Lucien Blackmoore crouched low behind a rusted vent, one knee soaked in god-knows-what—diesel fumes and burnt synth-ale clinging to his throat like a live thing with a grudge. The AetherCorp warehouse sprawled before him like a corpse sunk deep into the city's gut—too vast, too silent, too cruel to decay properly. Its walls sweated oil and cold steel, guarded by drones whose eyes glowed red, tempered by the cruel patience of jailers who had tasted blood and learned to enjoy the flavor.
Ledger update: Current location—AetherCorp vault. Environment risk—extreme. Target—soul contract secured inside. Security systems—arcane-tech hybrid, layered and lethal. Informant Jyn Serra—active, proximity confirmed. Time window—narrow. Collection priority—critical.
Lucien wasn't here for sightseeing. He had slipped through a warped vent cover, every breath a gamble, every step a silent bet on survival. Inside that vault was a soul contract locked tighter than a coffin lid—and he needed it bad. Bad enough to gamble someone else's skin if it came down to it. Contact takes the hit. I collect the winnings. The thought was like old gum in his mouth: dry, bitter, impossible to swallow whole but refusing to spit out.
The air inside was wrong—too hot, too sharp. Magic and technology tangled in an arcane security web so dense it felt like walking through live wires ready to fry any spark of life. His crimson coat brushed grated walkways, slashing through the iron-gray maze like a fresh wound. He moved slow, careful, each footfall a whispered deal with gravity itself.
Stacked crates loomed like forgotten tombstones. Tangled conduits snaked overhead, pulsing faintly with residual energy. The steady thrum of automated breath—the drones—hovered like predators. One drifted lazily above, its red eye sweeping the floor with disinterested menace.
That contract wasn't just ink and parchment—it was a shard of the Lex Aeterna itself, blood-signed and soul-stitched. The vault guarding it wasn't just a death sentence. It erased you so thoroughly even the gods might squint trying to recall you ever existed. Valthamur, the infernal patron, would chew your bones raw for trying this stunt. But Lucien liked the scrape of danger. Liked it enough to grin into its teeth.
A flicker above caught his eye. Jyn Serra ghosted along the catwalk like she was born from shadows. Tight braid, eyes cracked stone. She owed him—deep, raw, a soul-note sealed for her brother. That debt was breathing tonight.
Ledger notification: Informant Jyn Serra detected on-site. Bond status—active. Soul-note collateral acknowledged. Risk level—high.
"Jyn," he hissed low, voice scraping the buzzing electric hum like a razor across glass. "You mess with those wards, we both go out twitching."
She didn't flinch or blink, fingers dancing over a battered datapad that flickered with encrypted glyphs. "Save the charm, Broker. I'm not here to sweet-talk you."
Lucien smiled crooked, all edges and danger. He ducked behind a crate, scanning. The warehouse was a graveyard made of freight, shadows folded tight between steel tombs. The drone drifted slow, its red eye sweeping like it was bored but hungry. Lucien hugged the crate, hand tightening on the Ledger nestled inside his coat. His pulse thudded slow, heavy, steady.
Ledger update: Drone activity—one host, patrol pattern predictable. Arcane wards—active, weakening. Decryptor status—optimal. Success probability—above 70%.
Jyn's fingers moved fast. Her screen flickered like a dying fire, glyphs unraveling in a cascade of dark light. The drone hummed louder, sniffing blood. Lucien held his breath.
Then a chime, soft and almost missed.
"Got it," she muttered. The wards flickered and died, their glow sucked into the ether. The drone drifted away, uninterested. Lucien's eyes locked on its hull, spotting something scorched into the side—a burnt cipher, sloppy but unmistakable. Cassian's signature chaos.
"That bastard's been here," Lucien muttered through clenched teeth.
He moved fast, low, every muscle taut. The vault loomed ahead—a brutal slab of reinforced steel etched with sigils pulsing like veins under his skin. He pulled a jittery decryptor from his coat. Sparks spat from its screen as it gnawed on the locks. The resistance bit into his bones.
Ledger alert: Decryptor engaged. Lock integrity—high. Time to breach—counting down.
"Come on, come on…"
Jyn dropped beside him, breath tight, sweat beading her brow. "You nearly got me killed, you smug son of a bitch."
"Close calls are part of the thrill," Lucien said, eyes never leaving the decryptor's sputtering screen. "Besides, you pulled it off. Might owe you a drink."
She scoffed, sharp and dry. "Keep it. I'm not here to add to your bar tab. Get the shard or I walk."
Click. The lock gave way. The door hissed open, a sigh of ancient gears and tired steel. Inside, a single shard hovered above a stone plinth, glowing faintly—a pulse of soul-fire.
Lucien's gaze sharpened, something primal shifting behind his eyes. He reached slow, reverent almost. The shard warmed his fingers, humming with a power older than the city itself.
"There she is. AetherCorp's greed, bottled and humming."
Jyn eyed it like it might blow. "All that for a glowing rock?"
"It's not the glow. It's the weight behind it. Debt. Power. Every soul's a loaded gun, waiting for the right squeeze."
He tucked the shard beside the Ledger, the weight settling deep in his ribs like a pact renewed.
Ledger update: Target acquired—soul contract shard secured. Risk level—still critical. Extraction window—closing.
"Stick around," he said. "You might learn something."
Jyn rolled her eyes, voice dry. "I'm not your apprentice, Blackmoore. Just don't forget my brother's deal."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The vault sealed behind them with a hiss like an old secret shutting tight. The lights flickered, a distant siren wailing somewhere far beyond these walls.
Lucien's grin faded. "Time to ghost."
They retraced their steps through the steel labyrinth, the weight of the city settling in every step. Jyn moved silent but her shoulders were tight, brittle. Lucien felt the itch crawling up his spine. Cassian's mark wasn't just danger—it was the pulse of something larger, a twisted game tightening its grip on every fractured soul and shadowed corner.
At the vent, Jyn climbed out first, vanishing into the choke and grime of Undergleam.
Lucien hesitated, hand brushing the Ledger tucked inside his coat. He'd won the shard, sure, but he'd gambled her soul to get it.
Ledger reminder: Soul-note collateral at risk. Informant safety—priority. Favor balance—pending.
"Out," he said, following her into the dark.
Valthara slapped back into him—the city louder here. Engines screamed, boots slapped soaked pavement, neon snarled electric promises into the thick air. Diesel, trash, desperation hung thick and sharp.
Lucien pulled his coat tighter against the biting cold. The shard hummed faint against his ribs, a soft pulse that matched his own quickening heartbeat.
Jyn glanced back once. Her eyes hadn't softened—not even a flicker. That raw steel behind her gaze promised debts unpaid and battles yet to come.
Lucien lit a cigarette with fingers that trembled just enough to remind him he was still human. "Keep sharp, Jyn. The city's full of teeth."
She vanished into the haze, swallowed by shadows and whispers.
Lucien stayed a beat longer, letting smoke settle deep in his lungs and the pulse of the shard burn steady against his chest.
Then he walked—slow and steady—the man with a soul in his coat and Cassian's cipher burning hot in the back of his mind.
Ledger status: Extraction successful. Informant integrity—fragile. Hostile forces—active. Next moves—critical.
The game wasn't over, or getting started. It was just getting mean.