A man sprinted through the twilight alleys of the lower district, breath ripping from his lungs, boots slamming against stone.
Behind him, silence followed.
Not footsteps.Not breathing.Just silence.
He stumbled into a dead-end courtyard and spun, eyes wide and wild. "No. No no no! he wasn't supposed to be real!!"
A metal nail rolled across the ground toward him.
He froze.
The shadows behind the crates thickened… and then a shape stepped forward.
A black coat.Leather gloves.Boots that made no sound.And a mask of matte black steel, smooth, faceless, with three thin, crimson eye-slits carved into the surface. A single hairline crack ran across the left cheek, like someone had tried and failed to break it.
Ghostforge.
The mercenary's knees buckled. "Y-you're a myth. A story the underworld made up to scare idiots!!"
Ghostforge tilted his head.
He raised one gloved hand.
The sword at the mercenary's hip bent with a sickening whine, metal warping like warm wax. The man screamed and dropped it. The blade hit the ground twisted, useless, unrecognizable.
Ghostforge didn't speak.He walked.
The mercenary scrambled backward. "Please! please! we were just paid to hit the caravan, if we knew it was yours, if we knew..."
Ghostforge closed the distance in a heartbeat.
Not fast.Not flashy.
Just inevitable.
He caught the mercenary by the collar and slammed him into the wall hard enough to crack brick.
The man choked. "Wh-what… what are you…?"
Ghostforge's voice was quiet.Calm.Deadly.
"A reminder."
He dropped him.
The mercenary hit the dirt, coughing. He tried to crawl. Ghostforge flicked two fingers toward a discarded dagger. Steel shivered, lifted, and flew into his palm.
The man sobbed. "Please..don't.."
Ghostforge turned the dagger once, then drove it into the ground beside the mercenary's face. Stone split. Dust rained over his hair.
"You live," Ghostforge murmured.
The mercenary dared to look up.
"Run."
He did.
He bolted so fast he left his shoe behind, stumbling into the street, screaming at every corner to anyone who would hear:
"GHOSTFORGE! He's real! he's real! run!"
The echoes faded.
Ghostforge stood alone in the alley.
Metal scraps around him trembled faintly, as if pulled by the gravity of his presence. He ignored them.
He touched the edge of his mask.
Black steel folded silently, shrinking into a thin plate that vanished into the sleeve of his coat.
When the mask was gone, the alley seemed to breathe again.
Lucian stepped out of the shadows as if he had always belonged to the light.
He glanced once at the twisted sword on the ground, then at the path the mercenary fled.
"Ghostforge hunts again."
He adjusted his collar, wiped a smear of dust from his glove, and walked calmly back toward the main street, the heir's smile already sliding back into place.