Lumiére did not wake that morning.
It held its breath.
The inner districts buzzed with unease. Patrol routes were altered without explanation. Officials argued behind closed doors. Messengers ran where carriages once rolled calmly. Something had changed overnight, and no one could identify the source.
Lucien stood on the edge of a cathedral rooftop, watching the city below. From here, Lumiére looked immaculate—white stone, polished banners, order carved into architecture. But he could feel the fractures beneath it now. Kharos' blessing sharpened his awareness. Lies stood out like cracks in glass.
"They're panicking," Ombre said, crouched beside him, peering over the edge. "Quietly. That's my favorite kind."
Adrien leaned against a stone pillar, arms crossed. The city's weight pressed against him, but it no longer crushed him. For the first time, Valderia felt like something he could confront head-on. "They'll send elites next. Not patrols."
Malrick adjusted the straps of his mask, eyes fixed on the administrative quarter. "Already happening. Three senior officials convened at dawn. Emergency council. Lumara has been informed."
Lucien nodded slowly. "Good. Then we don't hide anymore."
They moved as one.
The administrative hall of Lumiére stood at the city's core—a structure older than most bloodlines, built to intimidate as much as govern. Guards lined the steps, elite enforcers this time, armor etched with glyphs meant to suppress rebellion.
They felt the four before they saw them.
A ripple passed through the guards. Formation tightened. Weapons were raised—but no command followed. Fear hesitated where authority should have spoken.
Lucien stepped forward openly.
Red hair uncovered.
Gasps spread instantly.
"De Vraille…" someone whispered.
Adrien felt it then—the shift. Recognition turning into disbelief. The boy who should not exist. The bloodline stain they pretended was erased.
"This is Lumiére jurisdiction," an official barked, forcing confidence into his voice. "State your purpose."
Lucien met his gaze. Calm. Absolute.
"To remind you," he said, "that Valderia was never yours alone."
The first attack came without warning.
A glyph flared. Suppression energy surged toward them.
Adrien stepped forward and shattered it with his bare hand.
The shockwave cracked stone. Guards were thrown back. Silence followed—heavy, suffocating.
Ombre laughed softly. Shadows twisted around the fallen enforcers, binding limbs, warping perception. They saw enemies where allies stood. Panic erupted.
Malrick moved last.
A single device rolled across the steps, releasing a controlled distortion field. No explosion. No sound. Just confusion—depth, distance, and balance rewritten. Enforcers collapsed, disoriented, vomiting, alive.
Lucien walked through it all untouched.
He stopped before the senior official who had spoken earlier. The man's authority drained from his face as Lucien's presence bore down on him—not violent, but undeniable.
"You ruled through silence," Lucien said. "Through fear disguised as order. That ends now."
"Y-you think four children can—"
Adrien slammed his foot down.
The stone beneath them fractured.
The official stopped speaking.
Lucien leaned closer. "This is mercy. Remember it."
He turned away.
No executions. No spectacle.
That was the message.
By nightfall, Lumiére was in chaos. Rumors spread faster than proclamations. The name **Lucien de Vraille** resurfaced after years of enforced absence. Whispers of a red-haired heir, a shadow manipulator, a monster of strength, and a masked scientist filled taverns and corridors alike.
High above the city, in chambers sealed by divine wards, Lordess Lumara stood at her balcony, gripping the stone railing.
"So," she murmured, eyes cold. "Kharos stirs."
Behind her, advisors waited in terrified silence.
"Prepare containment," she ordered. "And summon every asset we exiled."
Her gaze hardened.
"This time… no mistakes."