Dame Seraphine moved through the narrow alleyways of the lower district, her cloak pulled tight. She was hunting for scraps of information—a whisper of the prison break, a sighting of Orren Kest—but she made little headway. Espionage was not her forte; she was a shield, a beacon, not a ghost. Having to remain hidden while investigating made the task nearly impossible.

  With a sigh of frustration, she abandoned the search. Rather than wasting more time looking for what she couldn't find, she decided to do something useful.

  She arrived at the inn and stepped into Lucien’s room. She didn’t even knock anymore. She simply took a seat in the corner and stared at him.

  Lucien’s training methods were strange, but she couldn't deny the results. As she observed him, she felt a lingering sense of awe. He was making staggering progress in the little time he had. She had spent hours watching his routines, mentally cataloging the movements to apply to her Order’s recruits back in the Holy City. She could already picture the young knights howling in pain under the "Constant Strain" method.

  But it wasn't just for the recruits. The gaping chasm of power she had felt when facing the Hollow Sovereign had lit a fire in her to do better, and seeing this fourteen-year-old prodigy had only turned that fire into a blaze. A part of her was genuinely afraid that he might catch up to her; she didn't want to deal with someone so troublesome from a position of weakness. She had to stay ahead.

  Lucien finally finished his set, his muscles rippling as he relaxed his posture. He turned his attention to Seraphine, completely unfazed by her staring.

  "Why don't you bring your butler back to help?" she asked, breaking the silence. "He seemed... capable."

  "I can’t," Lucien said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I sent him home to tie up loose ends. My parents are practically useless without him, and he needs to find a replacement for himself. A shadow butler, if you will."

  He tossed the towel aside. "He should be back by the time the festival begins. That's when I’ll actually need him."

  Seraphine sighed, leaning back. "So, we are truly planning on waiting until they attack during the festival?"

  "Yes," Lucien said. "I know you're frustrated, and your instincts are screaming to strike first. But it's better for you to be a hidden trump card. If the cult thinks they’ve accounted for every variable, we hit them ten times harder when they reveal themselves."

  Seraphine nodded slowly. She looked at the fully recovered Lucien and felt a shiver of recognition. The boy who had looked like a walking corpse months ago was gone. In his place stood a youth who gave off the heavy, silent aura of a seasoned warrior.

  "Are you going to win this bet?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the hearth.

  "Yes," Lucien replied.

  It had been four months already, and tomorrow was the day the deadline arrived. He smiled, a calm, terrifying expression that didn't reach his eyes. Physically, he was a different person than the invalid who had hobbled into the city. His muscles were taut, his breathing rhythmic, and his gaze sharp enough to cut stone. All he needed to do now was bridge the final gap. Everything—the training, the isometric torture, the mental mapping—had come together. A simple mental push, a single focused breath, and the connection would be made.

  "I haven't actually connected it yet," he admitted.

  Seraphine blinked, confused. "But you just said you’d win. If you haven't made the connection, how can you be sure?"

  "Because I’m saving it," Lucien said, his grin widening. "I want to do it right in front of the Headmaster's face. I want him to watch the exact moment it happens so he can really feel the despair of losing everything he thought was a sure thing."

  Seraphine gawked at him, a look of genuine horror crossing her face. "You really have a nasty personality, don't you?"

  "Thank you," Lucien responded smoothly.

  Seraphine shook her head, trying to clear the image of the Headmaster’s impending heart attack. "Anyway, I heard that tomorrow some students are graduating from the Academy. It's a major ceremony. Are you attending?"

  "No," Lucien replied bluntly. "I don't know anyone there, and I have a bet to collect. Why waste my time on a bunch of kids?"

  But as the words left his mouth, the air in the room seemed to still. He remained silent, his gaze drifting to the corner of the room. A memory flickered—sharp and unbidden. He did, in fact, know someone there. Two people, actually.

  It had been a long time since he’d seen them.

  "Nevermind," he said, his tone shifting. "I’ll attend. There is someone I have to check up on, after all."

  Seraphine looked at him, noting the sudden change in his aura. The "Expert" had returned to the surface, but for a moment, she had seen the eyes of a man looking back at ghosts. She didn't question him further.

  "Then I suggest you get some sleep," she said, standing up. "Tomorrow is going to be a very long day for the Headmaster."

  The Academy grounds were teeming with a vibrant, chaotic energy. Banners of the Imperial colors snapped in the breeze, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and expensive horses. Nobles from across the provinces had converged, their carriages forming a glittering line at the main gates, all here to witness the next generation of the Empire’s elite take their vows.

  Lucien walked through the crowd with an easy, silent gait, appearing as just another young noble in a sea of finery. Beside him, Seraphine moved like a shadow. She had disguised herself completely as a lowly servant girl. Using a high-tier artifact, she had altered her features, tucking her sharp, noble beauty behind a plain, forgettable face and donning a simple linen dress. To any passing noble, she was just part of the background—a girl carrying messages or water, completely beneath notice.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  She was taking this risk because she was deeply curious about the people Lucien knew. The more she understood about his connections, the more leverage she could eventually have over him. Besides, she was confident; this wasn't the Imperial Palace where the high-level sensors would flag her immediately. Here, her own suppressed power and the artifact were more than enough to keep her ghost-like.

  Lucien looked up at the Academy’s central spires and couldn't help but sigh. In his first life, he had never even set foot in a place this grand. In this one, he had officially been a student for exactly one day before vanishing into the world for three years.

  "I don't mind missing the classes," Lucien thought as they navigated the crowd. "Academy life was never going to suit me. Maybe the old me—the version of me that didn't know how the world worked—would have been a model student. But it's too late for that now. I'm too jaded to sit in a room and listen to a professor talk about the 'possibilities' when I've seen the end."

  He moved with a grace that felt out of place among the awkward, nervous energy of the other teenagers. To anyone watching, he looked like a young noble, but he felt like a veteran visiting a nursery.

  Then he saw her. In the center of the elite circle, surrounded by a faint, shimmering aura of social gravity, was Elaine Avery. Her raven-black hair was pulled back into an elegant weave, and her steely blue eyes surveyed the crowd with a cool, detached superiority.

  Lucien couldn't help but let out a long, weary sigh. Even now, she was as captivating as ever—the kind of beauty that demanded a man's attention before he even knew his own name. At one point in his past life, Lucien had been no different. He had been a moth to her flame, utterly enthralled.

  Then he had learned about her true nature. A genuine shiver ran down his spine. She had been a massive pain in his ass for decades, and seeing her now, young and seemingly "innocent," only made his skin crawl.

  Better to avoid her for now, he thought. The future will force us together soon enough, but I’m not ready for that headache today.

  His gaze shifted to the man standing beside her. He was a man sculpted from pure, cold aristocracy—platinum hair swept back like a crown and silver-gray eyes angled like a knife. When he looked at Elaine, those eyes glittered with a predatory, hungry interest that he didn't even bother to hide.

  Prince Cassian, Lucien thought, his lip curling in a faint sneer. So the cuck is here as well. Some things never change.

  Beside him, "Seraphine the servant girl" followed his gaze. She leaned in, her voice a low whisper that barely reached his ear.

  "She is beautiful," Seraphine noted, her eyes lingering on Elaine.

  "That she is," Lucien responded absent-mindedly.

  "No wonder you confessed your love for her so publicly," Seraphine added with a sharp, playful edge.

  Lucien froze. The world seemed to stop for a second as the memory—the one he had buried.—slapped him squarely in the face. The "Silly Incident." The public humiliation of a young, foolish Lucien declaring his undying devotion to the ice queen of the Academy.

  He turned his head slowly, scowling at Seraphine. The cool, savvy "Expert" persona was currently cracking at the seams.

  Seraphine didn't hide it; she giggled. It was a soft, genuine sound that was entirely refreshing to her. Seeing the boy who spoke like a seasoned warrior suddenly get flustered by a childhood crush was the highlight of her week.

  Then, a sudden, heavy hush smothered the room as Headmaster Merinth Vallog ascended the central dais. He was tall and stoic, he wore ceremonial robes etched with glowing violet ink—patterns that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.

  He raised a single hand, and the silence deepened until even the sound of breathing felt like an intrusion.

  "Students of Velhraine."

  "There he is," Seraphine whispered, her eyes settling on Headmaster Merinth Vallog as he took the podium. She couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pity for the man. He was standing there, radiating authority and pride, completely unaware that he was about to be utterly humiliated by the "madman" standing right next to her.

  Lucien looked at the Headmaster and smirked. He could almost taste the victory; in a few hours, he would walk into that office and watch Merinth’s world crumble. He turned his gaze away, scanning the crowds once more for the second person he remembered, but they were nowhere to be seen. He settled back, half-listening to the Headmaster’s droning speech, relishing the thought of rubbing his triumph into the old man's face.

  Then, the air turned cold.

  Lucien felt it first—an ominous, cloying pressure that made the hair on his arms stand up. Seraphine elbowed him sharply, her servant disguise momentarily forgotten as her warrior instincts flared. "What is that?" she hissed.

  Smoke, black as ink and thick as tar, was crawling across the stone floor, weaving between the feet of the oblivious nobles. Lucien followed the trail back to its source, and his heart hammered against his ribs.

  Ray Melborne.

  The boy sat frozen in his seat. His knuckles were white, gripping the armrests so hard the wood groaned. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face contorted in a mask of silent, primal agony. The smoke wasn't coming from a fire; it was seeping from beneath his boots like a tide pulled by an invisible, dying moon.

  Lucien's heart thumped at that moment, and without thinking, his body moved.

  Ray Melborne dies today.

  Lucien activated Equilibrium, tilting the scales entirely toward his speed. He became a blur, weaving through the panicked crowd until he arrived directly in front of the shaking boy. He reflexively triggered his newly engraved sigil, reaching for the lightning that had been his signature for a lifetime.

  But as he tried to strike, he hit a wall. His internal pathways hadn't fully synced. The lightning stuttered, refusing to answer. Then, in the heat of the life-or-death moment, the "bridge" finally snapped into place.

  He had connected. He was finally plugged into his Origin Vein, but the energy was raw, new, and desperately weak. It flickered like a dying candle. Because his Equilibrium was still poured into his movement speed, his attack power was abysmal.

  Lucien didn't hesitate. He grabbed Ray’s shoulder, dumping every spark of lightning he could muster into the boy’s frame to disrupt the smoke, while his other hand shot toward Ray’s head. He was going to snap his neck before the darkness could fully manifest.

  But then, the world went silent.

  The smoke was suddenly sucked back into Ray’s body as if by a vacuum. Ray’s eyes snapped open—cold, dark, and terrifyingly lucid. He stared directly at Lucien, his expression unreadable.

  Lucien froze, his hand inches from Ray’s throat. He felt a shift in the air. Realizing the entire nobility and the Headmaster were now staring at them in stunned silence, Lucien’s mind raced. He had to pivot. He let go of the shoulder and smoothed his expression into one of noble pride, though his heart was still screaming.

  He cleared his throat, his voice carrying across the quieted amphitheater.

  “Congratulations, Ray Melborne,” Lucien said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline. “You finally connected to your Origin Vein.”