The world was quiet. Too quiet. Not the kind of silence that was peaceful, but the kind that made the skin crawl. The silence of things that had ended, of life that had been cut away.
Lucian's first thought was that he shouldn't be here. Or maybe it was that he wasn't supposed to be here. It was hard to tell, because his head felt like it was full of broken glass. He blinked his eyes open slowly, each movement like it dragged a knife across the inside of his skull.
Dust drifted above him. The sky was gray and choked with smoke. The air stank of burnt iron and ash. He coughed, then rolled over, pushing himself up on his elbows. The ground was damp and sticky, and when he looked down he realized it was blood. His blood, maybe. Or maybe someone else's. There was so much of it that it didn't matter.
His hands shook as he pressed them into the dirt. His nails were black with ash, his arms streaked with cuts. On his right forearm, something else caught his eye. A strange light, faint but steady, like cracks in stone that glowed with fire underneath.
Lucian lifted his arm closer. The marks weren't painted on, nor carved into his flesh—they were part of him, as though his skin itself had split open to reveal light inside. The glow pulsed faintly, in rhythm with his heart.
"What…" His voice came out cracked and hoarse. He coughed again. "…What is this?"
No answer came, of course. The silence swallowed his words.
Lucian struggled to his feet, his body screaming at him with pain. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else, like they had forgotten how to walk. He staggered a few steps before tripping over something—he looked down and saw it was a spear, snapped in half. Its shaft was blackened, its head broken off. Around him, weapons lay scattered like fallen branches.
And bodies.
He froze.
All across the battlefield, corpses lay twisted in the dirt. Soldiers, knights, mages—he could not tell which side they had been on. Armor was burned beyond recognition, faces blackened by flame. A few still clutched swords even in death. Others were missing limbs, their blood already darkened to black.
Lucian's stomach turned. He stumbled away, pressing his hand to his mouth, but nothing came up. His body was empty.
"Where… am I?" he muttered. "What… happened here?"
His head throbbed as he tried to remember. Flashes of something—screaming voices, the clash of steel, a woman's cry—shot through his mind, then disappeared just as quickly. He pressed his palms against his temples, grinding his teeth.
"Damn it… I can't… remember."
The glowing mark on his arm flared suddenly, sending a jolt through his body. He gasped and staggered back, his heart pounding. In the corner of his eye, the smoke shifted, and for a split second he saw shapes moving inside it. Towering figures, chained by massive links of iron, straining against bonds that glowed with the same light as his arm.
He blinked, and the vision was gone. The battlefield was still.
Lucian's breath came heavy and uneven. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. The mark slowly dimmed again, returning to its faint glow.
He shook his head. "I'm… losing it."
A sound broke the silence.
Crunch. Crunch.
Footsteps.
Lucian spun around, every muscle in his body tensing. His hand went instinctively to his hip for a weapon, but found nothing. He cursed under his breath.
Through the haze, a figure emerged. A girl. No—no, not a girl, a young woman. She was tall, though her shoulders were slumped with exhaustion. Her long hair, once perhaps a pale gold, was now tangled and caked with dirt. She wore a robe, ripped and burned in several places, and in her hands she held the broken half of a staff, like a weapon.
She froze when her eyes met his.
"…You survived too?" she said. Her voice was calm, but there was a sharpness underneath, a steel edge that warned him not to move too quickly.
Lucian didn't respond. His glowing arm throbbed as she came closer, the light pulsing brighter than before. He took a step back, uncertain.
The woman lifted the broken staff slightly, as though ready to strike if he attacked. Her eyes narrowed. "Don't come closer if you're an enemy."
Enemy. The word stuck in Lucian's chest. Was he an enemy? To who? He didn't even know who he was.
The glow pulsed stronger. Lucian glanced down at his arm, startled, then looked back at her.
"This glow…" he said. His voice was shaking. "…It reacts… to you?"
Her eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing. Her grip on the staff loosened just a little, though she didn't lower it.
Before either of them could speak again, another sound reached them. A cry. High-pitched, weak, almost like a child's.
Lucian and the woman both turned.
A short distance away, rubble had collapsed over something. At first Lucian thought it was another body. But then the rubble shifted, and a small figure struggled beneath it. Wings, faintly shimmering with light, twitched desperately.
"A child?" Lucian whispered.
The woman's eyes widened. She didn't hesitate. She ran forward, dropping to her knees beside the rubble, pressing her shoulder against the stone. "Hold on! I'll get you out!"
Lucian stood frozen for a moment, watching her. His instincts told him to move away, to keep his distance, to not trust her. But something inside—something deeper—pulled him forward.
He rushed to her side. "Move," he said. His glowing arm pulsed again, brighter than ever.
Together, they pressed against the rubble. It didn't budge. The woman gritted her teeth, straining with all her strength. "It's too heavy—"
Lucian's mark blazed. His vision went white. He shouted without meaning to, pushing with everything he had. The rubble cracked, then shattered apart in an explosion of dust and stone.
The woman fell back, coughing. Lucian staggered, nearly collapsing, his body trembling from the sudden burst of power.
Beneath the rubble, a girl lay gasping for air. She was small, younger than either of them, with delicate features and shimmering white wings folded awkwardly against her back. Her clothes were torn, her face smeared with dirt. She blinked up at them, eyes wide with fear and relief.
"Th… thank you…" she whispered weakly. "I thought… I was going to…"
Her gaze drifted to Lucian's arm. Her eyes widened in awe and fear as she saw the glow. "That mark… you…"
Lucian turned his arm away, hiding it behind him. His heart pounded. He looked at the woman, then at the girl, then back at the battlefield around them.
He didn't know who they were. He didn't know who he was. But in that moment, standing there with them, he felt something stir inside him.
Not peace. Not safety.
But connection.
And somewhere, deep in the fragments of his shattered memory, a voice whispered:
"The bonds you forge will save you… or destroy you."
Lucian's fists clenched. He didn't understand the voice, or the mark, or the battlefield. But one thing was certain. His life—whatever it had been before—was over. From this moment, everything was new.
And dangerous.