Lira hadn't smiled in days.
Not even the kind she used to reserve just for Lucian—the quiet, knowing curve of her lips that told him she saw the man beneath the armor.
Now, when she looked at him, there was only distance.
And silence.
---
The mission to Western Aros was supposed to be simple.
An uprising of elementalists—half-trained youths wielding flame and stone, crying rebellion in the old tongue. Council orders were clear:
"Suppress. Eliminate if needed. Do not let it grow."
Lucian led the squad.
And something inside him broke open.
---
He arrived in Aros under cloudless skies. A village buried in dry wind and old temples. But what he found wasn't a rebellion—it was a school. Barely standing. Children with cracked hands trying to heal wounded birds.
A woman, mid-thirties, stood in front of them. Not a warrior. A teacher.
Lucian lowered his sword.
"They called you traitors."
She stepped forward. "We called ourselves survivors."
The soldiers behind him looked confused.
He told them to wait outside.
He listened. He watched. He saw the truth.
And when he walked out, he gave the order:
"Tell the Council it was already dealt with."
They left without blood.
But the moment he returned, the whispers started.
---
"Why did he spare them?"
"Who is he to rewrite the Council's decree?"
"Is he still… loyal?"
---
Lucian didn't care.
But the Council did.
---
At night, his powers pulsed without command.
Mirrors fogged when he passed them.
His reflection blinked without him.
He caught flickers—seconds where he'd see himself outside his body, walking away while he stood still.
His breath froze in midair. His heartbeat echoed like thunder when he was alone.
The Veil whispered louder every night.
> "Become what they fear."
> "End their illusions."
> "She'll never be safe while they live."
He wanted to silence it.
But he didn't.
---
Lira sat in her chamber, rereading his old letters. The ones he used to leave in her boots, her cloak, her sword hilt.
They were soft. Poetic. Full of light.
Now, he barely spoke.
She saw the fire in his eyes—not the warm one she loved, but the one that devoured.
She whispered to herself, "Where are you, Lucian?"
But he was only two doors away.
---
Meanwhile, Riven stood before the Council again.
"You asked me to watch him. I did."
Valen folded his hands. "And?"
"He's slipping."
"Or evolving," Thorne offered.
Valen looked out the stained-glass window. "Prepare the contingency. If he defies us again… we'll burn the Light from him."
---
In the training yard, Lucian stood still as five elite soldiers circled him. A test. Or a warning.
He let them attack.
He didn't move until the last moment.
Then, one by one, he dropped them with precise strikes—not fatal, but painful. Swift. Humbling.
When the last soldier gasped for air, Lucian leaned close.
"You fight like they've already broken you."
He stood tall. Looked up toward the tower where Valen watched.
And smiled.
---
That night, Lira finally spoke.
"You're becoming someone else."
Lucian sat on the balcony ledge. Veil draped across his lap.
"I'm becoming who I should've been before I believed them."
She reached for his hand.
He didn't pull away.
But he didn't grip back.
Lira's voice cracked. "I don't know if I can follow you into whatever this is."
Lucian didn't reply.
She stood, walked out the door.
Lucian whispered, "Then they've already won."
---
Far below the Sancturm, in the Vaults, a mirror split in two on its own.
The reflection didn't vanish.
It stepped through.
And it smiled like Lucian, only darker.