________________
Arc 1 - Blind Faith
Blind Faith - Dust and Marble.
Written by - Ellien S. Vorein
________________
The man rose from his chair and slipped on his golden rings.He smelt rich — like perfume and power.
"I'm going to get some air," he said, buttoning his coat. "Excuse me, I react poorly to smoke."
She bowed her head."Yes, my lord. I apologise."
He descended the marble stairs, surrounded by light — luxury carved into every inch of the house.Brick and metal. No wood anywhere.Nothing that could burn.
Outside, a man brushed past him by accident.The rich man turned, eyes narrowing, and shoved the passer-by to the ground.
The man on the ground scrambled up, muttering an apology.His clothes were torn, his face unshaven.There was no light in his eyes.
The rich one sneered."You are filth."The words came like poison."You really think an Abyntian like you belongs in Landros?"He spoke with disgust so sharp it almost sounded like nausea."You're nothing more than a curse. A leech. Absolute dirt."
He said it while gripping the man's hair, forcing his head upward.The poor man trembled. "I'm sorry…"The rich man leaned down, voice sharp enough to cut the air."Sorry? You're nothing more than scum."
The beggar's gaze fell to the marble beneath him.His reflection looked faint — half erased.
Then a shadow passed over them.Wind pressed softly against the buildings.Something was descending.
A voice came from above — calm, deep, unshakable."Is that any way to treat your people…?"
The wind stopped.The rich man's coat flickered from the sudden breeze as dust lifted from the street.He looked up — and froze.
A man was floating down from the sky.His white cloak twisted in the current, flowing like silk over a frame built with impossible precision.Beneath it, his suit was pure black — a seamless compression weave that ran from his neck to his boots.
The fabric clung to him without flaw, tracing the clean geometry of a body engineered for order.Every muscle moved with quiet discipline — deltoids rounding into triceps, triceps into forearms etched with control.His chest held the perfect breadth of proportion, sculpted through balance rather than force.Each fibre beneath the suit moved like clockwork — abs aligned in perfect rhythm, his breathing a steady cycle of command and calm.His waist narrowed into the strength of his stance; his quads drew tight beneath the fabric, every contour measured.The hamstrings behind them coiled like tempered steel, holding him in that impossible poise.Even his calves carried a sculpted symmetry — strength without excess, grace without fragility.Every inch of him obeyed gravity differently.
His hair was short, black, and perfectly kept.His eyes — calm, yet burning with an almost human passion.
The white cloak settled softly behind him as he landed, a single flare of dust rising around his boots.The air shifted. Windows along the street creaked faintly — not from force, but from recognition.
Somewhere below, a child dropped her basket. For a heartbeat, she thought a star had landed.
The scent that followed him was fresh and aquatic — crisp, clean, and impossible to mistake.
The rich one's expression shifted.His hand dropped from the beggar's hair."…Lucan."
Lucan's eyes met his."Zack."
Lucan turned to the man on the ground."You're safe now, citizen."
The Abyntian looked up, dazed.Lucan smiled — gentle, reassuring."Go home. I'll make sure Landros becomes a city for the kind."
As the man stumbled away, Zack watched silently.After a moment, he said, "What are you doing here… in Landros of all places?"
Lucan's gaze softened. "Do I need a reason?"Zack chuckled. "You? Probably not."
Lucan looked toward the city below."A world where everyone's equal," he said quietly. "No matter their race.Humans, Asterions, Elves, Mages, Abyss — I don't care who you are, or where you stand.
"In my ideal world," he continued, "everyone is equal.In ten years, in a hundred, in a thousand — even a million.As long as I stand, I'll make that world come."
As Lucan spoke, the clouds above them began to part.The wind softened, carrying the faint scent of rain and stone.Moonlight spilled through the break. Silver light found him.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic.It was gentle — like the world itself was listening.The light traced the edges of his white cloak and black suit, outlining him in quiet radiance.For that one still moment, it almost felt as though even the heavens agreed —that this man truly was the symbol of hope.
Zack clapped his hands three times.The sound echoed down the marble street."An ideal world?" he said, almost amused, a small laugh under his breath."With them?"
His grin sharpened."The Abynts?"He laughed again — quiet at first, then louder, like the thought itself was ridiculous."I really forgot how delusional you Guardians are."
His voice carried a kind of charm to it, but the words bled with disdain.He turned slightly, watching the direction the poor man had fled."Equality with that?"
Lucan didn't flinch.He just listened — calm, steady, patient — like someone who'd already heard this a thousand times before.
When Zack finally stopped laughing, the silence lingered.Only the faint hum of the city remained — lanterns flickering, distant carriages moving through the marble streets.
Lucan tilted his head slightly."Zack," he said, his tone as even as the night air.
Zack raised a brow. "Hm?""Wanna go for a walk?"
The question was so casual, so unexpectedly gentle, that for a moment Zack almost smiled.He let out a short breath through his nose."…Sure."
Lucan turned, hands clasped behind his back, and began walking down the empty street.Zack followed beside him — the white of the cloak and the gold of the rings catching the moonlight together as they moved.
Zack said the word "sure".They began to walk.
And then —
The sound of footsteps vanished.The marble street was gone.The world flickered for less than a blink.
When Zack lifted his head, he was back inside his room.The chandelier above swayed gently, as if it had never stopped moving.The faint smell of perfume and smoke still hung in the air.
The lady sat where she had before, her eyes wide, the cigarette trembling between her fingers.She bowed her head quickly."Welcome back, my lord," she said softly.
Lucan was already there.Standing near the window, white cloak still settling from motion too fast for the world to follow.
Zack froze, his breath caught."Lucan… what did you do?"
Lucan didn't answer.His face was calm — composed, stern, not a trace of effort left on him.
"Is this you threatening me?" Zack asked.His voice wasn't shaken, only edged with that careful mix of disbelief and grudging respect.
Lucan turned slightly, the moonlight outlining the sharp precision of his features."Threaten you?" he said quietly. "No."He looked toward the chandelier — its light reflecting faintly off his eyes."How about we speak levs?"
Zack froze.For the first time, his smirk faltered."I beg your pardon?" he said slowly, disbelief creeping into his tone.
He leaned forward, studying Lucan as if he'd misheard."Is the Guardian of Velronia… trying to bribe me?"
Lucan didn't blink.His gaze remained calm, unwavering.
The room fell silent.
The lady hesitated, her voice small and trembling."My lord —"
"Shut up," Zack snapped, turning sharply towards her."I don't remember talking to you… wench."
The word cracked through the air like glass breaking.Her head lowered instantly, the faint smell of smoke curling from the half-lit cigarette still trembling between her fingers.Her pulse rang in her ears.
Lucan's eyes shifted slightly — not pity, not anger, just quiet observation.He took a step forward, his tone still perfectly even."Zack," he said. "That won't be necessary."
Lucan looked at the lady.He didn't speak. He didn't need to.Just one glance — calm, composed, warm — was enough to steady her trembling hands.There was something in his eyes that carried reassurance without sound, as if the very act of being seen by him promised safety.
Her breath slowed. The cigarette dimmed between her fingers.
Zack scoffed quietly, leaning back against his chair."I forgot how much of a ladies' man you are."He chuckled faintly, half a laugh, half bitterness.He smirked, tapping a finger against the glass table."A world where everyone's equal," he muttered under his breath, "even them…"
He said it softly — low enough to sound like nothing, but not low enough to escape Lucan's hearing.Lucan's gaze didn't shift. He heard every word.But his expression remained the same — tranquil, unreadable, almost kind.
Zack exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair."Fine," he said at last, his voice edged with irritation."How much are you willing to pay?"
Lucan took a step closer.He didn't speak.His footsteps were soft — measured — like a rhythm the world didn't dare interrupt.
Zack's fingers tapped impatiently against the table."Well?" he asked, his voice sharp. "Tell me."
Lucan kept walking.Slowly.Each step quieter than the last.The light from the chandelier traced faint reflections along the black of his suit, the white cloak trailing softly behind him.
Zack's grin faded."Lucan…" he said, his tone half-question, half-warning.
Lucan didn't answer.He just kept walking — slower, and slower — until the space between them felt thinner than air.
The silence wasn't empty. It was heavy — as if the walls themselves were waiting for permission to breathe.The air in the room grew still.Zack could hear nothing — not the crackle of the chandelier, not the faint hum of the city outside.Only his own heartbeat.
Sweat slid down his temple.Lucan's face stayed unreadable — serious, focused, carved from stone.
Zack flinched, breath hitching. He expected a blow, a word, something.Instead, Lucan finally spoke."Five million levs."
Zack blinked. "Five… million?"Lucan nodded once.
Zack swallowed hard, forcing a crooked smile. "I see… here's the form, then."He turned behind his chair, muttering something under his breath as his hand reached for the metal pole propped against the wall."Just… sign this," he said.
And with one sudden swing, he drove the pole straight towards Lucan's face.
The sound cracked like thunder.The metal shattered on impact — fragments scattering across the marble floor.
Lucan didn't move.Didn't even blink.
The broken piece of metal fell from Zack's hands.Lucan tilted his head slightly, his voice calm."Now, that wasn't necessary, was it?"
He straightened his cloak, eyes still locked on Zack's."Yes," he said quietly. "Five million levs."
Zack's shoulders loosened just enough to pretend control."All right… fine," he said, voice raw with forced composure."Five million — for what?"
Lucan stepped back as if counting the air between them, each movement precise and patient."For your kindness," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "to everyone. Even the lady you called a wench."
At that, the woman in the corner blinked. Colour rushed into her cheeks until her face went cherry; she straightened as if the words themselves had set her upright. Tears — or maybe relief — trembled at the edge of her eyes.
Zack's smile cracked. Shock took over the practised arrogance."You… you really mean it? Your dream, huh…" His voice trailed, half-mocking, half-afraid of how sincere the answer was.
Lucan turned toward the door. His cloak whispered as he moved. For a breath, the room felt thinner — like the space had been rearranged by his passing.He paused with a hand on the handle, looking back once, not with anger but with that calm conviction that had filled the night."I will do anything to make that dream come true," he said.
Zack muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing slightly."Astreions… so stubborn."His voice cracked halfway through the word, though he'd never admit it.
As the door closed behind him, the chandelier flickered once —and for a moment, Lucan's reflection on the marble floor looked darker than he was.
The lady finally exhaled.Her cigarette had gone out. She hadn't even noticed.Then Lucan was gone.
The click of the door lingered longer than it should have, and for a while the house itself seemed to exhale — the silence stretching just a little too long.
Zack turned slowly.The woman still sat there — trembling, but smiling faintly, as if some hidden weight had finally lifted.He noticed.
"What are you smiling at?"His voice was quiet. Too quiet.
She flinched, fumbling with her hands."Nothing, my lord."
Zack stepped forward. Each footfall landed heavier than the last."You smiled at another man," he hissed. "You wench. You cheater. You parasite."His voice cracked with fury."How dare you. I gave you money — everything — to get you out of that dirt of a village."He kept walking closer, the words breaking with anger."I saved you from the gutters, from those streets. You'd still be eating in piles of shit if it wasn't for me."He towered over her now."How dare you smile at him."
His hand shot forward, gripping her long black ponytail.Silence.Then — the crack of wood and skull.
She cried out, squirming as splinters bit into her skin."I'm sorry, my lord… I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
He leaned over her, his face twisting."You stupid bitch. I hate you."
She covered her head, bracing for another blow."My lord…"
Blood poured from her face — hot, sudden, alive.But the blood she saw drip wasn't hers.
She froze.Her hand shook.Her chest tightened.Her lungs forgot what breathing felt like.She was too frightened to look up.
A drop hit the marble floor beside her foot.Then another.Then silence.
Slowly — against every instinct — she raised her head.The man in front of her was still standing — only… wrong.From the waist up, there was nothing.His torso was gone.
Only his legs remained — shaking once before they toppled to the marble floor.A wet splatter echoed through the room — thick, heavy, like paint thrown against brick.
As she looked around, the walls wore a fresh coat of red.It spread so fast, so violently, it was as if the world itself couldn't keep up with what had just happened.
The colour reached her too.Her white dress — once spotless — was no longer white.It had turned a deep, uneven pink, the fabric soaked through where the blood had kissed it.It clung to her knees, warm and wet, merging her into the same red that painted the walls.For a moment, it was impossible to tell where she ended and the ruin began.
Beside the fallen legs lay a single gold coin, catching the chandelier's faintest light.
The woman's lips trembled."My lord…" she whispered.Then again, weaker. "My lord…"
Her throat seized. A thin, wet cough broke from her chest — and she vomited, just a little.Mostly spit, mostly nothing — her body rejecting the moment before her mind could even register it.The sound was small, pathetic, human.
She wiped her mouth with a shaking hand, her breath uneven, every inhale jagged with disbelief.Her voice cracked — the words tasting bitter on her tongue.She lowered her gaze, tears shaking off her lashes.
"…Why did I call you that?" she muttered, teeth gritting.Her breath stuttered. "You detestable… scumbag."
She exhaled a shaky half-laugh — broken, small, unrecognisable.It wasn't amusement. It wasn't madness.It was the kind of sound that slipped out when the mind could no longer decide what emotion was left to feel.
Her hand trembled as she pulled a cigarette from the crushed packet beside the tray.She lit it with shaking fingers; the flame flickered twice before catching.The fumes lifted into the air, twisting like ghosts above the blood-slick marble.
She tried to bring it to her lips — missed once, twice — her hands shaking too hard to aim.When she finally inhaled, her tongue caught the taste of ash.It stung. Bitter. Acrid. Real.She flinched as the tip burned her finger, but she didn't stop.
A gust of wind filled the room — cold, sudden — though no windows were open.It brushed the curtains gently, swayed the chandelier, and died as quickly as it came.
For a while, there was nothing — just the sound of her uneven breath, the faint hiss of the cigarette, and the slow drip of blood painting the silence.
The chandelier swayed once more.The coin flickered — then went still.
And the world continued —as garbage was disposed of,and nothing had happened.