"Did you hear about the Ashen Dawn rebellion?" one drunk slurred, wiping his beard free of beer, slamming his mug on the table.
"Yeah," his companion snorted. "Fools marched ten thousand strong to the capital, and every last one died. Even that so-called hero general. Heard he got torn apart like the rest." He laughed, spraying beer across the table.
"That's what they get for trying to change the natural order of things. This kingdom will always be corrupt at the top and nothing will change that." The first man chuckled darkly. "Maybe now people will learn. Going against the king and his secret organization of elites is suicide."
"Or," the bearded man added, leaning close with a lewd grin, "they'll keep throwing their lives away and leave their widows all alone… in desperate need of men like us."
"You know what they say… if you can't beat 'em!"
"Join 'em!" they chimed in together. The two clinked their mugs, and their laughter carried the length of the room.
"People like you will never understand."
The young man who sat near them lifted his mug with the arm he had left, staring into the drink as though it held old memories.
"You laugh at graves you never stood beside… at names carved in stone you never had to read."
His voice was calm, but worn thin with years.
"While serving as a volunteer with the Ashen Dawn, before they rebelled, I left an arm… and some of your countrymen left everything else. Some of them died calling for their mothers. Some died calling for wives who will never hear it. Each and every one of them were good, honest people."
He took a slow sip.
"You sit in warm taverns and joke about widows. But somewhere tonight a child is asking why their father hasn't come home."
He set his beer down and balled his fist. "If General Bloodthrone truly did lead his men to rebel against the king, then it was for an honorable cause, I can promise you that. Hell, if I still had both my arms I would've gone with them."
His gaze lifted to them.
"So laugh if you like. Just remember, every joke you make is paid for with blood that never got the chance to grow old. They fought so common folk like us could earn a decent living. They fought so we wouldn't get dragged into a war with every kingdom our king doesn't like the smell of. They fought for the betterment of this country and every person standing in it! So put some respect on their name!"
The two drunks stared at him for a second, as if they were seriously considering his words. "Yeah…"
The bearded man paused.
"And now they're all dead! Ambushed by DEmOnS… that's what the king is telling everyone!" He laughed, slamming his fist down on the table.
His friend joined in, holding his stomach. "Like a demon army could get that far past the border! Nobody'd notice! Clearly the king just set his elites on 'em!"
"What do you know!" The one-armed man yelled, rising from his seat. "There's no way the Great General Bloodthrone would've died from just some measly elites! They must've joined forces with demons it's the only thing that makes sense!"
The two drunks laughed even harder. "Oh, this fool, he's too far gone." One fell out of his barstool onto the floor.
"Funniest part is-" The bearded man had to stop and breathe. "Funniest part is nobody'll even remember 'em."
"Doesn't matter if they rebelled or not. They're all dead. King says it never happened." He wiped his eyes with the back of his fingers. "And not one soul's come forward to stand up for the truth. Not one."
"Nah, see, that bastard." He hiccuped "he made it worse." The other one was getting back in his seat. "Whole thing made it worse. Nobody'll so much as raise a hand now. Not after that."
"Nope." The other chimed in as he sat down.
"Ten thousand men." He held up a finger, lost track of what he was counting, and gave up on it. "Ten thousand. Gone in a few weeks and covered over like spilled ale. What're the likes of us gonna do? Nothing. That's what. Throw your life away for nothing."
Lucian sat a few seats down, chewing a mouthful of steak that turned to ash in his mouth. A sweet, lemon-scented drink steamed beside him, but even that soured on his tongue as their words dug into him.
'If only I'd realized that's how they saw us sooner. Maybe I could've saved all their lives.'
He fiddled with a piece of steak. 'We were nothing more than a joke to them. What a pity, my brothers. If only I could turn back time.'
"Let them laugh, soldier."
Lucian chimed in, pulling his hood down further.
"The dead couldn't give a damn what we think anyways."
They all turned and stared at him momentarily, until the barmaid a broad, no-nonsense woman, spoke up. "That's enough. Any more talk of the rebellion from anyone and I'll have to ask you to leave." She set down a glass that had been freshly cleaned, then slid a small black collection cup across the counter toward Lucian.
"That'll be 2 gold," she said, voice flat.
He raised his hand over the cup, turned his wrist toward her, and pushed an undetectable amount of Soulflame into his forearm.
The sigil surfaced under the flesh like something rising out of dark water.
Every noble child received one at birth, a house mark set into the wrist, declaring the noble bloodline they belonged to. Proof of heritage, honored by every city in the kingdom. Every house had its own unique design.
The Bloodthrones' was a dragon.
The barmaid's eyes widened slightly, her brows twitching. She looked as though she might say something, but then caught the dead weight in his stare and thought better of it. Years of experience told her not to poke at men with heavy eyes.
She quickly glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. "Pardon me, your grace," she whispered softly, before pulling the collection cup back.
But someone else had noticed.
In the booth behind Lucian, a figure leaned forward just enough for the dim lamplight to catch on his grin. Jagged teeth gleamed white in the shadows.
On the other side of the tavern, the drunks had changed subjects.
"The Church has been sending demon hunters left and right," the bearded one muttered. "Think it's 'cause of the Moon Witch?"
"If she were in Palin they'd have found her by now." The other drained his mug and set it down with a thud. "Nah. She's a story. Something to scare folks. Distract us from all these kids going missing lately."
"Watch your mouth!" his friend barked, punching him hard in the shoulder. His face twisted with rage. "Was my cousin just a story then?!"
The man winced, rubbing his arm. "Right, right… forgot about that. My apologies."
The bearded man leaned forward, eyes darting around before lowering his voice. "Besides, I told you before, I saw her once in the woods. Black wings. Black horns. Red eyes. Silver hair. Flying through the night like a bat."
Lucian's fork stilled in his hand, halfway to his mouth. He turned his head slightly.
'Silver hair?'
"Did you say… in the woods?"
The men startled at his sudden interruption and looked in his direction.
"Don't listen to him," one protested quickly. "He was piss-wasted that night."
"Drunk or not, I saw what I saw!" the other insisted, throwing another punch into his companion's arm. "Besides, the demon hunters who arrived last week made me give them a written statement about it."
Lucian put his fork on the plate and rose from his seat. "Enjoy your night, gents."
He stepped out into the cold streets.
The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain. His breath misted as he walked, but his thoughts burned.
'Silver hair. Red eyes. Could he have meant Amira? Would it be weird if I went to check on her?'
Lucian shook his head.
'Idiot! She told me not to come back.'
He stopped in the middle of the empty cobble street and looked up at the night sky.
'But he did say he gave the hunters a written report. And the one from the carriage was a little sketchy.'
The moon barely peeked through the clouds.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to make sure she's at least safe," he said aloud. "Guess I'll go in the morning."
Lucian headed back toward his inn, thoughts of Amira at the front of his mind.
'Who's this?'
He stopped for a moment. Instead of continuing down his normal route back to the inn, he turned down a secluded alley, one where barely even the moonlight was shining in.
"Hey! Screwball from the carriage!" a harsh voice rang out from behind him.
Three men were coming up the alley, the demon hunter from the carriage in front, his scar catching what little light there was. Two flanked him, blades half-drawn.
'Speak of the devil.'
"Or should I say, your grace!" he snickered, flipping his blade around in his hand.
"I knew you were suspicious," the scarred man said with a sneer.
"So I followed you to the tavern." He tapped his chin lightly with his finger over and over. "And what do you know boys? Our friend's got himself a sigil." He revealed his jagged teeth through a wide smile.
Lucian's gaze flicked upward. The rooftops bristled with silhouettes.
'Archers, bladesmen.'
He began counting in fives without moving his head.
'At least thirty. Maybe forty.'
More poured in from both ends of the alley, leaving no exit.
The hunter's grin stretched wide. "Too bad for you, my men came here for the Moon Witch. Too bad for me, I'm not sure she even exists"
He laughed to himself "we've been chasing rumors for the past two years now. So why chase fairy tales when theres something standing here worth twice her bounty?"
Lucian was completely surrounded now.
"Now, I didn't get a good look at it, so I couldn't tell you what family you belong to. But judging by the fact you're in this shitty city with no guards on you, I'm going to assume you're from a noble house nobody gives a shit about." He snickered. "So even if you run and tell, the Church'll bury it."
His voice rose, carrying through the alley. "Boys! This man has a sigil. Meaning he's got at least a million soulstones in the bank!"
His arms raised up, his head tilting back in a cocky manner.
"But don't fret, your grace. We're modest men. Two hundred thousand, and you walk out of here without so much as a scratch."
Chuckling could be heard from all around.
Lucian stared at him blankly, boredom glinted in his eyes.
The demon hunter lost his smile, his face switching to annoyance. Clicking his tongue he slashed his hand down. "Bring him to me."
The two beside him lunged, striking Lucian from either side.
Lucian caught one fist, shoved it down, and slipped between them with the ease of a trained fighter. His eyes locked on the scarred man ahead.
The hunter chuckled. "So you're not just some rich brat after all." He waved his hand in a quick circle and the alley all moved at once.
Steel flashed. Daggers whistled toward Lucian's back, arrows dropped from above. He spun, booting both blades and arrows aside, then snatched a leaping attacker by the ankle. With a grunt, he swung the man like a flail, blocking a few more attacks from behind, scattering the others to the ground.
They rushed him one after the other. Every attack they threw was met with a block or a dodge. When they left an opening, Lucian would disarm them and knock them out cold. He'd taken down fifteen men like that in a matter of seconds, pure disinterest in his expression.
The demon hunter raised his hand.
Everyone stopped.
The scarred man barked laughter. "Should've kept the rest of my boys here instead of sending them after that little lady you were with. Hah! By now, they're probably taking turns having all kinds of fun with her!"
Lucian went still.
"What?"
The word landed like something falling a long way.
The hunter smirked and walked towards him with cockiness in his steps.
"I knew something was off. The way she hid her face? It was soooo obvious she was hiding from me. That, plus the multiple reports we've gotten about a person with red eyes living in the woods."
He shrugged
"But like usual, she probably isn't anything special. Just a human freak that got unlucky and was born with red eyes. So I sent a few of my men after her to…" He licked his lips, slow. "Investigate."
His laughter rose, cruel and sharp.
The wind blew harder now.
The smell of rain thickened. Clouds blotted out the moon, plunging the alley into shadow. Only the sputtering streetlamps remained.
The Gleam of the blades faded with the moonlight. The quiet echo of bowstrings pulled taut bounced off the walls.
"What's it gonna be, your grace?" the scarred man taunted, drawing his second dagger. "Bring us the money, and we'll let you at least limp away."
Rain began to fall, soft at first, pattering against the tops of Lucian's ears.
"And don't go thinking you'll win this!" the hunter called over it. "I'm a rank three Soulflame user!"
He released his Soulflame, and it wrapped around his body, expanding slightly beyond it. Its blue color was dim and cloudy but its volume was prominent. It even caused the few around him to create a little distance.
"A grandmaster! So no matter how strong of a fighter you think you are, you'll never beat a grandmaster plus thirty men. Just be a good boy and give up!"
'The church has always been bad at giving people their proper rank. But this?'
Lucian sighed.
"This is just sad" he said to himself.
The rain was now a pounding deluge. It hissed against cobblestone and hammered Lucian's shoulders.
Lucian closed his eyes. "Forgive me, Mother…" he whispered "once again I find my self breaking our promise."
"What was that?!" the hunter shouted over the storm.
Lucian stepped forward. With each stride, his Soulflame bled into the air, its height reaching the rooftops, its width filling the alley wall to wall.
Its grey color raged with furry.
The demon hunter's mouth opened wide and nothing came out of it. Twenty years of contracts, every lecture the Church had ever given him, every plate in every manual, all said the same thing. Blue for human, crimson for demon. Green for beastman. There was no grey. Grey was not a color a soul came in.
"That's- that's impossible-"
The men closest to Lucian staggered to their knees, gasping for air. Those just beyond his reach dropped their weapons outright, paralyzed by invisible hands of death.
"Shit!" the demon hunter roared, eyes wide with panic. "He's a transcendent! Everyone—!"
Lightning split the sky. Thunder cracked like a war drum.
Lucian blurred.
In the time it took the demon hunter to finish his word Lucian had closed the twelve foot gap between them, and his fist was through the man's stomach and out the other side. Blood ran off his knuckles and into the street.
The man coughed, red bubbling from his lips. "Just who… are you?"
The clouds broke briefly. Moonlight came down into the alley and found Lucian's face, and his grey eyes were void of anything at all, an abyss that gave nothing back.
The hunter's bravado cracked. He shrieked.
Lucian yanked free, his hand slicing through rain like an arrow.
"Help me!" the demon hunter pleaded.
A single motion, and the man's throat was crushed. He fell backward, splashing into a puddle of rain.
The few next to him watched the water around him turn red, frozen in disbelief.
The rank two Awakened among the group began releasing their Soulflame, coating their bodies with a protective layer. Meanwhile, the rank one Lessers were frozen in place.
Lucian flicked the body off his foot. Without a word, he walked past them. Each one remained frozen, hoping that if they didn't move, Lucian would think they were invisible.
He was just about at the end of the alley before one brave or stupid Awakened stabbed him in the side with a dagger from behind.
Lucian didn't even flinch. He stopped where he was, turned toward him slowly, and looked down at the dagger before looking up at the culprit. The Awakened's face was white as a ghost and filled with pure and total terror.
Lucian clicked his tongue. "Damn. I was gonna let you all live too."
Lucian kicked his leg, broke the Awakened's kneecap backward, and slammed his head down into his other knee, caving in his skull. The others rushed in without a second thought scared for their life's.
A short while later Lucian came out of the alley through the curtain of rain, and a thin red river came out behind him and ran along the gutter.
He walked out of the city.
His path turned back toward the endless woods.
Back toward Amira.