The night air sliced cold against Lucien's skin as he crossed the marsh at supernatural speed. He barely felt the water splash beneath his boots—only the urgency pounding inside him like a second heart.
Lioren.
The priests had taken the villagers.
They had threatened to burn the place that once sheltered Elara.
And Lucien intended to make them regret every breath they ever took.
The moon glimmered behind thin clouds, lighting the path ahead. He moved silently, a shadow among shadows, never slowing even when the marsh sucked at his feet or tree branches clawed at his cloak.
But beneath the fury driving him forward…
there was something else.
A tug.
A heat.
A pulse inside his chest.
Elara.
Her mark beat through his veins like a distant drum, a reminder that their lives had been stitched together by an ancient force neither asked for. For centuries, Lucien had forgotten what it meant to feel anything beyond hunger and discipline.
But now…
He felt everything.
Too much.
As he raced toward the distant glow of fire on the horizon, he whispered into the cold night:
"I will return to you. I promised."
The village of Lioren was burning.
Not fully, not yet—but smoke curled from rooftops, and flames licked at the thatched edges of homes. Villagers were bound in the center square, tied to wooden posts with thick rope. Children huddled together, some crying, some silent with fear.
Lucien stopped at the tree line.
Three priests stood around the villagers, their crimson robes glowing under torchlight. The leader—the same one he had fought in the forest—paced slowly, tapping a staff against the mud.
"Bring out the boy," the priest ordered.
Two robed acolytes dragged Thalen's older brother forward. The young man struggled, but exhaustion had hollowed his face.
"No," Lucien muttered, fury igniting in his belly.
The lead priest raised his staff. "For each hour the Healer does not surrender herself, one villager will be offered to the god of blood."
A mother's scream pierced the silence.
Lucien stepped forward—but another priest suddenly stiffened, eyes narrowing toward the trees.
"He is here."
Lucien stilled.
Then he stepped fully into the torchlight.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The villagers shrank back instinctively.
The priests' lips curled in cruel satisfaction.
"Creature," the lead priest hissed. "Did you come to trade yourself for the child?"
Lucien's voice was ice. "No."
"Then why appear alone?" the priest mocked.
Lucien raised his chin slightly. "Because I only need one."
A ripple of confusion spread—until the ground cracked beneath Lucien's feet.
Shadow exploded outward—not like smoke, not like mist, but like living darkness responding to his command. It swallowed the space around him, twisting and curling like black wind.
The priests' smiles faltered.
Lucien stepped through the darkness as if it were simply another doorway.
"I will give you one chance," he said. "Release the villagers. Leave the marsh. And never speak her name again."
The lead priest laughed.
The others joined in.
The villagers trembled.
"You are bold," the priest said, "for a creature bound by cursed blood. Do you really believe you can fight all of us?"
A faint smile touched Lucien's lips.
"I don't need to fight all of you."
He vanished.
In an instant, he appeared behind the priest closest to the villagers and struck him hard across the back. The priest collapsed, gasping as Lucien ripped the staff from his hand.
Magic sparked along the wooden shaft—until Lucien broke it clean in half.
Two more priests attacked, chanting runes that spiraled toward him. Lucien dodged one gust of red flame, caught another with his bare hand, and hurled it back. It struck a priest square in the chest, knocking him into a burning cart.
The villagers stared, stunned.
The lead priest recovered quickly, fury twisting his features. "You insolent wretch. You cannot win."
Lucien bared his teeth. "I already have."
He moved with terrifying precision—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Every strike was calculated, every step measured. For centuries he had trained his body to obey without fail, and tonight that discipline cut through chaos like a sharpened blade.
But then—
The bond pulsed.
Hard.
Lucien staggered for half a second—just long enough for a priest behind him to chant a spell that wrapped around his throat like a chain of ice.
Lucien's knees buckled.
The lead priest smirked. "A bond of life is also a bond of weakness. If she feels fear… you falter."
Lucien clawed at the invisible chain, shadows crawling up his arms, but the magic constricted tighter.
Firelight reflected in the priest's cold eyes.
"You cannot protect her. You never could."
Lucien collapsed to one knee.
Pain shot down his chest—pain that wasn't his.
"Elara…" he breathed.
At the other side of the marsh, her mark must have flared in fear.
He forced himself upright.
"You will not touch her," Lucien growled through clenched teeth.
"You are bound," the priest spat. "You cannot win against the will of a god."
Lucien's anger snapped taut.
"I am not yours to command," he hissed.
Darkness pooled beneath him—deep, swirling, ancient.
His eyes ignited with crimson fire.
Shadow erupted from the ground, slashing through the mystical chain and sending the priests stumbling backward.
Lucien rose slowly, eyes glowing like embers.
"You made one mistake," he said.
"And what mistake is that?" the lead priest mocked.
"You threatened what I protect."
Shadow surged around Lucien, lifting debris, bending flames, warping the air itself.
The priests recoiled.
The villagers watched as if witnessing a myth awaken.
Lucien stepped forward, voice as cold as winter:
"I am not bound by your god."
Shadow whipped through the square, striking the acolytes and shattering the runes carved into their skin.
The lead priest snarled, raising his staff to summon a final blast of magic—
But Lucien was faster.
He seized the priest's wrist, twisting until bone cracked.
The priest screamed and dropped the staff.
Lucien leaned closer, his voice a whisper of death:
"You never deserved her name on your lips."
Then he threw the priest across the square.
Silence fell—broken only by crackling fire.
Lucien turned to the villagers.
"You're free."
They rushed to untie one another, some sobbing, some praying, some simply staring at Lucien with awe or fear.
Thalen fell to his knees in relief.
Lucien didn't linger.
He staggered once—just once—before steadying himself.
The bond pulsed again, softer this time.
Elara.
She was alive.
He turned toward the marsh.
"Hold on," he whispered. "I'm coming back."