Lucian ran until the voices no longer chased him. He fled toward the mountains, the rising land burning his legs until he finally collapsed, unable to move any longer.
His heart ached. Panic swallowed every other emotion as he hid behind a tree near the lone mountain pathway.
The pain was too overwhelming for tears. Sorrow smothered his thoughts, leaving his mind hollow. From deep within his chest, a scream rose, so loud he felt as though his ears might burst.
Then he heard footsteps.
He would rather see no one if it meant surviving, yet the presence somehow softened the edge of his fear.
He looked.
A man in a long coat walked silently along the path. Over his shoulder hung a small figure, dangling like a pet bird. But it was anything but sane.
Lucian’s breath froze.
The thing turned to look at him.
Its skin was dark and stretched thin, like that of a freshly unearthed corpse, drawn tight over narrow bones. Its eyes were hollow, yet Lucian felt its gaze pierce him all the same.
That gaze dragged strength back into his dead legs. Lucian ran again. Then his legs betrayed him. He hit the ground hard, barely conscious. The next thing he knew, hands were tangled in his hair, dragging him.
His senses returned in a dark prison. A small window, the only source of light. They brought him food, if that filth could be called food. How could a prince eat that?
Lucian counted days through the window as light came and died. By the third day, his pride broke. He shoveled the vomit-like gruel into his mouth and threw it up immediately.
The cold iron doors opened as the seventh night passed.
*****
A bucket of cold water slammed into his face, wrenching him awake and dragging him into a massive hall where justice and evil coexisted.
The Hall of Judgment was built to dwarf men.
Pillars of white stone rose like the ribs of some ancient beast, their summits swallowed by shadow. High above, stained-glass windows fractured the light across the marble floor, reds like spilled blood, blues like cold steel.
At the far end stood the Throne of Law, where those who passed judgment now sat in silent authority.
And at the center of it all was Lucian.
Chains wrapped around his wrists and legs. He was bound down, an iron pillar driven between the chains, locking him in place.
Cold and heavy, the metal bit into skin that still remembered fire. His thoughts circled a single question, refusing to let go.
‘Are they really dead?’
From the shadowed balconies high above, multiple voices rose, soon filling the hall in a tangled wave, various tones weaving together like a living network of judgment.
From within the darkness, Lucian’s gaze searched desperately for a face, any face, as long as it was familiar. But he found none.
Then his eyes halted.
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An old man sat upon a throne-like structure reserved only for those of the highest authority.
He resembled a lofty statue of an ancient emperor. His long gray beard reached his wrists, a testament to vast experience and earned wisdom. His eyes sank deep, as though a sculptor had hammered them too far, yet never corrected them, as if the depth were perfect.
Perhaps that was why Lucian’s gaze lingered on him so intensely. It almost ignored the tall man beside him, dressed in a finely tailored coat, standing with practiced pride.
‘Who is that?’
Lucian’s eyes moved again, continuing their desperate search, until they caught something behind the old man’s throne.
Hidden within the shadows, a child sat casually, licking a piece of candy in playful indifference. The child met Lucian’s gaze, and Lucian frowned.
The child had a pair of dark wings, not large for a creature of its size, but unmistakably real. Above its head floated a faint ring of light, like a dim halo.
Thud!
Wood struck wood as the judge’s gavel echoed through the hall, ripping away all noise and forcing the vast chamber into silence.
As the stillness settled, an obese man in a black coat stood and bowed toward the highest seat, where the judges looked down upon Lucian without the slightest change in expression.
Lucian studied the man closely, clinging to the faint hope that he might recognize him. That hope died instantly when the man looked at him with open disgust.
‘Another one who hates my family,’ Lucian frowned.
“Ahem…”
The man cleared his throat and turned toward the balconies.
“Honorable judges, my lords and ladies. As we have gathered in the central region to decide the fate of the last of the Lysanders, I, Weston of the Arbiters of Equinox, stand for his immediate execution.”
The high balconies erupted in applause.
‘Wh—What?!’
That single sentence, deliberately spoken, answered every question Lucian had been asking in his heart.
And confirmed the one truth he had been desperately rejecting.
“No… that can’t be,” Lucian ground his teeth. “NOOOO!”
He lunged forward, needing to confirm it, just once more. But the chains betrayed him. The guard beside the pillar seized the chain connected to Lucian’s legs and yanked it back violently, dragging him down before delivering a brutal kick to his face.
His cheek swelled instantly, grotesquely visible against his pale skin.
Weston returned to his seat with a satisfied smile.
As the murmurs in the balconies faded, another man in a similar black coat rose slowly. He glanced at Lucian, then frowned at the guard.
“That is not how you treat a child,” he said calmly. “Especially one of such a noble birth.”
“What is he doing here?” a voice echoed, followed by many more.
Thud! Thud!
The gavel struck again, silencing the hall.
The man began to speak as Lucian struggled upright through the pain. Through the haze, Lucian heard fragments of his speech, he spoke about how the House of Lysander had maintained balance among the four great clans for nearly a century.
But Lucian could no longer focus. Even his own name escaped his awareness.
As the man finished, Weston rose at once.
“The reason the Lysanders were condemned,” Weston declared, “was their insatiable hunger for power. In their blindness, they dared to plan war against all other rulers of the three directions.”
‘What?!’
Suppressing his rage, Lucian watched the nobles in the balconies. Their reactions were uniform. Whatever Weston claimed, they believed it.
“And what proof do you have?” the man asked.
Weston smiled, as if he had been waiting for that question.
He pointed toward the western balcony.
A woman stepped forward.
Light caught her golden hair, making it glow like the morning sun. Her beauty silenced the hall. Her face was one Lucian could never forget.
It was his mother.
Weston continued, not allowing the shock to fade.
“Lady Kendall, wife of the last head of House Lysander, was the one who exposed their plans. Thanks to her, the three great clans acted in time and slaughtered those villains before it was too late.”
The balconies exploded into chaos.
Lucian could hear nothing.
He was drowning, like sinking into an endless ocean where sound could no longer reach him. Only one thought echoed in the depths.
‘Mother… Why?’
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Three heavy strikes of the gavel dragged him back.
It was time for the final verdict.
The outcome would decide his death, the true end of House Lysander. The injustice would scar his family’s graves. Their name would fade from the world, remembered only in scattered histories as villains and traitors.
There was nothing he could do.
If only there were another chance…
He would rise again. He would avenge his family. He would uncover the truth. He would hunt down every soul responsible for that night.
He swore it.
After surveying the hall, the presiding judge nodded to the others.
“For the sins of his family, Lucian Lysander shall be executed. However, in consideration of the past deeds of House Lysander, and by direct request of the heads of the three great families, Lucian Lysander shall instead have his memories erased. He shall not be allowed to extend his bloodline and will live as a normal human until death claims him.”
“The blood of Lysander shall end with him.”
