Steam curled up from the wet cobblestones of Heartwork, hissing around Xenos's boots as he walked. His stomach gnawed at him, but the city's constant noise and motion kept him moving.
Everyone here either says something stupid or does something crazy, he thought, glancing at a pair of street-preachers arguing over who owned the sun. Not that I blame them. I'm dressed like a scarecrow after a bad storm.
A voice came from a shadowed doorway.
Unknown man: "Hey. You."
Xenos stopped. Xenos: "?"
Unknown man: "Didn't you hear me? I'll give you some money—lift this bag for me."
Xenos: "No. And who are you?"
The man stepped into the light, his robe hem dirty from the street, but the embroidery at the collar unmistakably expensive.
Micron: "You stand in the presence of Micron Helbat, mage of Agnia. How dare you talk back?"
Xenos studied him. Money isn't my problem, he reminded himself. Lucifer said there are laws to my power—laws he obeys out of pride. I should respect that. Still… if he moves first, I can erase him. And he looks like the type who thinks first.
Micron: "You still standing?" His voice was calm, but his anger sat just under the skin.
He began a low chant. A small fireball bloomed in his palm and drifted toward Xenos, more a test than an attack.
It burst against the air in front of him and vanished without so much as a scorch.
That spell wasn't much, Micron thought, but it should have burned any normal man… he's not normal, is he?
Micron: "Jokes aside—who are you?"
Xenos: "Joke? If that had hit another human, they'd be in agony. I want you to apologize."
Micron: "Ha. Me? Apologize to a nobody? You might be strong, but not enough."
Xenos: "Fine. Here's the deal: I'll throw a fireball at you. You can step aside if you like. If you win, I'll be your servant for a few days. If I win, you'll be mine."
Micron: "Who—wait, do you even know the spell?"
He laughed, sharp and mocking. Micron: "You don't even know a basic elemental? Perfect. I'll accept. I could use a free servant. The spell is—" he intoned the words in a showy, mangled ritual cadence— "gore neiwbe."
Xenos's mouth curved in a small smile. Xenos: "Easy enough."
But when he began his chant, the sounds were nothing like Micron's crude syllables—an ancient weave of Arabic and Egyptian, words that hummed in the bones.
The city seemed to pause. The sun pressed down, bright and merciless. Passersby slowed, eyes flicking toward the alley. Some bowed their heads. Others folded their hands in silent prayer. The air itself felt tight.
Micron's eyes widened. What the—? I thought he was nothing. Oh, gods… is he an Elder? Micron, you idiot, you just provoked an Elder God.
His knees went weak.
Micron: "Oh great one! I didn't know who you were! I'll be your servant for life—please, stop this!"
Xenos: "No. You said if you avoided the fireball—"
Micron: "I admit defeat!" He dropped to his knees, shame and panic knotting his voice.
An awkward stillness settled over the alley. Then the noise of Heartwork crept back in—hawkers calling, wheels rattling over stone—as if nothing had happened.
He bows when cornered, Xenos thought. Pride makes liars. And mages. Useful to know.
"Ah, master… could you go easy on those plates? My pockets might not survive the night," Micron muttered, watching Xenos tear into his fourth serving.
After winning the duel, Xenos had claimed Micron as his servant. The mage's first duty apparently was paying for dinner.
Between mouthfuls, Micron leaned closer. "Anyway, master, I have to ask… why is an Elder God in a place like this?"
"I'm not an Elder God."
Micron frowned. "Then who are you?"
"I'm Xenos. Also known as Lucifer. But I'm a new entity right now — not from Creation at all."
Micron froze. "Wait… wait. You mean the Lucifer? The Morningstar?"
"I prefer 'Lightbringer.' But yes. I'm that Lucifer. Now let me eat, then we'll talk."
Micron's thoughts spiraled. Stupid, stupid Micron. What did you just tie yourself to?
When they'd finished, Micron cleared his throat. "Master, maybe we should go shopping for clothes. People will laugh if they see you dressed like that."
"No need. I can just create them. I think. Wait, let me try."
He focused, pulling from the void. Shadows bent. Nothing became something — a black shirt, white pants, black sports shoes, and a dark jacket settled over his frame.
"Master, you look like a proper noble now. But… if you can use creation magic, why didn't you earlier?"
Xenos glanced down at the new clothes. "My power's still coming back. I can only use what I've remembered. The rest will take time."
They walked through the streets, the noise of the market folding around them. As they passed a fountain, a familiar face appeared.
"Ah… hello. Are you Xenos? You look different in that outfit."
Micron eyed her. "Who are you?"
Before she could answer, another woman stepped forward — tall, poised, with silver-white hair and eyes the color of fresh blood.
"Her name is Lisa. She's my personal maid."
"And you are?" Xenos asked.
"I'm Alice Hilden. Nice to meet you, Xenos…?"
"Xenos Zentharix."
Lisa bowed. "Thank you for saving me."
Micron's head snapped toward her mistress. "Wait… Lady Hilden? As in the Hildens? One of the big names in Heartwork?"
The weight of the meeting hung between them. Micron didn't understand why this moment mattered — but Xenos did.