The capital city of Elyria shimmered with wealth and whispered with secrets. Marble towers pierced the clouds, casting long shadows over cobblestone streets. Golden banners bearing the insignia of the Church fluttered high above the common folk, like divine reminders that this was a city ruled not by kings, but by gods.
Lucien walked among them—yet belonged to neither world.
His worn boots tapped quietly against the stone. His clothes were a patchwork of age and poverty, his hair unkempt, eyes dull with the dust of the streets. He looked like just another forgotten soul drifting through the holy city's underbelly. But his gaze… his gaze held something deeper. Something dangerous.
He passed a line of parishioners waiting for alms near the Church of Solarius. The massive doors of the cathedral loomed behind them, adorned with saints carved into gold and white stone—each one smiling down with serenity that Lucien found almost comical.
They were the same smiles worn by the priests who dragged his mother away.
He turned his eyes away.
A sudden splash jolted him from thought. A passing noble's carriage had rushed through a shallow puddle, sending a wave of filthy water across Lucien's legs. The noble didn't spare him a glance. Why would he? In their world, people like Lucien weren't people. Just stains on the road.
Lucien clenched his fists—but unclenched them just as quickly. Anger was fuel. But used too soon, it burned out.
"Are you alright?"
The voice was soft—cautious. He turned and saw a girl, no older than sixteen, in a cream-colored robe trimmed with pale gold. Her hands were clasped around a leather-bound prayer book, her face open and kind. Too kind for a city like this.
He blinked. "I'm fine."
She hesitated, then reached into her satchel and pulled out a small loaf of bread, wrapped in cloth. "You look hungry."
Lucien stared at it, then her. "And what if I'm not who I seem?"
She smiled faintly. "Then I hope you find peace anyway." She placed the bread in his hand and turned to leave.
"Wait," Lucien said, his voice more genuine than he intended. "What's your name?"
"Seraphine."
The name settled in his mind like a bookmark.
He nodded. "Thank you, Seraphine."
She disappeared into the crowd, her pale robes vanishing into the sea of color and noise.
Lucien looked down at the bread. It was dry, slightly cracked at the edges—but food nonetheless. A gift born of mercy. Mercy, he had learned, was a currency far more valuable than gold.
Not for nourishment.
But for leverage.
He turned into an alley, navigating through twisting turns that narrowed the deeper he went. Finally, he stopped at a rusted iron grate in the ground, pried it open, and descended into darkness.
The air beneath Elyria changed.
It wasn't just the stench—though that was foul enough. Mold. Rot. Stale blood. It was the feeling. The sense that something ancient and patient had carved out this place and still lurked within it.
Lucien lit a small lantern and began to walk.
The tunnels were long-abandoned sewer lines, twisted and forgotten. Most citizens didn't even know they existed. But Lucien had studied the blueprints. He knew every turn, every hidden passage.
And he knew who lived here now.
Eyes blinked open in the shadows.
Dozens.
Lucien stopped and set down the lantern.
From the blackness, they came.
Demons.
No horns or fiery breath—these weren't the caricatures drawn in holy texts. These were sleek, sharp-eyed creatures with skin like onyx and movements like serpents. Their weapons gleamed with bone and iron. Their hunger was not for flesh, but opportunity.
A tall one stepped forward, eyes gleaming gold. "You don't belong here, human."
"Neither do you," Lucien replied calmly.
"You walk into our den with no fear?"
"I'm here to make a deal."
Laughter echoed around him, guttural and mocking.
"What could you possibly offer demons?"
Lucien raised his chin, meeting the leader's gaze. "A chance at retribution. A seat at the table above. Blood. Of the ones who branded your kind monsters. The Church."
The leader stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "Why should we trust you?"
Lucien smiled.
That smile again.
Not warm. Not friendly.
Calculated.
Because it was the same smile his mother had given him before they burned her.
"You don't need to trust me," he said, voice low. "You just need to follow my lead. I'll give you what you want. And I'll take what they owe me."
Silence.
Then, whispers.
Then… interest.
---
End of chapter 2