Lucian blinked. Once. Twice.
The words she'd spoken rattled around his skull like loose bullets.
Four years?
He knew time had passed—how could it not?—but four whole years felt absurd. Unreal.
He raised his hands, flexing his fingers. The callouses were still there, the same hardened skin he'd always carried. They didn't look like four years had touched them.
When he looked back at the woman, she was watching him in silence. The stillness between them was heavy enough to be felt in the chest.
"I feel like you're worried about the wrong thing," she said at last. Her voice was steady, measured—too controlled to be casual. "How much time has passed is irrelevant. What you should be thinking about… is your future. Did you not hear what I just told you? Or is it that you already knew?"
Her gaze sharpened, dissecting every twitch in his expression.
"Oh," she murmured, and a smirk ghosted across her lips. "You did know. I thought so. Then tell me—how does that happen? One god as your sponsor is dangerous enough. But the devil as well?"
The word devil hit like a blade across his mind. His body moved before his thoughts caught up—jerking forward, trying to stand—only to find himself locked in place. Straps he hadn't noticed bit into his wrists and ankles.
"There's no point," she whispered, almost kindly. "Not until we're finished talking."
Lucian's jaw flexed.
"You're special, Lucian. Extremely so. I don't know what you plan to do with that potential, but I can tell you this: we have no intention of standing in your way. In fact… our goals might align."
"And how exactly is that?" His voice was ice.
"In every way that matters. Unless, of course, you'd rather waste your gifts in the gutter like some unambitious parasite." She paced as she spoke, her words deliberate. "Shadowfall has rotted into a Type F world. Our Chosen emergence rate is pathetic. Sometimes decades pass without a single one. Our standing with the Universal Council has collapsed."
He cut her off. "What does any of this have to do with me?"
She met his gaze head-on. "Shadowfall doesn't have enough Chosen to climb from Type F. But with you alone… we could leap to Type A."
Lucian's brow rose despite himself. "And how would you manage that?"
"There are two routes for a world's ascension: the Academy Rank and the Institute Rank. Chosen who place high bring glory, funding, and alliances from powerful worlds. Right now, Shadowfall has none worth speaking of."
Lucian leaned back slightly. "So what's my role?"
"You'll remain here for six months. In that time, we'll train you without limit. You'll deploy to fallen worlds on live missions, gain experience, sharpen your edge. When you're ready, you'll attend the Chosen Academy as Shadowfall's sole representative. Secure a Rank Five title. Graduate. Then enter the Chosen Institute and claw your way into the top twenty-five. And when you do—" her voice softened, "—you'll carry our banner."
Lucian said nothing at first, weighing her words. It was a tempting offer: elite training, high-tier opportunities, direct access to the Academy. A perfect stepping stone to reclaim the power he'd lost—and then some.
"I'll take it," he said finally.
The air in the room seemed to still.
"What?" he asked. "Do I sign something? Or do you just take my word for it?"
"Neither." She tilted her head. "We'll just trust that you don't want to die."
Lucian's eyes narrowed. "That a threat?"
"No," she replied. "A fact. You were sealed for four years for two reasons: first, to decide if releasing you would doom us all… and second, to give us time to do something important. We needed to… prepare you."
He frowned. "Prepare me how?"
Her smile this time was unmistakable—sharp, knowing. "We implanted you with nanoparticles. Our most refined work. They multiply abilities, exponentially in some cases. We've used them to create entire squads of super soldiers."
Lucian's stare hardened. "And if your soldiers don't obey?"
"They die," she said simply.
She gestured, and the wall beside them turned transparent. Behind the glass, a man stood in a sterile chamber, tall and steady, eyes locked on Lucian.
"This is Agent Hareth," she said. "Once one of our best. He decided our rules didn't apply to him."
Her hand lifted in a small, precise signal.
At first, it was just a shudder in Hareth's shoulders. Then a tremor, spreading through his limbs. His skin blanched to a sickly green, then broke into mottled purple as the first spasms wracked him.
Lucian could almost hear it—the deep, wet tearing of muscle from bone. His joints snapped in unnatural angles. His spine bowed violently, vertebrae grinding like stones.
Hareth's flesh began to liquefy, melting into thick, blackened drips that spattered the floor. His mouth opened in a scream they couldn't hear, teeth clattering loose as his jaw collapsed.
In seconds, the man was nothing but a collapsed skeleton draped in brittle, desiccated skin. Then even that withered to dust.
The entire process had taken less than half a minute.
The woman turned back to him, her voice calm as ever.
"So," she said, as though they'd simply been discussing terms over tea, "do we have a deal?"