The chamber was silent except for the hiss of torches and the soft scuttle of rats along the cold stone floor. Lucian pressed his back against the wall, knees tucked to his chest. The child's body trembled with weakness, small and fragile, yet inside, his mind burned with memory, rage, and calculation. Ten years old — and already, he carried the weight of every past betrayal.
He flexed his fingers experimentally. Shadows stirred, curling like smoke around his palms. They responded, but slowly, reluctantly, as if testing the strength of the vessel. The first tendrils brushed the floor and recoiled, leaving him frustrated.
Fragile… weak… limited…
He clenched his fists. The shadows wrapped tighter, but every movement left him trembling, heart pounding, muscles screaming. Lifting a rusted bucket, even slightly, had drained more strength than he would have imagined. His body betrayed him, but his mind did not. Every sensation of weakness, every trembling limb, every faint ache was cataloged, analyzed, remembered.
He tried again, extending the shadows toward a scuttling rat. The creature squealed, legs twisting unnaturally as the darkness constricted, but he could only maintain the grip for a moment. His arms shook violently, sweat soaked his hair, and nausea clawed at his stomach. The rat escaped, leaving him on the cold stone floor, chest heaving.
Pain and frustration gnawed at him. I cannot… I am too weak. I am still a child…
Every instinct screamed. Every memory of Sebastian's subtle cruelties pressed in: the smiles, the poisoned meals, the careful manipulations, the tiny restrictions that had shaped him. Rage swelled inside him like molten fire, but the body was a cage, unwilling to obey fully.
He collapsed, shadows curling faintly around his fingers before retreating, exhausted.
A soft, deliberate voice cut through the silence.
"Well, look at you. Already overexerting yourself, little brother?"
Lucian lifted his head slowly, gray eyes narrowing. Sebastian stepped into the torchlight, every movement precise, confident, as though born to command the room. Warmth in his smile, careful attentiveness, almost convincing — yet something sharp lingered beneath, subtle, deliberate. Behind him, Isolde followed, carrying a small tray with food and water. Her eyes widened at the sight of him on the floor, and she knelt gently beside him.
"Prince Lucian," she said softly, voice trembling with care, "I'm here to help. Let me… take care of you."
Lucian's stomach twisted. She… she's alive? The words churned in his mind like a bitter poison. His memories screamed otherwise — her throat, the crimson stain, the finality of her death. And yet, here she was, kneeling, gentle, unbroken.
Every instinct told him to recoil, to test her, to lash out — but his frail body refused. Instead, he studied her, every movement, every gesture. Her care is real. She doesn't know… nothing. She truly thought I was just weak, sick. She never betrayed me…
Pain sharpened within him — not just from his body, but from the cruel irony of it all. The only person who had ever truly cared for him, the one light in his dark, had been resurrected, yes, but now offered as a tool in Sebastian's careful game. And I cannot even move. I cannot even protect her yet…
He caught the faint metallic tang in the water she handed him and flinched. Memories of poison flashed in his mind, but the taste did nothing to harm him now. Instead, it reminded him that even kindness could hide danger — a lesson he had learned too well.
He's crafting them. He's shaping the pieces, Lucian thought. He doesn't know what's coming… but I see it.
Sebastian crouched a few steps away, assessing Lucian carefully, smiling as if proud. "See, little brother? You're safe now. She'll tend to you. You can rest, and grow stronger — and I'll be here for you, always."
Lucian's gray eyes burned, stormy and unblinking. He did not respond. The shadows twitched faintly around him, sensing his emotions but restrained by the frailty of his body. He wanted to lash out, to dominate, to crush — but the vessel was too weak. Every motion would drain him, every exertion leave him vulnerable. Patience was required. Observation. Strategy.
Isolde adjusted a blanket around him and offered a small, nervous smile. "I'll stay near, Prince Lucian. You're not alone anymore."
Lucian pressed his lips together, forcing calm, but inside, a storm churned. Not alone… but under his watchful eyes, still a pawn. I see it, I see everything. And one day…
The shadows recoiled softly as fatigue overtook him. His eyelids drooped. Still, beneath the exhaustion, the fire remained. Patience. Observation. Strategy.
Once Sebastian left the room, Lucian allowed himself to breathe in private. He pushed a hand to the floor, summoning faint tendrils of shadow. They responded slowly, clumsy, weak — but alive. Every movement cost him energy, leaving limbs trembling and chest burning. The sensations were intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
A piece of lint moved across the floor. He tried to lift it fully into the air, and his body shuddered violently under the strain. Pain lanced through his arms and legs. He fell onto his side, gasping, but the shadows persisted briefly, curling around the lint as if mocking him. He allowed a small, grim smile.
Patience…
Every flicker of failure taught him more than success could. Every ache, every tremor, every exhausting attempt strengthened his mind. The shadows were hungry, eager, but he could not yet wield them fully. They whispered reminders: Your body is weak. You must conserve your strength. You must endure.
Lucian observed Isolde closely, cataloging every gesture, every subtle glance, every tiny sign of hesitation or fear. She seemed genuine, compassionate — but he could see, even at ten years old, that she was part of Sebastian's careful orchestration. He would not be deceived. Every kindness, every act of care, was another piece of the larger puzzle.
And yet, another part of him stirred — grief, longing, a hollow ache at seeing her alive. She truly cared for me once… and still does. I cannot allow that to cloud me. I must endure. I must watch, and wait.
Sebastian's manipulation was subtle but methodical: the smile, the attentiveness, the "protection" that masked control. Lucian's adult mind recognized it instantly, and even in his weakness, he began forming strategies, mentally preparing for the day when he could act.
By nightfall, Lucian lay on the small bed in the corner, shadows barely flickering at his sides. His body was exhausted, trembling from even minor use of his power. Yet his mind was wide awake, analyzing, planning, remembering.
He traced the faint memory of poison on his tongue, the lingering taste of betrayal and manipulation, the careful orchestration of Sebastian's charm. I will endure. I will grow. And one day…
The shadows curled protectively around him, sensing the promise in his resolve. Patience would be his weapon. Observation his shield. Strategy his ally.
Sebastian had no idea what was coming.
And the boy lying frail in the corner was already more dangerous than anyone could imagine.