The city hadn't changed.
Still carved in marble and hypocrisy. Still cloaked in red banners and white lies. But Lucan had changed.
He stood beneath the grand cathedral—once a temple of sermons, now a tomb trembling with the weight of a reckoning.
[Target: Thalos Verin]
[Target Status: Unaware — Conducting disciples' evaluations]
[Optional Bonus: Kill before sunset for public exposure bonus]
Lucan smirked.
The system loved symbolic timing.
So would he.
He moved through the silent halls.
Each footstep echoed like an old memory clawing its way back.
[Proximity: 200 meters]
[Heartbeat signature confirmed: Thalos Verin]
Lucan stopped at a cracked marble pillar.
Here, ten years ago, a broken boy had fallen—bleeding, humiliated, weeping in the dust.
---
FLASHBACK: Ten Years Earlier
He couldn't stop crying.
His wooden training blade lay shattered. His ribs throbbed. The older disciples laughed as they walked off, pride in their cruelty.
Lucan curled in on himself, coughing dust and shame.
"Get up."
A voice. Cold. Commanding. Familiar.
Lucan looked up, eyes blurry with tears.
Thalos stood above him—arms crossed, crimson cloak brushing the stone.
"I… I'm not strong enough," Lucan whispered. "They said I don't belong."
Thalos knelt.
He didn't offer a hand.
Instead, he placed something beside Lucan's fingers—a real blade. Cold. Sharpened. Waiting.
"Wood breaks," Thalos said. "Steel learns to bend. But you? You will never break."
Lucan stared at the weapon. Then at the man.
"I'm not like them."
"No. You're better."
Thalos laid a calloused hand on his shoulder.
"Because you still cry. Because you still feel. And when the time comes, Lucan… you'll remember this pain."
Lucan sniffed, nodding. "Will it make me stronger?"
Thalos smiled—something rare, something real.
"No. It'll make you dangerous."
---
[SYSTEM ALERT: Elevated heartbeat detected]
[Emotional dissonance—spiking]
[Suppression protocol: Failed]
[Recalibrating ma̴͔̍l̴̬͗i̶̻͝c̶͙̽e̸̡̽ .̷͚́.̵̟͐.̵͉̚ ]
[WARNING: Fragmented memory loop—active]
Lucan blinked—back in the present.
His hand gripped the pillar, knuckles whitening.
The man who once pulled him from the dirt… had handed him to the knives.
The hand that gave him a sword… had signed his death warrant.
---
FLASHBACK 2: Three years before the Rite.
Caught where he shouldn't be—inside the forbidden wing of the Temple Archives. Dust clung to his robe. Ash stained his knees.
Lucan knelt in silence, awaiting punishment.
Thalos didn't strike.
He didn't speak.
He simply watched.
Then stepped forward. Once. Twice.
Stopped beside the boy.
"Why?"
"I wanted to know what was behind the seals," Lucan said quietly. "I wanted to read the gods' words with my own eyes."
Thalos sighed.
He didn't yell.
He knelt.
And then… he embraced him.
Rough arms. Tight restraint. A storm beneath the stillness.
"You're not like them," Thalos whispered. "And that terrifies me."
Lucan hesitated. "You're afraid… of me?"
Thalos drew back. Eyes sharp.
Wounded.
"No. I'm afraid for you."
His hand landed on Lucan's chest, firm and final.
"You burn too brightly. And this world… it doesn't let bright things live long."
Lucan met his gaze. "Then protect me."
Thalos smiled, bitter as rust.
"I won't let them take you. Not until they pry you from my hands."
---
Back to the now.
Lucan exhaled slowly.
His fingers brushed his chest—right where Thalos once touched him.
The same place the ceremonial dagger had pierced.
"Liar," Lucan hissed.
---
FLASHBACK 3: The Day of Ascension
The altar pulsed beneath him—warm with his own blood.
Lucan gasped, vision swimming. His white robes were drenched in red.
Innocence stained. Purity drowned.
The priests chanted.
The runes blazed.
And then…
Thalos appeared.
Lucan's eyes widened. Relief. Confusion.
"Master…?"
Thalos knelt. Smoothed blood-matted hair from Lucan's brow.
"You were always my brightest flame," he whispered. "And now, your fire will light the gods' path."
"No—wait—what are you—"
A kiss to his forehead.
Gentle. Final.
Then Thalos stood. Placed his hand over Lucan's chest.
"Begin the Rite."