The sun had barely begun to crawl over the neon-lit horizon when Lucian opened his eyes.
He didn't wake with the sluggishness of a man recovering from a three-day coma, he woke with a start, his senses flaring like a predator sensing a shift in the wind.
It was the instinct or rather a habit of his, the part of his soul that had survived forty five years in a laboratory.
Even without his permission, his consciousness expanded, mapping the mana-currents that pulsed through the Thorne mansion.
He could feel the hum of the high-security barrier at the perimeter, the steady flow of energy powering the climate control, and the faint, rhythmic footsteps of the staff in the kitchens below.
To his ears, the entire house was a living, breathing web of energy, and he was the spider at its center.
'Too loud,' he thought, sitting up and rubbing his temples. 'Even the silence here has a frequency.'
A soft click echoad at the door, it slid open, revealing Hans. The butler looked as though he hadn't slept at all, yet his suit was impeccably pressed.
"Good morning, Young Master." Hans said, his voice carrying a dry, professional edge.
"The Marquis has sent a message. He finds the presence of the returned engagement crates in the secondary bay to be a stain on the morning view. He expects them to be removed by noon."
Lucian stood up, his legs feeling significantly steadier than they had in the hospital.
"Removed to where?"
"He didn't specify," Hans replied, adjusting his glasses. "I believe his exact words were to throw the trash where it belongs."
Lucian began to dress, choosing simple, dark clothes that lacked the garish embroidery the previous owner had favored.
"Then we shall see to it."
As they walked through the wide, sun-drenched corridors of the mansion, Lucian sifted through the fragmented memories of the 'old' Lucian Thorne. He saw a man who was loud, violent, and utterly self-destructive. He saw a man who threw expensive crystal against the wall when he didn't get his way.
But there was a strange inconsistency in those memories.
While the previous Lucian had been a tyrant to the servants and a nightmare to his father, he had never once raised a hand against his siblings.
He had screamed at Michael and sneered at Silas, but the violence was always directed at inanimate objects.
There was a weird, distorted sense of loyalty buried deep under the wreckage of his character.
As they approached the grand staircase, a small figure appeared from a side door.
It was a girl, no more than ten years old, with soft curls and eyes that were a much brighter version of the Thorne grey.
Lily Thorne. She held a small, holographic tablet for her studies, but her focus was entirely on the man walking toward her.
Lucian stopped. In his memories, he saw this child often. The previous Lucian would stomp past her, his face red with wine-fueled rage, but he would never yell at her.
He would simply ignore her, as if he were afraid that his own darkness might smudge her innocence.
Lily bit her lip, looking at his bandaged hand and then up at his face. She didn't run away, but she stayed a few steps back, her fingers clutching her tablet tightly.
"Are you... are you angry again, Brother?" she asked. Her voice was sweet and high, carrying a hint of discomfort but none of the terror the servants felt.
Lucian looked down at her. He felt a strange, phantom sensation, a lingering echo of the original Lucian's protective instinct.
He realized that this child was likely the only person in this house who didn't look at him with active hatred.
"No," Lucian said. He realized his voice was too cold, so he softened it slightly. "I am just going to move some boxes."
Lily's eyes widened slightly at the lack of a sharp retort. She looked at Hans, who remained a silent observer, and then back at Lucian.
"You look different. You aren't red anymore."
"I stopped drinking," Lucian replied simply.
He didn't wait for her to process that information.
He began to walk again, but as he passed her, he paused for a fraction of a second. He didn't pat her head, that would be too much work but he didn't ignore her either.
"Go back to your studies, Lily. The world is noisy enough without you worrying about me."
He left her standing there, a confused but curious expression on her young face.
When they reached the transport bay, the twelve crates were stacked in a neat, mocking row.
They were filled with rare mana-stones, enchanted jewelry, and artifacts that could power a small hunter guild for a year. It was a fortune born of obsession.
"Hans," Lucian said, looking at the wealth with the boredom of a man who had seen empires rise and fall. "I want these gone. But not in the incinerator."
"What are your orders, Young Master?"
"Liquidate everything. Use a third-party broker, someone who doesn't care about the Thorne name. I want the credits moved into a private account, one that my father cannot track. Tell them I am willing to take a twenty percent hit on the value for a quick, quiet sale."
Hans paused, his eyebrows rising behind his spectacles. "You want to sell the engagement gifts? The Marquis said—"
"The Marquis said they were trash. I am simply recycling," Lucian interrupted. "A piece of trash like me needs a retirement fund, doesn't he? Half an allowance won't cover the quiet life I intend to lead."
Hans looked at the crates and then at Lucian. He saw a man who wasn't mourning a lost love, but a man who was efficiently stripping his past for parts.
"I shall begin the process immediately," Hans said, a new note of respect creeping into his tone.
Left alone in the bay for a moment, Lucian walked to the far wall. He placed his hand against the cold tile walls, feeling the massive mana-engine of the mansion humming deep beneath his feet. He allowed a tiny, microscopic fraction of his soul to lean against the mansion's energy.
The air in the bay suddenly thickened. The lights flickered, and the holographic security grid nearby let out a frantic, digital shriek before going dark.
Lucian immediately withdrew. He felt the raw, terrifying dominance of his first life's power, the hybrid beast that didn't just use mana, but devoured it. If he ever truly let it out, this entire high-tech fortress would be reduced to a pile of scrap metal and glass within seconds.
'I must be careful,' he thought, his breath hitching. 'Power is a magnet for trouble. If they find out I can do this, they will try to make me a hero or a weapon again.'
He tucked his hands into his pockets and walked back toward the main house. He didn't want to be a weapon. He didn't even want to be a Thorne.
He just wanted a room that was quiet, a bed that was warm, and a world that would finally leave him alone.
He would sell the jewelry, keep his head down, and play the role of the disgraced, empty shell of a man. It was the perfect disguise for a monster who just wanted to sleep.