Seraphim POV
Days had passed. Days of death, confusion, and endless questions. The murders
kept piling up, one after another, each more grotesque than the last. With every
victim, a clue was left behind—clothing scraps, a misplaced necklace, blurry CCTV
footage, or a shaken witness. Every piece of evidence pointed to one damning
conclusion: the Saints were there.
My superiors had taken the bait without hesitation. "The Saints are escalating.
If we don't act now, we'll lose control," they'd declared.
"Prepare for a raid."
The words hung heavy in the air, delivered with a finality that left no room for
doubt or hesitation. The meeting room, dimly lit and reeking of sweat and tension,
erupted into motion as officers began issuing commands and finalizing plans.
And so, the hunt began, a full-scale operation to crush the so-called
revolutionaries before they tore the city apart.
"We'll strike their stronghold in Caelum," my supervisor barked, his voice sharp
and unyielding. "The evidence points to a key operational base there. If we move
quickly, we can catch them off guard."
The briefing ended swiftly, and the next few hours were a blur of preparation.
Weapons were checked, maps studied, strategies whispered in hurried tones. I
stood apart from the chaos, my eyes scanning the mission brief, though my mind
was elsewhere.
The industrial outskirts of Caelum loomed ahead, an expanse of ruins steeped in
shadows and silence. Tonight, that silence would be shattered.
We weren't soldiers, not in the conventional sense. Each member of our raid team
was an Awakener, and each brought unique skills to the table. Our formation
reflected that: Tanks at the front, Warriors ready to charge, Archers holding
back to rain precision strikes, and Healers scattered throughout to keep us on
our feet.
I stood somewhere in the middle—a mid-range fighter, capable of adapting to the
ebb and flow of combat. My specialty lay in light manipulation: shields, barriers,
and concentrated blasts that could pierce through most defenses.
Ahead, a faint red glow marked the Saints' stronghold. Their powers warped the
area, twisting metal and stone into unnatural forms. I could feel it—the raw
energy radiating from their fortifications. This wouldn't be a skirmish. It would
be a full-blown war.
"They're ready for us," I said quietly.
My team leader, a Tank named Arlen, grunted. "So are we."
The signal was given, and the raid began.
The first wave hit us before we even reached the stronghold. Saints surged from
the shadows, their abilities lighting up the night.
"Defensive positions!" Arlen roared, slamming his massive shield into the ground.
A shockwave rippled outward, deflecting the initial barrage of attacks.
An Archer on our team, Nira, perched herself on a high point and began picking
off enemies with arrows made of crackling energy. Each shot was precise, forcing
the Saints to stay on the move.
I darted to the side as a Warrior Saint charged, wielding a blade wreathed in
flame. His strikes were heavy and relentless, but I countered with bursts of light,
blinding him momentarily before landing a focused blast to his chest. He stumbled,
giving one of our own Warriors the opening to finish him off.
A healer Saint emerged from the chaos, glowing hands weaving through the air as
they revived their fallen comrades.
"Take out the healer!" I shouted, pointing toward them.
Nira loosed an arrow, but the healer was protected by a Tank, their towering
frame absorbing the blow without so much as a flinch.
"Push forward!" Arlen bellowed, his shield radiating energy as he charged. The
Tank couldn't hold against him for long, and the healer was left exposed. I didn't
hesitate, sending a lance of light hurtling toward them. The healer crumpled, their
glow fading.
The Saints fought back with ferocity. One of them, an Archer with a bow that
seemed to pulse with darkness, rained shadowy projectiles down on us. Each arrow
exploded on impact, forcing us to scatter.
Maren, a pyrokinetic Warrior, countered by unleashing a fiery wave that
incinerated the Archer's perch, forcing them to retreat.
A Tank from the Saints' side barreled toward us, their body encased in jagged
stone. They plowed through our ranks like a battering ram, scattering our
formation. I threw up a barrier to slow them, but their momentum was
unstoppable.
"Cover me!" shouted Selene, one of our Healers. She raised her hands, golden light
emanating from her fingertips as she healed the injured.
I nodded and focused my energy, sending a blinding flash toward the charging
Tank. The light disoriented them just long enough for Maren to land a devastating
blow, her fiery blade cleaving through their rocky armor.
The Saints' leader emerged from the ruins, his aura a swirling maelstrom of fire
and shadow. He was unlike the others—a Commander-class Awakener, his power
dwarfing everyone else on the battlefield.
"You think your classes and tactics make you stronger?" he sneered, his voice
amplified by the crackling energy around him. "You're nothing but tools of a
broken system!"
He raised his arms, and the ground beneath us erupted in a storm of fire and
darkness. Arlen's shield barely held, the Tank straining against the force.
"Focus fire on him!" I shouted.
Archers loosed their energy arrows, Warriors charged, and Tanks held the line,
but the Commander swatted our attacks away like they were nothing. His power
was overwhelming, and for a moment, doubt crept into my mind.
Then I remembered why we were here—the murders, the innocent lives lost, the
trail of devastation left by these fanatics.
Drawing every ounce of energy I had, I surged forward, my light cutting through
the storm. My team rallied behind me, their powers converging in one final,
desperate assault.
Our combined efforts broke through his defenses, overwhelming him. His aura
flickered and faded as he collapsed to his knees.
"It's over," I said, breathing heavily as I stood over him.
The Commander looked up at me, his eyes burning with defiance. "This isn't over.
You'll see… You'll all see…"
And with that, he fell silent.
The battle was won, but the cost weighed heavily on us all. This wasn't the end. It
was only the beginning of something far darker.
The dust settled, and the battlefield grew eerily quiet. The Saints' forces had
been crushed, their leaders either dead or captured. But as I stood among the
wreckage, the weight of the victory pressed down on me like a physical force.
"Captain," a voice called out behind me. It was Maren, commander's assistant her
face pale beneath the smudges of ash and blood. "Reports are coming in from the
squads… it's bad."
I turned to face her, my heart already sinking.
"How bad?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.
Maren hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Seventy percent of our team
is gone, sir. Most of the casualties are permanent… even the healers couldn't save
them."
My chest tightened. Seventy percent.
The survivors stumbled around me, battered and bleeding. Many of them looked
lost, their eyes empty as they tried to process what they had just endured. Bodies
littered the ground—comrades and enemies alike.
I clenched my fists. Was this the price of justice? Was it worth it?
The streets of Caelum were quieter than usual, almost as if the city itself
mourned the losses we'd suffered. The dim streetlights flickered as I walked, my
footsteps echoing in the hollow silence.
I didn't know where I was going at first. My mind was a storm of regret and doubt,
replaying the faces of my fallen comrades. Seventy percent. That number felt
like a boulder strapped to my chest.
But as I walked aimlessly, one thought kept surfacing: Lucian.
I didn't even realize I was heading toward him until I found myself outside the
upscale building where he lived. The structure was sleek and modern, a stark
contrast to the chaos I had just left behind.
I hesitated at the entrance. What was I doing here? Lucian wasn't my superior or
my partner—he wasn't even officially involved in this operation. Yet something
about him always drew me in. His calmness, his clarity... his control.
I pressed the intercom.
It buzzed for a moment before his smooth voice came through. "Seraphim?" He
didn't sound surprised, though his tone held a trace of amusement. "It's late.
What brings you here?"
"I… I need to talk," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
A brief pause, then, "Come up."
The door clicked open, and I stepped into the elevator, my reflection staring back
at me in the mirrored walls. My face was pale, my eyes hollow. I looked as broken
as I felt.
When the elevator doors slid open, Lucian was already waiting in the hallway. His
posture was relaxed, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other rested
against the frame of the door.
"Rough night?" he asked, his lips curling into that familiar smirk.
I didn't answer, just followed him inside. The warm glow of his apartment was a
stark contrast to the cold emptiness I felt. It was immaculate as always—Lucian's
world was one of order and precision.
He gestured toward the couch, and I sank into it, the weight of the day finally
catching up to me. Lucian poured two glasses of something dark and strong,
setting one in front of me before taking a seat across from me.
"Now," he said, leaning back and regarding me with a piercing gaze. "Tell me
everything."
I took a deep breath, gripping the glass in my hand like it was the only thing
keeping me grounded. The rich, smoky scent of whatever Lucian had poured barely
registered as I tried to collect my thoughts.
"The raid…" I started, my voice hoarse. "It was a disaster. More than seventy
percent of our team is dead. Most of them didn't even make it past the first wave
of resistance."
Lucian didn't flinch. His expression remained calm, his piercing eyes locked on
mine. "Seventy percent," he repeated softly, as if testing the weight of the words.
I nodded, swallowing hard. "They were waiting for us. It was like they knew we
were coming. Their awakened fighters… they were leagues ahead of us. We had
archers taking us down before we could even see them. Their tankers held the
line like a wall of steel, and their mages—God, the mages—rained fire and
destruction on us from a distance. It was a massacre."
Lucian leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "And you survived."
I didn't respond immediately. It wasn't something I wanted to dwell on. "Barely,"
I muttered. "If it weren't for the healers, I'd be dead too. But that doesn't
change the fact that we failed. We underestimated them."
"Or," Lucian said, his tone unhurried, "someone wanted you to underestimate
them."
I looked up sharply, his words cutting through the haze in my mind. "What are you
saying?"
Lucian's smirk returned, subtle but unmistakable. "Think about it, Seraphim. How
did they know you were coming? How were they so perfectly prepared? You're not
dealing with amateurs—they have resources, intelligence, coordination. Do you
really think this was a coincidence?"
His words sent a chill down my spine. I hadn't considered the possibility of a leak,
but now that he'd said it, it made sense. Too much sense.
"And the Saints?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "The evidence… the
clues… was it all planted?"
Lucian shrugged, the gesture almost casual. "Perhaps. Or perhaps the
revolutionaries and the Saints aren't as separate as you think. Either way,
someone wanted this raid to fail."
I clenched my fists, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "And my team paid the
price."
Lucian's eyes softened, just a fraction, but his voice remained steady. "Yes. And
now it's up to you to make sure it doesn't happen again. Learn from this, Seraphim.
Adapt. Grow stronger."
I leaned back against the couch, exhaustion washing over me. "Stronger," I
echoed, the word feeling hollow. "At what cost?"
Lucian tilted his head, his smirk deepening. "Every cost, if necessary. But don't
dwell on that tonight. Rest. Regroup. Tomorrow, we plan."
I stared at him for a moment, his calm demeanor both reassuring and unnerving.
There was something about the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, that
made it impossible to look away. He was a man who thrived in chaos, who turned
it to his advantage.
As I finished my drink and set the glass down, Lucian rose from his seat. He
placed a hand on my shoulder, the gesture firm but not unwelcome. "You're not
alone in this, Seraphim. Remember that. Now go home and get some sleep. You'll
need it."
I nodded silently, the weight of his words settling over me. As I left his
apartment, stepping back into the cold night, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd
just made a deal with the devil.
I raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "You? Gardening?"
"Don't sound so shocked," he said, sipping his whiskey. "There's a certain
satisfaction in nurturing something, watching it grow under your care."
Lucian's voice softened slightly, a rare flicker of something almost wistful
crossing his face. "I used to do it with Lilith. She loved it—our little ritual of
tending to her favorite plants."
I leaned forward, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. "What was her
favorite?"
He didn't answer immediately, gazing into his glass as though it held the memory.
"She loved moon lilies and lavender. There's a small garden I still visit sometimes.
It's quiet there—calming."
There was a weight in his words, something unspoken but deeply felt. For a
moment, I glimpsed a different side of Lucian, one buried beneath the sharp
edges and calculated demeanor.
"Moon lilies, huh?" I said softly, not knowing what else to say.
Lucian nodded, his smirk returning, though it was tempered with a faint
melancholy. "Yes. They're delicate but resilient—just like her."
The moment passed as quickly as it came, and his usual composure slipped back
into place, leaving me wondering how much of himself he'd just revealed—and how
much he still kept hidden.
The conversation drifted, touching on mundane topics that felt almost foreign in
the shadow of everything we'd endured. It was... grounding, in a way, to talk about
something other than missions or deaths.
But as the night deepened, a thought gnawed at me, refusing to be ignored. Finally,
I sat up, breaking the ease of the moment. "Lucian... I know this may sound
immature, but I want to get stronger. Not just for me, but so none of my partners
or colleagues ever get hurt again. After what happened at the raid..." I trailed
off, the memory of my fallen comrades tightening my chest.
Lucian set his glass down, his expression unreadable. "Stronger?" he repeated,
almost thoughtfully.
"Yes. I don't want to lose anyone else because I wasn't enough. I need to protect
them. I need to lead better."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked directly at me.
"Seraphim, I can't help you get stronger in terms of physical strength. I'm not an
awakener, as you know. But strength isn't just about muscles or powers. It's about
influence. Authority. The ability to make decisions without anyone questioning you."
I frowned, unsure of what he meant. "Go on."
Lucian continued, his voice calm but laced with conviction. "What I can offer you
is a greater position within the Bureau. A seat at the table where the real
decisions are made. If you rise high enough, you won't have to obey anyone's
orders or issue judgments like that raid again. You'll have the power to choose
your battles, to protect your team without interference."
The idea was tempting, more than I wanted to admit. To never feel powerless
again, to have the authority to shape the future... it was everything I'd been
yearning for.
"And all I have to do is trust you?" I asked, my voice steady but cautious.
Lucian's smirk returned, sharp and knowing. "Trust me, follow me, and I'll get you
there. You won't have to bow to anyone ever again, Seraphim. But you'll have to
rely on me completely. Are you ready for that?"
I hesitated, the weight of his offer sinking in. But then I thought about the raid,
about the lives lost, and the anger simmering in my gut flared to life. "Alright," I
said, my voice firm. "I'll follow you. I'm all yours."
Lucian's smirk softened into something almost resembling pride. "Good. Together,
we'll change the game, Seraphim."
Lucian leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant, as if he were still lost in the
memory of Lilith and her garden. I couldn't bring myself to ask more—there was
something sacred about the way he spoke of her, and I didn't want to intrude.
Eventually, the silence between us grew comfortable, the night wrapping around
us like a heavy blanket. Lucian poured himself another glass of whiskey, his
movements unhurried, while I sat quietly, replaying his words in my head.
He glanced at me and said, "You should get some rest, Seraphim. The world will
still be there to face tomorrow."
Nodding, I stood and made my way to the guest room he had pointed out earlier.
The bed was firm, the room sparsely decorated, yet it felt oddly safe. As I lay
down, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts swirled around the conversation we'd
just had.
Lucian's words carried a weight I couldn't ignore. His promises, his charisma—
they were intoxicating. But with every step I took closer to him, I felt myself
treading further into unknown waters.
As my eyes closed, one thought lingered in my mind, haunting and unshakable:
"How far will I go to follow his guidance? How far will Lucian push me?"
And with that, sleep claimed me, leaving the answers to another day.