Al llegar el día del compromiso, el sacerdote del dios Sangus llegó a la residencia de los Douglas, que a esa hora bullía de actividad. Los sirvientes iban y venían, decorando carruajes, preparando ofrendas y arreglando las vestimentas ceremoniales. Sophia Douglas, impecable y serena, supervisaba personalmente cada detalle. Para ella, la perfección no era una opción, sino un deber sagrado.
Lusian observaba todo con una mezcla de respeto y aprensión. Jamás había sentido la presión de un juramento tan absoluto e irrevocable. El templo permanecía en silencio y solemne, como si el mismísimo dios Sangus contuviera la respiración ante el pacto que estaba a punto de sellarse.
Cada paso que daba hacia la ceremonia era un recordatorio de la cadena invisible que lo ataba: un contrato de sangre, sancionado por un dios, que no podía romper... sin condenar a otra persona. Emily.
La responsabilidad divina recaía sobre ella, sí, pero el peso moral —esa incómoda mezcla de temor, solemnidad y culpa anticipada— se le hundió en el pecho como una piedra. No quería verla sufrir por su culpa.
El sonido de sus botas sobre el mármol resonó como un tambor de guerra silencioso. Lusian tragó saliva. Un escalofrío —una mezcla de respeto y miedo— le recorrió la espalda.
Esto no fue solo una ceremonia. Fue el primer paso hacia un camino donde cada decisión podría desencadenar tragedias.
Frente al espejo, Lusian se ajustó el traje negro, cuyo bordado dorado parecía brillar con luz propia. La capa blanca caía sobre sus hombros como un manto de autoridad y destino; los hilos formaban la figura del lobo bicéfalo y las dos espadas cruzadas, emblema ancestral de su casa.
Pero ni los símbolos ni la elegancia pudieron ocultar la inquietud en su mirada.
—¿Tienes miedo, Lusian? —preguntó Sophia en voz baja al ver que sus hombros se tensaban.
Respiró hondo, intentando disimular la verdad con serenidad.
—Un poco, mamá —admitió—. Sé que el hechizo es obligatorio... pero es solo una tradición. No habrá complicaciones.
Sophia le sonrió con ese orgullo elegante tan característico de los Douglas, aunque en el fondo sabía que su hijo no temía la ceremonia. Temía lo que vendría después. El futuro. Los acontecimientos que se cernían en el horizonte como sombras indescifrables.
Y Sofía, sin comprenderlo del todo, sintió un ligero escalofrío. Como si presentiera que, tras el juramento, algo mucho más importante que un simple compromiso estaba a punto de despertar en su hijo.
When they arrived at the ceremonial hall, the Douglas family was already waiting before the altar.
Laurence Douglas, with his imposing presence, stood like a marble statue: solemn, distant, unshakable. Martha, beside him, wore a gentle smile, but in her eyes danced a complex mixture of pride and melancholy. Caleb and Catalina, on the other hand, kept neutral, almost cold expressions; for them, this was nothing more than a political formality. None of them seemed truly happy. In the duchy, even celebrations carried the weight of obligation.
The murmur of the guests gradually faded, as if a silent mist were enveloping the hall, when Emily Carter entered.
Lusian raised his gaze... and his breath stopped.
Emily advanced down the aisle as if she were floating, wrapped in a light blue dress whose embroidered flowers seemed to reflect the first light of dawn. The temple's soft glow slid across the delicate pink lace, and each of her steps echoed on the white marble with a calm, almost sacred elegance.
The guests stood up. Silence became absolute.
Only her steps could be heard... and her parents' behind her.
When Emily's eyes met Lusian's, he felt the heat rise to his face. Emily gave him a soft, serene smile, so perfectly controlled it almost seemed natural. But Lusian, who had seen the fear in her gaze days earlier, felt that calm was a mask as fragile as it was beautiful.
For a moment, the world stopped moving. There were no gods, no destiny, no dark future. Only her. Only that suspended moment.
The chief monk approached the altar and extended his hands. His deep voice echoed through the temple dome.
—We will begin the oath ceremony under the gaze of the god Sangus.
He took a small silver puncture tool, placed it on Lusian's finger, and pressed. A drop of blood fell onto a silver ring on the altar.
Then he repeated the gesture with Emily. Her blood fell beside his.
Both drops glowed, first individually... and then merged into a faint red radiance that traveled through the symbols on the ring, as if the metal were breathing.
The murmur of magic filled the hall.
—With this oath —the monk proclaimed— the promise of union is sealed. May Sangus be witness, judge, and guardian of this sacred pact.
A wave of energy swept through the temple, a deep pulse that raised goosebumps on those present. The air grew heavier, as if the god himself had turned his gaze toward them.
Lusian felt the weight of the pact sink into his bones. Emily lowered her gaze with an almost imperceptible tremor.
The engagement was sealed. And there was no turning back.
After the ceremony, the guests moved to the adjoining hall, where an impeccably arranged banquet awaited them. The aroma of spices, wine, and roasted meat filled the air, mixing with the murmur of nobles offering blessings and congratulations. It was an evening of appearances, calculated smiles, and promises that no god would ever hear.
Los anillos de sangre que Lusian y Emily llevaban en sus manos resplandecían con una tenue luz rojiza, símbolo del pacto que ahora los unía. Para muchos, eran un honor. Para ellos, una cadena.
—The noble families approached one after another.
Lusian smiled, exchanged greetings, and listened to the appropriate words.
That was what everyone expected from him.
A Douglas heir.
A composed figure.
Someone who understood his place.
But inside, every face that appeared before him was another piece on the board he thought he already knew.
The first family was Count Noah Armett's.
His daughter, Isabella Armett, immediately drew the attention of the room.
Hair as white as snow.
Deep blue eyes.
A delicate beauty that seemed out of place among so many calculated smiles.
Lusian did not need to think long to remember her name.
Isabella Armett.
A woman who, in the game, never had the chance to become a heroine.
Because she never got the opportunity.
Her story ended long before that.
Lusian shifted his gaze toward Caleb Douglas.
The young man tried to hide it, but his eyes lingered on Isabella longer than they should have.
Lusian sighed inwardly.
"So it begins here..."
A small decision.
A small coincidence.
And a chain of events that would eventually destroy several lives.
The Kesslers came next.
Then the Macallisters.
A foreign family from the Empire of Ithaca.
They did not possess a powerful army or great political influence, but they held something far rarer.
Spatial magic.
Their artifacts were considered treasures throughout the continent.
When they presented the enchanted bracelets as a gift, several nobles were visibly impressed.
Emily was as well.
Her eyes lit up with curiosity, though she quickly tried to hide it.
Lusian smiled faintly when he noticed.
She could still be amazed by things like this.
She still saw this world as something new.
He, on the other hand...
Only saw memories.
And dangers.
The following families passed one after another.
Stanley.
Briggs.
Schneider.
A greeting.
A gift.
A smile.
A perfect performance.
The Mondrings were the last of that group.
His mother's family offered a brief and discreet bow before withdrawing.
As always.
Without seeking attention.
Without making enemies.
—The Bourlandes.
The atmosphere changed the moment that surname was announced.
Not because they were more important.
But because everyone knew what they represented.
Strength.
Pride.
Battle.
The Bourlandes had built their name through combat. Their physical enhancement techniques were family secrets guarded for generations.
And among them was her.
Kara Bourlande Bekker.
Seventeen years old.
Red hair.
Blue eyes.
A posture that did not belong to a noblewoman waiting for marriage.
It belonged to a warrior.
Lusian felt a weight settle in his chest.
He knew her.
Not personally.
But far too well.
In the game, Kara was one of the main heroines.
A woman who never retreated.
A warrior capable of defeating entire armies if she found a reason to fight.
And now she was here.
In front of him.
Alive.
Real.
Kara looked at him with curiosity.
As if trying to discover what kind of person he truly was.
Lusian held her gaze.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
It was not a threat.
It was not hostility.
It was recognition.
Two people who knew the other was hiding more than they revealed.
—The Denisse.
The change was immediate.
Lusian maintained his smile.
But his body tensed slightly.
The Denisse family.
In the game, they were remembered as allies.
As loyal nobles.
Until the right moment arrived.
Then they revealed their true nature.
Betrayal.
Conspiracy.
Blood.
Lusian shook their hands as protocol demanded.
—It is an honor to receive you.
The words came out perfectly.
The smile did as well.
But in his mind, he did not see nobles.
He saw a scene from the game.
A city burning.
An enemy banner above the walls.
And corpses.
"The problem with knowing the future..."
he thought as he watched them walk away.
"...is that you never know how much you can trust it."
El murmullo que se oía en la sala se desvaneció bruscamente cuando los heraldos anunciaron la llegada de la familia real.
Todos se arrodillaron. Solo los tres ducados hicieron una reverencia.
La reina Adelaine Erkhan Stanley avanzaba con la elegancia de quien carga con todo un reino sobre sus hombros. A su lado caminaban el príncipe heredero Andrés y la princesa Isabel, de mirada penetrante e imponente.
Emily, nerviosa, intentó arrodillarse, pero Sophia la sujetó del brazo, evitando un error fatal.
La reina felicitó a la pareja con palabras nobles y mesuradas, y les entregó un regalo envuelto en terciopelo carmesí. Luego se retiró a un salón privado, seguida por su sombra real.
El regalo de Douglas
Fue entonces cuando Sofía alzó la mano. Dos sirvientes se adelantaron portando un largo cofre cubierto con una tela negra.
Al retirar la tela y abrir el cofre, un resplandor oscuro iluminó el interior de terciopelo.
Toda la sala contuvo la respiración.
Lusian sintió un escalofrío recorrerle la espalda.
Ahí estaba:
Dainslein.
Una espada de hoja negra, pulida como un fragmento de noche, con un sutil resplandor azulado que parecía vibrar con el maná circundante. No emanaba malicia, sino una profunda calma: una oscuridad serena que invitaba al silencio.
Un Ætherion.
Un arma ancestral cuya función no era destruir, sino armonizar el flujo de maná y reducir la tensión de quien la empuñaba.
Lusian la reconoció de inmediato. No porque la hubiera empuñado él mismo... sino porque, en el juego, la espada era la recompensa final por matar a Dark Lusian. Su versión caída. El destino que estaba decidido a evitar.
Una sonrisa apenas perceptible curvó sus labios.
—Dainslein... mi advertencia.
Ese regalo no fue casualidad. Fue como si el mundo le mostrara el arma que, en la historia original, solo aparecería como recompensa por matarlo.
El primer acto había terminado. El juego... acababa de empezar.