Steam blurred the edges of his vision. Droplets clung to the glass, racing downward like beads of quicksilver before disappearing into the drain. Lucian slid the shower door open, stepping into the cool air.
He reached for a towel, running it across his shoulders, over the lean muscle of his arms, then wrapped it around his waist. In the mirror above the sink, his own eyes glinted faintly through the mess of wet, black hair that clung to his face.
Who knew showers could be this good?
For most of his life, "clean" had been relative. Sleep was in abandoned shells of buildings. Baths were rainwater—when he was lucky enough to find soap worth using. Hot water was something he'd only heard rich people talk about in the market stalls, the way others spoke of distant cities or fairy tales.
Rain had been his warmth. And even that had been cold enough to hurt.
He combed his fingers back through his hair until the silver strands caught the light, clearing his vision. A sigh escaped him. The indulgence was over.
Stepping out into the room, Lucian caught his reflection again—this time in the wall mirror to his right. Beside it, a closet waited. He slid the door open.
Inside: a pair of camo-pattern cargo pants and a matching tactical hood. His eyes flicked to the grey shirt and shorts he'd been given earlier.
At least these won't smell like goo.
He dressed quickly. The pants fit snug across the hips but left room for movement. The hood shadowed his features just enough to make him look… less approachable.
Dropping onto the bed, he forced himself to ignore the itch to explore the research center. He had something more urgent to check.
The ruins.
With barely a thought, they formed—shimmering, ancient letters materializing into a grey, translucent screen in the air before him.
---
Name: Lucian
Sponsors: The Almighty, Lucifer Morningstar
Holy Core: Dormant
Demonic Core: Infernal 1 [ 10/25 souls required for next tier ]
Memory: 0.0999% recovered
---
His eyes narrowed.
Lucifer.
How in all the hells—or heavens—was that one of his sponsors?
For years, the runes had been background noise. He'd been too busy surviving to care about their implications. But now, with fragments of his memory restored, it was impossible to ignore.
A demonic core. A growth path built on souls. Lucifer's hand in it all.
He didn't know the devil's angle, but one thing was certain—every step forward would have to be calculated.
A sharp knock at the door sliced through his thoughts.
"Yeah?" he called, not moving.
The door slid open, revealing the same agent who had escorted him earlier.
"B7 ordered me to bring you to her."
Lucian frowned. "Who the hell is B7?"
The agent's eyes widened. He cleared his throat. "I mean… Miss Ash."
"Oh," Lucian muttered, pushing off the bed. "Let's go."
---
The walk was a study in monotony—grey walls, grey doors, grey ceilings. Whatever secrets were hidden here, they weren't meant for him. Not yet.
They reached an elevator. The ride down was long enough for him to count three separate shifts in air pressure. No floor numbers. No indication of how deep they were going.
When the doors slid open, the air changed.
This floor hummed with activity. Agents in black tactical gear moved through the corridors with practiced precision. A few carried weapons. Others bore data pads and dossiers. And though they tried not to look at him, their glances betrayed curiosity.
Lucian filed it away. Attention was both a weapon and a weakness—depending on how you used it.
At the end of another corridor, a door opened into a spacious meeting room. Screens lined the walls, pulsing with satellite imagery and streams of data he didn't recognize.
At the center, a round table waited.
Ash leaned against it with her usual blend of poise and challenge in her stance. Beside her, sitting with her posture straight and her face hidden behind a smooth mask, was a girl with long silver hair.
"How are you feeling?" Ash asked as he approached.
"I've been better," he replied, eyes scanning the room.
Her smile tilted. "Really? I doubt that."
He didn't take the bait. "Why am I here?"
Ash gestured to the masked girl. "I told you before—you're meeting someone important."
Lucian studied her cloak, noting the subtle differences from the standard agent uniforms. "Her?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because she's the second most important asset in Shadowfall."
He raised a brow. "A Chosen?"
Ash's lips quirked. "Not just any Chosen. A Trisul."
Lucian's head tilted slightly.
"It's almost absurd," she went on, "that we have you and a Chosen sponsored by three gods. But I suppose we have you to thank for her."
He leaned on one elbow, gaze narrowing. "Thank me? What does that mean?"
"She wouldn't be here if not for you," Ash said, nodding toward the girl. "Go ahead."
The girl reached up. The mask came away in silence.
Lucian's breath caught. His head tilted further, eyes locked on hers, widening in disbelief.
It was her.
The child he'd sold to the NPF four years ago.