The night hadn't ended—
it had only changed shape.
Lucien sat against the cracked marble wall of the abandoned cathedral, his breath shallow, his hands still trembling. The echo of her scream—the girl's—still lingered in his skull like a haunting melody he couldn't turn off.
The air smelled like ash and rain.
He looked down at his bloodstained palm. It was glowing faintly… gold, burning softly beneath his skin. Again.
He clenched his fist, trying to suppress it, but the fire pushed back—alive, aware.
"You shouldn't have saved me…"
Her voice came from behind the altar—soft, broken, but stubborn.
Elara.
She stepped forward, wrapped in a torn cloak that shimmered like woven starlight even in the darkness. Her eyes—pale silver—met his, full of questions she was too afraid to ask.
Lucien exhaled.
"I don't regret it."
"You will."
Her tone was cold, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her.
She looked down at her arm—where his touch had burned a pattern into her skin. The same sigil that glowed on his palm.
A mark.
They were connected now.
Lucien looked away, jaw tight. "You're marked by the Genome now. You can't go back."
"Then take it out of me."
"You think I haven't tried?" he snapped. "Every time I use it… it kills something inside me."
Silence.
Only the rain dared to speak between them.
Elara stepped closer, studying him through the haze. There was pain in his eyes—but also something else. Something that scared her more than the sigil burning on her arm.
Compassion.
"What are you?" she asked finally.
"A mistake," he said.
Her lips parted, but before she could reply, a low tremor shook the ground beneath them.
Lucien's head jerked up.
The cathedral windows shimmered—like glass breathing.
"They've found us."
A blinding light erupted through the door, shattering the wooden frame. Figures in crimson armor stepped in, their eyes glowing the same cursed gold as Lucien's palm.
Elara stumbled back, clutching her arm.
"Who are they?"
"Hunters," he said quietly.
"Then let's run!"
"No…" Lucien rose, his eyes now blazing. "They're here for me."
The air thickened. Power gathered around him—hot, furious, alive. The markings on his skin spread like veins of molten light.
Elara stared, frozen.
In that moment, he didn't look human.
He looked like something ancient—something born before mercy existed.
"Lucien!" she shouted.
"If I lose control—run," he said.
"And if you don't?"
"Then pray I don't remember what fire feels like."
The cathedral exploded into chaos.
The hunters lunged, blades flashing, but Lucien moved faster—flames spiraled from his hands, not red, but white, the kind that erases instead of burns.
He wasn't fighting them.
He was erasing them from existence.
When it was over, silence returned—cruel and heavy.
Lucien collapsed to his knees, smoke rising from his hands. Elara rushed forward, catching him before he fell completely.
"You saved me again," she whispered.
"Maybe that's what I was made for," he murmured.
"And what if saving me destroys you?"
He looked at her then, eyes dimming but voice steady.
"Then at least… I'll burn for something that feels real."
The last embers of his fire died in her arms.
But in that faint, glowing mark on her arm—
the fire remembered him.
And somewhere deep inside her…
it began to awaken.