Lucan stepped into the house, legs shaking.
The door creaked shut behind him.
Caelan Grey stood in the middle of the main entrance, his arms folded.
"You have returned."
Lucan's heartbeat quickened.
"Yes, Father."
"You have brought shame to this house," Caelan said. "The world expected greatness. I expected greatness."
"I didn't choose—"
"No," Caelan cut him off. "You didn't. That's the problem."
His bruises still ached, but not nearly as much as this.
"You think the world cares for your excuses?" Caelan's voice rose. "You were born into the bloodline of legends. Do you understand what that means? You were never allowed to fail."
"I didn't want the Essence of Breeze, I—"
"I know what you wanted," Caelan said. "What you deserved was different."
Silence again.
"You are no longer my son."
This sentence shattered what was left of Lucan's heart.
The air fled Lucan's lungs. His legs weakened.
"You bear the name Grey, but it no longer belongs to you. As of today, you are stripped of your title, your place in this clan… and your future in it."
Lucan's voice broke. "Mother wouldn't have—"
"Your mother," Caelan growled, "was blinded by sentiment. She was strong, yes, but foolish. And you are not even a shadow of her."
He turned away.
Lucan stood frozen in place. His breath came in shallow gasps. His vision blurred.
"I gave you everything," Caelan said. "And you gave me shame."
Lucan opened his mouth—but no words came.
Then, Caelan pointed to the door.
"Leave."
Lucan stepped outside. The door closed behind him without a sound.
The world felt colder. Not the air—but his insides. Like something had died.
He walked through the empty streets. The flags of the clans were still fluttering above, but the wind that once kissed his cheek now felt cruel.
Lucan walked until he could no longer feel his legs.
Until the lights of the houses faded behind him.
Until his feet led him into a forgotten alley between the ruins of old buildings, abandoned and cold.
He sat down against a wall, hugging his knees.
No home.
No clan.
No future.
Not even a name.
He didn't cry.
Not because he was strong.
But because he was empty.
"Is this it?" he whispered to the dark. "Is this all I was meant to be?"
A breeze passed. Soft. Cold. Empty.
Lucan didn't know how long he sat there.
The air was cold. His breath was slow. His eyes stared into the cracks of the wall across from him. He didn't move. He didn't cry. He just… existed.
Then-
A violet flame glowed in the dark alleyway. It danced like a flame, but it didn't burn like one.
Lucan slowly raised his hand to it.
The flame drifted towards him. No heat. No noise.
It entered him. Straight into his chest.
No pain. Just a chill. Like falling into a cold river.
Lucan gasped, but didn't collapse. Everything around him looked the same.
But he felt different.
His breathing slowed.
His thoughts sharpened.
The ache in his ribs faded. The bruises on his face didn't matter.
He wasn't healed. It just wasn't hurting anymore.
"What just happened to me?"
"Well, well," a voice from the entrance of the alley sneered. "Look at the mighty Grey heir groveling in dirt."
Lucan turned his head and saw a figure in the flickering lights from the street. Arms crossed, lips curled in a smug grin.
Steve Halcroft appeared.