Lucian sidestepped the first strike, Mourne flashing in the dark as he parried an incoming blade, twisting to avoid a second attacker.
They weren't sloppy.
Every movement was precise, every strike calculated to drive him back, to force him into a corner.
A blade skimmed too close, slicing through the fabric of his coat. Another found the wound at his ribs, reopening it.
Lucian gritted his teeth, twisting his body to lessen the damage, his dagger sinking into the side of the nearest assassin. It was clean, quick, and efficient.
The body dropped.
Seven left.
But the moment he stepped back, a shot rang out. It was not aimed at him.
A bullet tore through the skull of the assassin moving behind him, dropping him instantly.
Lucian's breath hitched, but he didn't hesitate. He used the distraction, pivoting to dodge another strike, cutting the tendons of another attacker's wrist.
And then there she was, stepping into the fight.
The rain drummed against the rooftops, against the stone, against the bodies in the alley.
And there, at the mouth of the street, standing in the dim glow of the lanterns, was a figure drenched in black and smoke.
A woman.
Lean, sharp, moving like a shadow that has been given form.
Her coat was slick with rain, her gloved hands steady around the twin pistols aimed at the remaining assassins.
Sierra Blaze.
She tilted her head slightly, green eyes, gleaming beneath the low brim of her hood and above her mask.
Her voice was calm, unreadable.
"You look like you could use some help."
Lucian exhaled sharply, shifting Mourne in his grip. "And you clearly took your time."
Sierra's smirk was barely there, her fingers tightening against the triggers. "I was enjoying the show."
Another assassin lunged.
Sierra fired.
It was a storm of bullets and blades.
The moment the first shot rang out, the fight shifted.
Lucian moved, Sierra covering him, their movements fluid despite the chaos.
She was fast.
Not just in reaction, but in how she anticipated the assassins' movements, her guns firing in perfect rhythm, each shot taking down another masked figure.
Lucian carved through the chaos, Mourne flashing under the dim light, finding weak points, slipping between ribs, slicing tendons, leaving bodies behind.
Another gunshot, and another assassin staggered back, a bullet through the eye socket.
Lucian didn't waste the moment, he twisted, burying Mourne into another's throat.
The fight was evening out.
Four left.
But the assassins didn't falter. They never did.
Lucian felt the pull of exhaustion now, the ache settling in his limbs, the cut at his ribs bleeding freely.
Sierra glanced at him, reloading effortlessly, her voice calm despite the chaos. "You going to drop dead, or should I finish this first?"
Lucian rolled his shoulders, wiping blood from his jaw. "You talk too much."
Another assassin lunged.
Lucian caught his wrist, twisting it until the bones cracked, stealing his sword in the same movement, and driving it into his stomach.
Sierra spun, firing both pistols simultaneously, two clean shots, two bodies falling in unison.
The last assassin hesitated.
Then ran.
Lucian moved to pursue, but Sierra caught his arm.
"Let them go," she murmured.
Lucian frowned, watching the shadow disappear into the night. "They'll report back."
Sierra holstered her guns, exhaling softly.
"Good."
Lucian narrowed his eyes, a forced smirk on his face. "You want them to send more."
Seraphine's smirk returned, faint but sharp. "I want them to realize they don't have enough."
The alley was silent once more.
Lucian leaned against the wall, pressing a hand against his ribs, breath evening out.
Sierra tilted her head, watching him. She needed to ask what this was all about. Why was he fighting the umbral blades. But she needed to wait until it's right.
"You look like hell," she murmured.
Lucian chuckled, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek. "You should see the other guys."
Her gaze flicked to the bodies around them. "I am." She slipped the mask down of her face, and let her hood fall down too.
A pause.
Then, she said softly, "You're bleeding."
Lucian sighed. "It's just a scratch."
Sierra pulled a flask from her coat, giving it to him. "Drink. It's from Raine." Her hand grazed against his and she pulled back quickly.
Lucian's gaze stayed on her for a moment too long. Sierra tried to ignore it.
Lucian's eyes then dropped to the vial in his hand and he raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you share?"
Sierra leaned against the alley wall beside him, holstering her pistols. "Since you stopped pretending you don't need help."
Lucian snorted, but he didn't argue. He took a slow sip, the burn settling into his ribs, dulling the pain.
The night stretched around them, quiet and heavy. The bodies lay cooling in the rain.
And the war was far from over.
And the night hadn't settled yet.
The alley stretched beside them, still slick with blood, the corpses of the Umbral Blades cooling under the rain. The scent of steel and gunpowder still clung to the air, but the fight was over.
And yet, something remained.
Lucian exhaled slowly, his stance shifting as he stood up slowly, placing himself subtly between Sierra and the alley's mouth.
The rain whispered against the stone, washing the blood into the cracks of the alley.
Lucian stood still, breath even, but his pulse had slowed. It was not from exhaustion or relief, but from something else.
Something wrong.
Mourne's blade was still warm in his grip, slick with the remnants of those who had come for his life. He wiped it against the torn fabric of his sleeve, smearing dark crimson across the already ruined cloth.
Something was shifting.
A ripple in the air, soundless, weightless, like the past had stirred beneath his feet.
Lucian tensed, his muscles coiling, and then,
Remnant Sight flared.
The alley shuddered, the world around him losing focus, time folding back in on itself like a wound reopening.
And for a brief, fleeting moment, She was there. A shadow too unfamiliar yet known.
Amber Castell.
She stood at the far end of the alley, where the lantern's light barely reached, where the rain refused to touch.
Dark armor, edges gleaming with the faintest sheen of silver. A cloak that moved like smoke, its shadows stretching, twisting, recognizing her as their queen.
A dagger rested against her palm.
It was not gripped, not raised, it only waited.
And her eyes. Lucian had seen blue before, in moonlight, in steel, in the reflections of cold water.
But her gaze was something else. It wasn't looking at him. It was looking through him. Unblinking. Lucian could not comprehend.
He felt a prickle at the base of his skull, an old instinct whispering that he was not just seeing her; she was seeing him too.
And then the vision snapped.
The past bled back into the present, leaving only the alley, the bodies, the rain.
And something else.
Lucian's gaze dropped to the stone. A sigil was carved into the wet pavement, deep and deliberate, its edges still smoldering despite the rain.
A message or a warning, Lucian has yet to understand.
But one thing was sure. The Umbral Blades were not finished with him, and neither was Amber Castell.
A boot scuffed against the stone. Lucian didn't flinch. He didn't turn.
Sierra stepped beside him, her twin pistols still warm from the fight, the lingering scent of gunpowder clinging to the air between them.
She didn't speak at first. Didn't ask. She simply looked. At the sigil. And at the blood.
At the space where Lucian had been staring.
Then, softly, but not without sharpness, "What is this?"
Lucian exhaled, slow and steady, slipping Mourne back into its sheath. "Amber Castell."
Sierra's lips pressed into a thin line. "The Greymish Queen."
Lucian nodded.
Sierra glanced at the sigil, tracing its burned edges with a gloved fingertip, testing the heat that shouldn't still be there. "You saw her," she murmured. It wasn't a question.
Lucian's jaw tightened. "Something like that." She didn't look at him. "And she saw you back."
Lucian didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The rain had started to wash the blood away, but the sigil remained, unbroken.
And somewhere in the shadows of the city, AmberCastell was still watching.
And then came a sound.
Itvwas soft but sharp, metallic.
Something small and heavy hit the cobblestone beside the sigil, sliding against the wet stone with a dull, deliberate clink.
Sierra's hand snapped to her pistol, but Lucian had already stilled her with a glance.
"Wait." He murmured. "It does not seem like a threat."
Sierra arched a brow. "You sure?" Lucian didn't answer. Instead, he crouched, fingers closing around the object left behind.
A coin.
Rust-dark at the edges. No. Not rust.
Blood.
A sigil had been burned into its surface, etched deep into the metal, the same sigil as the one carved into the stone.
Lucian turned it over between his fingers. Too heavy.
It was not just a coin. But a weight.
Sierra let out a slow breath, watching him carefully. "We taking the bait?"
The air still felt charged. Like the past hadn't fully let go of the present. Like the Greymish Queen was still here, watching from the places where shadows stretched too long.
Lucian closed his fingers around the coin. The rain drummed against the rooftops. His heartbeat steadied. And finally, he spoke.
"Not yet."
But soon. Very soon. And they both knew it.