The air was heavy with incense. Bells chimed. Trumpets roared.
Lux blinked, staring at the king's banner waving high above the crowd. The same scene. The same colors. The same roar of celebration.
His breath hitched.
This again…?
The cheers, the fluttering banners, the endless sea of people in the grand square—he had seen this before. Not hours ago. Not yesterday. A week. Yet here it was, unfolding before his eyes once more.
His hands trembled.
What was that? A dream? A trick of the mind?
Panic surged in his chest. He shoved through the crowd, ignoring the curious, disapproving stares around him. He needed to get away. He needed air.
By the time he reached home, his lungs were burning. The small hovel greeted him with silence, broken only by the creak of the door.
His mother lay resting on the bed, strands of silver threaded through her dark hair catching the light. She smiled faintly when she saw him.
"Lux," she said softly. "You look pale. Is everything alright?"
Lux froze, waiting—waiting for her to mention the letter, the stranger, Mister Dux. But she said nothing. Nothing at all.
"Mother… you don't remember receiving some kind of letter?" he asked carefully.
Her brow furrowed. "Letter? No, Lux. Who would write to me?"
His mouth went dry.
What did I see? What is happening to me?
The walls pressed closer. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. A thought clawed its way back into his mind, one he had buried for years.
Am I going mad… like Father?
He tried to remember—words about stars, whispers of truth—but the harder he reached for them, the faster they slipped away like water through his hands.
No… it was nothing. Just exhaustion. Daydreaming at work. That's all.
Then his gaze dropped to his hand.
And froze.
The ring. The plain band he had worn for years.
It was no longer plain.
Intricate carvings now laced its surface, curling symbols etched with elegance beyond any language he knew. They shifted faintly, as though alive, as though mocking him for trying to read them.
His breath caught.
Not a dream.
He clenched his fist. The truth pressed into him, heavy and undeniable.
"Don't worry, Mother," he said abruptly, forcing steadiness into his voice. "I'll be back soon."
Before she could respond, he turned and slipped out the door.
...
The café loomed ahead, familiar and yet darker now, its presence heavier. He pushed the door open.
A worker sneered, the same expression as before. "Hey. Wrong place, rat. Get lost."
"I need to see him," Lux insisted, lifting the ring. "Look. Just look—"
The man barely glanced before scoffing. "Some beggar's trick. Do you think scratches on a ring mean anything here? Out."
The door slammed against his shoulder, shoving him back into the street. Laughter spilled faintly from inside, muffled and cruel.
Lux stood there, dazed, countless gazes prickling at him. Passersby muttered, sneered, or ignored him altogether. The ring weighed heavily, like a shackle on his hand.
The nobles on balconies above tilted their heads, observing the mortals below with thinly veiled amusement. Their eyes glimmered with entitlement, as if the chaos and desperation of the common folk were mere entertainment. A young lord in a crimson cloak laughed quietly, hand over his mouth, while a lady fanned herself with a jeweled hand fan, eyebrows arched. Lux felt each gaze pierce through him, measuring him as if he were an exhibit in some twisted display.
What's happening to me…?
Then—
A figure.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a familiar silhouette weaving through the crowd. A tilt of the head. The slope of a coat.
He knew it.
"Dux…?"
Lux pushed forward, shoving past bodies, chasing the figure into a narrow alleyway. His breath echoed against stone walls as he reached the dead end—
Empty.
No one was there.
His chest heaved. His mind spiraled.
Am I going mad?
The silence pressed in.
...
Above him, atop a tall building, unnoticed, turquoise eyes glowed like twin flames. Mister Dux stood on the rooftop, his coat trailing in the wind.
From his shadow, a figure rose—shifting, stretching, a man of darkness made flesh. His voice dripped with mockery.
"Your illusions crack too easily. If a cub can walk free, what hope do you have against real prey?"
The shadow-man tilted his head, lips curling. "You should have tempted his mind directly, alongside the illusion. Push him… test him properly."
Dux did not look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on Lux below, turquoise light steady and sharp. His voice cut through the night air, calm but cold.
"Who says I didn't?"
A faint, unreadable smile touched Dux's lips. The thoughts, the panic, the swirling doubts Lux had felt—every surge, every hesitation—they had all been seen, nudged, even toyed with. And yet, Lux had resisted. The boy's mind… it was stronger than expected.
"It does not matter if it is a cub," Dux continued, eyes narrowing, turquoise flaring brighter. "A beast… is still a beast."
"... Now what?" the shadow-man asked, voice dripping with malice.
Dux's gaze remained unyielding, cold as steel. "Now… we just wait, and see."
The shadow-man chuckled low, curling back into the dark.
"Then let's see if the seed your old friend left behind… bears any fruit."
The glow in Dux's eyes burned brighter, unwavering.