The screen flickered with the seal of the International Hunter Association. A crowd of reporters filled the hall, flashes of cameras painting the marble floor in white bursts of light.
The President of the Russian Hunter Association stood before the podium, his expression somber.
"First, I must offer our deepest apologies,"he began, his voice low but steady."The existence of the S-Class Rift should have been made public sooner. Its instability was underestimated. The consequences… were beyond anything we could have predicted."
Lucien watched from his room, the blue light of his tablet reflecting across his face. His body still ached faintly, but the healer's work had erased every visible wound. On the screen, the President continued:
"Without the intervention of the guilds Aegis, Tian Chao, Redstar, and Blades of Lyon, this would have been a lot more worse.The System's warning was clear... the Shard was on the verge of merging with our reality. Their sacrifice prevented an irreversible catastrophe."
In another room, Mira sat with Renan, the same broadcast displayed across the wide holo-screen of her office. The atmosphere was heavy but calm as they were watching.
Renan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "At least they're admitting it now," he muttered. Mira didn't respond, her eyes remained locked on the broadcast.
Then, a familiar figure appeared at the podium.A tall man with short, white hair, his right sleeve pinned where an arm should have been. His name echoed through the room as the reporters began to murmur...Dimitriev, Guildmaster of Redstar.
He stepped up to the microphone, his voice rough but resonant.
"I have no speech prepared," he said."I only have a message."
He paused, scanning the room, his gaze hard enough to silence the crowd.
"Train. Get stronger.""For fifty years, the world treated the Rifts as resources as markets, as profit.""We stopped being heroes. We became merchants, scavengers, and killers for hire."
He raised his left hand, the only one he had left.
"That time is over.""The world is changing again. And this time… we either rise as hunters... or fall as prey."
The silence that followed was almost sacred. Then came the applause, not loud or triumphant, but deep, from the heart.
Mira smiled faintly, her reflection shimmering in the glass window beside her."Finally," she whispered. "Someone said it."
Across the manor, Lucien smiled as well. There was something in Dimitriev's words that resonated deep within him, a weight, a purpose that felt too familiar to ignore.
A knock broke the moment.
Knock. Knock.
Lucien turned his head. "Come in."
The door opened, and Mr. Roger stepped inside, carrying a silver tray with a glass of water.
"You're awake," he said softly, a rare smile showing on his face. "How are you feeling?"
Lucien set down his tablet and nodded. "Better. Much better."
Roger placed the tray on the nightstand. "Good. You had us worried." He hesitated for a moment, then added,"Mademoiselle Mira would like to see you in her office. When you're ready, of course."
Lucien tilted his head slightly. "Did she say what for?"
Roger smiled faintly. "She didn't need to. You'll understand when you see her."
As Roger left, Lucien stood, stretching his shoulders. He looked once more at the dark screen of his tablet, Dimitriev's last words still echoing in his mind.
Train. Get stronger.
Lucien reached for his sword belt resting by the bedside. His reflection in the window stared back: calm, resolute, yet hiding something old in its depths. A promise... a creed of steel.
He fastened the belt, exhaled slowly, and stepped out of his room.
Lucien knocked softly on the door before stepping inside.
Mira's office was dimly lit, the only light came from the late afternoon sun filtering through the high window. Renan was standing near the window, arms folded, while Mira sat behind her desk, her eyes calm but unreadable.
Lucien gave a slight bow. "Mira. Renan."
His gaze fell immediately on the severed arm resting atop the desk, wrapped in cloth except for one part with the symbol burned into the flesh.
Mira broke the silence first."First of all… thank you."Her voice was steady but sincere. "For protecting the manor while I was gone. And for defending the city during the Breakout."
Lucien said nothing, only nodded once.
Mira exhaled softly and looked down at the arm again. "This mark… on his arm. You know what it is, don't you?"
Lucien's eyes darkened. "Of course."
He reached up and pulled at the collar of his shirt, revealing the same symbol, branded deep into his skin, right over his heart.
"This," he said, his tone firm, "is the sigil of the Templars of Jerusalem."
Renan frowned, confused. Mira leaned back slightly, expression sharpening."Jerusalem?" she repeated. "That city hasn't existed for over a century. Not since the Dome appeared."
Lucien froze. The words struck him harder than any wound.
Jerusalem… gone?
The holy land he had sworn to defend was erased from the map, swallowed by time and history.
He lowered his head, his hands trembling slightly. "What… what happened to it?"
The sudden edge in his voice caught both Mira and Renan off guard. They exchanged a glance, uncertain whether this was anger or heartbreak.
Mira straightened, her eyes locking onto his. For the first time, she saw it... not madness, not delusion, but truth. His eyes burned red, not from rage alone, but from sadness also...
"You…" she whispered. "You really are a Templar, aren't you?"
Lucien didn't answer.
"What year were you born?" she asked quietly.
Lucien looked at her, his voice steady."The Year of Our Lord, 1274."
Renan's jaw dropped. "That's… that's impossible."
Mira placed a hand on her chin, thinking. "In this world, Renan, impossibility doesn't exist anymore. If monsters can walk through rifts in space… perhaps a man can too." She turned her gaze back to Lucien. "Very well. Let's say you are a Templar from another age. Then tell me... why does he bear your mark?"
Lucien lowered his eyes, his voice quieter now."I don't know. I truly don't. That mark… it isn't something that should appear on anyone outside the Order."
Mira's tone hardened. "And what does it mean, exactly? That symbol. Is it a crest for thieves? Assassins?"
Lucien's head snapped up."Thieves?! Assassins?!"
His voice thundered through the room, his aura flaring for a brief instant. "Do not insult my brothers, Mira! That mark is sacred. It's a vow, a promise..."
He stopped mid-sentence. His words faltered. His mind went blank.
A promise…A promise of what?
Lucien pressed a hand to his forehead. The memory, once vivid, slipped like sand through his fingers. He couldn't recall it. The faces, the words, the ceremony... all gone.
Mira's expression softened slightly. "A promise of what, Lucien?"
He looked lost. "I… I don't remember."
The silence that followed was heavy. Mira rose slowly from behind her desk, each step deliberate. When she stopped in front of him, she was so close he could feel the warmth of her breath.
Her eyes met his, emerald against crimson.
"Then let me tell you what that symbol means to me," she said, her tone trembling between fury and grief.
Lucien didn't move.
"To me, that mark," she continued, voice rising,"is the symbol of the men who killed my father. The men who murdered my mother. And the same ones who butchered my little brother in front of me."
She pointed at his chest, at the scarred symbol.
"That," she hissed, "is what your Templar mark represents to me."
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Lucien didn't respond. He stood frozen, the weight of her pain crushing him, the mark on his chest suddenly burning, as if reacting to her rage.
The silence stretched again, thick with something unspoken, sorrow, disbelief, and perhaps… the beginning of something neither of them yet understood.