Lucian sat in the plush leather chair opposite the desk, staring directly into Azrael's crimson eyes.
The Branch Master leaned back, a wooden cigar clamped between his teeth. He took a slow drag, exhaled a plume of gray smoke, and tapped the ash into a crystal tray with a soft thud.
His expression was unreadable. No terrifying smile, no murderous intent—just cold professionalism.
"So," Azrael spoke, his voice smooth. "You have decided to join us."
Lucian nodded slightly. "Yes. I have."
"Good." Azrael set the cigar down. "Here is what we do. The Guild of Preservation acts as the immune system of this city. We hunt down Awakened criminals who misuse their power, and more importantly, we hunt the Mirror Echoes."
Lucian raised an eyebrow. "Mirror Echoes?"
"You are new, so you wouldn't know," Azrael explained, picking up a stack of documents. "The world isn't solid, Lucian. It is fractured. The 'Mirror Dimensions' are pockets of unstable reality. Sometimes, they crack open, and monsters—Echoes of the past—pour out into our world. We cannot enter those dimensions without high-level clearance, but it is our job to slaughter anything that crawls out of them."
He slid the papers across the desk toward Lucian.
"I have already contacted the Higher Ups regarding your employment. We have secured your salary and ordered a uniform. We can't have a Guild member looking like a beggar."
Azrael gestured toward the door. "Go downstairs and give these to Grace. You met her on the way in. Tell her you need to see Old Man Uriel. She will show you the way."
Lucian reached for the papers. He was about to stand up when a sharp, mechanical sound cut through the quiet room.
Click-click-click-click.
It was the telegraph machine in the corner. A strip of paper began to feed out rapidly.
Azrael froze. His eyes narrowed. He stood up abruptly, abandoning his calm demeanor, and snatched the paper from the machine.
He read it once. Then twice. His face paled.
"No... no, no..." Azrael whispered, the cigar falling from his fingers. "This is too sudden."
He didn't look at Lucian. He grabbed his black coat from the rack and snatched his silver-handled cane. He threw the door open with enough force to rattle the hinges.
BAM.
He paused in the doorway, glancing back at Lucian with an intensity that made the air heavy.
"Go meet the Old Man," Azrael commanded, his voice tight. "He will explain the work."
Then he was gone.
Lucian sat there, blinking in the sudden silence. Through the open door, he could hear muffled shouting from the hallway downstairs. Heavy boots stomped on the floorboards.
"War... The Iron Kingdom... Victoria Street has been hit..."
"We have to go! Deploy the squad!"
Then, the front door slammed shut, and the building fell completely silent.
"What the hell just happened?" Lucian muttered.
He looked down at the documents Azrael had left behind. The top page was his personnel file.
[GUILD OF PRESERVATION – PERSONNEL FILE]
Name: Lucian (No Last Name)
Age: 19 (Newly Awakened)
Tier: 1
Sequence: Unknown / Unregistered
Note: Subject possesses a gravity-based aura that forces opponents to kneel. High Potential.
Weekly Salary: £15
Signed: Guild of Preservation, Westminster Main Branch
Lucian stared at the number. £15 a week.
In the slums, a man would kill for five pounds. Fifteen was a fortune. It was enough to rent a real apartment, eat meat every day, and buy new clothes.
"So they don't know my Sequence," Lucian noted, feeling a flicker of relief. "And they think my 'King's Pressure' is just a gravity trick. Good."
He stood up, clutching the papers that guaranteed his new life, and walked downstairs.
The lobby was empty, save for Grace.
The receptionist was still sitting behind her oak desk, but her composure had cracked. Her hands were trembling as she sorted through a pile of files. When she looked up and saw Lucian, she forced a faint, wobbly smile.
"Oh... you are back, Lucian," she said, her voice shaking. "How was your talk with the Boss?"
"It was... awkward," Lucian admitted. "He left in a hurry. He gave me these documents for you and told me to meet Old Man Uriel."
Grace took the papers with shaking hands. She stamped them with the Guild seal—Thump—and filed them away.
"Yes... Old Man Uriel," she murmured distractedly. Then she looked at Lucian, her blue eyes wide with fear. "Did you hear? The announcement? The Iron Kingdom declared war this morning."
Lucian nodded impassively. "I saw the poster."
"We just got the official telegraph," Grace whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. "A dozen airships broke through the cloud layer. They bombed Victoria Street. They leveled it flat. Hundreds are dead."
She closed her eyes, bowing her head. "Oh, God of Preservation, please protect us..."
She began to ramble, talking fast to keep the fear at bay. "The Boss and the elite squad just deployed to the impact site to help the survivors and secure the area. I hope everything is fine. My cousin lives near Victoria Street, and I don't know if..."
Lucian watched her panic with a strange sense of detachment.
Hundreds dead, he thought. Victoria Street is burning.
He waited for the horror to hit him. He waited to feel sorry for Grace, or for the people who had died.
But he felt... nothing.
"War is starting," Lucian thought. "But that is none of my concern."
Wait. He frowned internally. Was I always this cold?
Before the Sin of Pride, he would have been terrified. He would have felt sympathy. Now, it was just data. Just background noise.
Grace finally stopped talking, realizing she was rambling. She wiped her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Lucian. I'm just worried." She pointed toward the back of the hallway. "You need to see Uriel. Go past the stairs you came down from, straight to the end of the hall. There is a door leading to the underground facility."
"Underground?"
"Yes. The archives are below us."
"Thank you, Grace," Lucian said. "Take care."
He left the terrified receptionist behind and walked deeper into the building.
He found the door at the end of the hall. It was heavy iron, unlocked. He pulled it open and stared into the darkness. A spiral stone staircase led down, smelling of old paper and dust.
Lucian descended.
There were no electric lights here. The deeper he went, the cooler the air became. Finally, he reached the bottom.
Soft yellow light spilled out from an archway.
Lucian stepped inside and paused.
It was a library. A massive, cavernous underground chamber lined with towering bookshelves. Books were everywhere—piled on tables, stacked on the floor, crammed into shelves that reached the ceiling. The smell of ink and parchment was overwhelming.
In the center of the chaos sat a single red velvet sofa and a wooden chair.
An old man sat there.
He was ancient, his face a map of deep wrinkles. He had a wispy white beard and thinning white hair. He wore a simple white shirt, trousers that looked like a patchwork of red and white fabric, and black shoes. He wore a pair of thick reading glasses, his black eyes scanning a book in his lap.
Hearing footsteps, the old man lifted his head. He peered over the rim of his glasses, studying the boy in the ragged clothes.
He closed the book with a snap.
"Boy!" the old man barked, his voice raspy but strong.