Water poured down onto the streets from the different rooftops, creating small streams that wound along the stone. Flowers and leaves bent under the weight of the heavy droplets, trembling with each hit.
In an open room, a man knelt on the ground, drawing heavy breaths.
His skin was pale, drained of almost all his blood. A thin stream of red traced along the scar on his cheek before dripping to the floor.
"Kael... Kael..."
He murmured the single name under his breath.
"Kael... Kael Sinclaire."
Even as pain surged through his body and his thoughts were in shambles, one name rose again and again in his mind.
Lucian had fought countless battles, some within the fighting club under tight supervision, but even more on the battlefield with his life on the line.
He had faced so many that the memories had blurred together, making the many battles indistinguishable from each other.
"I let my guard down."
A smile slowly crept across his lips the more he let his thoughts wander.
He had crushed, slashed, and broken his opponents, one after another. And with time, he had started to grow arrogant.
And why wouldn't he?
Everyone he had ever fought had fallen to his fists.
But that arrogance had finally caught up with him.
He had let his burning passion for battle dull his critical thinking. Without hesitation, he had leapt through that window, straight into Kael's trap.
And it had nearly cost him his life.
That was a truth even Luminaires often forgot.
Their bodies may be cleansed and strengthened at awakening, but their skin was not much tougher than that of a mortal's. Without any form of defensive technique, a Luminaire could still be killed by a simple blade. Even by mortal hands.
Luminaires didn't shine because of their bodies.
No, what set them apart—what made them feared—were the countless motes they could call upon, making them powerful and unpredictable.
"Ahahaha."
A near-maniacal laugh echoed through the building.
The few mortals still present turned pale, frozen in place as the sound bounced through the walls.
"This is good, Kael!"
Lucian's eyes gleamed with something unhinged.
"Yes... this is good. I almost lost my spark."
He rose to his feet, arms limp at his sides.
Blood still ran, but the flow had slowed.
"I'll get you," he growled, grinning wide. "Just fucking wait, Kael."
Then, without warning, the air shifted.
It turned heavy. Unnaturally so.
Lucian dropped to one knee as if the weight of a mountain had been dropped onto his shoulders. His limbs trembled. It felt like gravity itself had multiplied tenfold.
Around him, the mortals did not even have time to understand what was happening.
They collapsed one after another, eyes rolling back, falling like puppets with their strings cut.
Lucian's breath caught.
His lungs refused to expand. Cold sweat beaded and rolled down his face.
Outside the shattered window, a lone figure floated in the rain-soaked sky.
He hovered in silence, unmoved by the chaos beneath him. His deep blue eyes swept across the ruined buildings, the splintered walls, the bloodied streets below. Dozens of bodies lay scattered across the stone, some still twitching. Most not.
He rose higher, ascending until he overlooked the full breadth of destruction. Destruction born from Lucian's reckless clash.
The streets were painted in red. Pools of blood had merged with the falling rain, forming rivers between the cobblestones.
Those lucky enough to survive ran in every direction.
Some shouted for loved ones beneath rubble.
Some dug bare-handed through debris.
Others simply sat, backs pressed against broken walls, staring at nothing.
Frozen. Empty.
And above them all, watching without a word, was power incarnate.
A rank five Luminaire had arrived.
He hovered above the street for a long moment before he began his descent.
Slowly, he drifted down through the rain, gliding toward one of the shattered windows.
Without a sound, he passed inside.
Lucian stood frozen, eyes fixed on the floor.
He didn't move.
Couldn't.
His body felt carved from stone.
A drop of sweat slid down his pale cheek as he swallowed, then forced himself to speak.
"Lord Vael, how are—"
He never finished.
In an instant, the pressure returned, far greater than before. The weight crashed down on him like a collapsing world. The air itself pressed in with impossible force.
Lucian's body slammed into the ground.
It sounded like stone being shattered beneath an iron hammer.
The floor cracked beneath him. His ribs groaned under the pressure.
Wounds that had begun to close tore open again. Bones creaked and flesh strained.
The earlier pressure could have been considered mercy compared to what crushed him now.
"Do not speak until spoken to, Lucian."
The voice echoed through the open room, deep and calm.
There was no rage in it.
Yet Lucian felt like he might choke on his own heartbeat.
"Now. Explain yourself."
The words were simple, but the message was clear:
Choose your next words carefully.
The weight eased.
Lucian gasped for breath, trembling as his lungs finally remembered how to work.
He braced himself, then slowly lifted his gaze.
And just like that, his heart dropped all over again.
He had hoped—somehow, irrationally—that it was someone else.
But there was no room for doubt.
Hovering above the ground was a man with arms crossed and presence absolute.
His hair was short and slicked back, perfectly groomed. His eyes, a deep, piercing blue, looked down at Lucian like twin blades made of judgment.
He wore a tailored dress uniform so dark it was nearly black, touched with subtle blue threading. Draped over one shoulder hung a half-cape of deep crimson, the Valthorne family crest stitched into it.
Rank Five.
Valthorne's family head, Lord Vael himself.
"I can explain, please, just let me—"
Vael did not respond.
But Lucian felt it.
The weight began to build again.
Then came the voice, still low, but with steel beneath it.
"You do realize how tense the public is right now, Lucian."
"Of course I know—"
He choked on the words before they fully formed.
"Then why?"
The calm had cracked.
Vael's voice rose slightly, enough to cut through bone.
"Why did you go out and slaughter mortals without my permission?"
Lucian's mind fractured under the pressure.
Thoughts scrambled.
He spoke the first thing that surfaced.
"It was Aven!"
He almost shouted, voice laced with desperation.
"He begged me to kill Kael!"
The pressure lessened once more.
"Aven? Did Aven pay you to kill that rank one Luminaire you mentioned earlier?"
"Yes!"
Lucian burst out, his voice raw.
The relief of finally being understood loosened his tongue, if only for a moment.
Vael's next words fell like a blade.
"Then why am I currently looking at a rank three, sprawled out on the floor, with both arms rendered useless?"
Lucian froze.
His face drained of what little color remained.
"I… I underestimated him," he stammered, eyes wide. "I let myself get caught in his trap. I underestimated him. I underestimated him."
The words came out in fragments, as if saying them might soften the truth.
He stared at the ground, unable to lift his eyes to meet Vael's.
A long silence stretched across the room.
Nothing moved.
Nothing dared.
Then a single word could be heard.
"Pathetic."
The weight vanished from Lucian's body.
He collapsed forward, gasping, hands limp at his sides.
He stayed there for a long time before finally raising his head.
The space in front of him was empty.
Only shards of broken glass remained scattered across the floor.
White curtains fluttered in the wind.
Rain spilled in through the shattered window, tapping softly against the wooden floor.
Lord Vael was gone.
—
Far away, a single body lay battered on the street.
Rain washed over him, drawing out the blood from his wounds, painting thin rivers of crimson that snaked down the cobblestones.
Yet the people walked on.
Their feet stepped through the red water without pause.
They moved around him without thought, without question, subconsciously avoiding the body as if he wasn't there at all.
As if their minds refused to acknowledge him.
Kael stared up into the gray sky, unfazed by the raindrops crashing against his face.
His hand pressed tightly over his abdomen, breath shallow but steady.
'220 thousand thoughts used… but I had no choice.'
This was the closest Kael had come to death in a long time.
He had set a rule for himself long ago: never let his thoughts drop below 100 thousand.
Now he was sitting at 30. Out of his usual 250 thousand.
He lifted his hand, staring at the blood smeared across his palm.
'I should have been more careful.'
Even with the streets growing more unstable by the day, he had still insisted on walking through the market to search for the ingredient.
He let out a quiet chuckle.
'I let greed get the better of me, didn't I?'
Still, not everything had been a loss.
'I was forced to activate my rank two mote twice. It cost me more than 200 thousand thoughts, but now I know… a rank three without a sensory mote couldn't even find me once it was activated.'
He pressed himself up with both arms, his body trembling under its own weight. A strained groan escaped his lips as he rose.
Turning his head, he glanced down both ends of the street. Then, without pause, he chose one and began walking, his steps slow and heavy.
His hand remained pressed tightly against his abdomen, as if holding himself together.