surfaced in public. It stayed buried, waiting.
But by night, he was something else entirely.
He sat now in the backroom of a butcher's shop, where flies buzzed lazily around dried blood and the air stank of old meat. Across from him sat a man known as Corven the Rat—named so for both his twitchy mannerisms and his unmatched network of street-level spies.
Corven sniffed. "You ask for information, you pay."
Lucien placed three silver coins on the table, freshly acquired from a "lost" noble's purse. He had picked it clean earlier in the day without the man ever noticing.
Corven's eyes flicked to the coins, then to Lucien's face. "You've been busy, kid."
Lucien just smiled faintly—this time, a harmless one.
"I need names. Minor priests. Clerics. Preferably those with secrets to hide."
Corven leaned back, expression thoughtful. "And what's a gutter rat like you gonna do with that?"
Lucien's gaze sharpened ever so slightly. "That's my concern."
Corven chuckled, rasping like dry parchment. "You're a strange one, kid. Alright. I'll have something by tomorrow."
Lucien stood. "Make sure it's accurate. I don't deal with liars."
There was no threat in his tone. Just a soft certainty that made even Corven's smile falter.
—
That night, Lucien returned to the tunnels beneath Elyria. The demons were waiting.
Not many yet—just three or four. Scouts. Curious. Cautious.
The gold-eyed one, whom Lucien had mentally named Rivak, greeted him with narrowed eyes. "You came back."
"I always keep my word."
"You have information?"
Lucien tossed down a scroll. "A priest. Named Darnel. He's laundering donations through a merchant guild. The Church doesn't know."
Rivak unfolded the scroll slowly. As he read, his lip curled with delight. "Corruption. Sweet irony."
Lucien nodded. "Let's start small. Expose him. Not with blades. With whispers. Let the Church turn on its own."
"You want us to… spread rumors?"
"No," Lucien said, stepping closer. "I want you to be the rumor. A stolen document. A terrified witness. A sealed letter that ends up in the wrong hands. Make it real."
Rivak studied him, almost amused. "You're not like the other humans who come begging us for chaos."
"I don't beg," Lucien said. "I plan."
—
The next few days passed in the strange rhythm Lucien had come to know well—half surviving, half scheming. Each moment of drudgery was another mask. Every coin he earned, every person he met, every word spoken, was another thread added to the tapestry he was weaving in secret.
One night, as he passed through the alley behind an old bakery, he heard crying.
He almost ignored it. Almost.
But then he saw her.
Seraphine.
The same girl who had given him bread.
She was seated on a broken crate, her head buried in her hands. Her robe was torn, her prayer book discarded at her feet.
Lucien paused. Something stirred in him—not weakness, but curiosity.
He stepped closer. "You dropped this."
She jumped, startled. "Lucien?"
He picked up the prayer book, dusted it off, and handed it to her.
She took it silently, her fingers trembling.
"What happened?" he asked, keeping his tone light.
She hesitated. "I… I overheard something. In the cathedral. A noble had paid Father Aldus to cover up… something terrible. And when I tried to ask about it, I was told to stay quiet. Threatened."
Lucien's eyes narrowed, though his face remained still. "Why tell me?"
"Because… I thought you'd listen."
Lucien nodded slowly. "I do."
And oh, how useful this was.
He knelt beside her. "Do you know the noble's name?"
She hesitated, then whispered, "Lord Vesric."
Lucien smiled. The pieces were falling into place.
"Then I'll help you," he said gently.
She looked up, hopeful. "Why?"
"Because you were kind," Lucien replied. "And kindness deserves to be remembered."
And used.
---
End of chapter 3