The sky in Grimhollow was always gray, but today it looked like someone had spilled ash in the clouds.
Lucien sat on the roof of the tavern.
His coat was torn at the shoulder, but it didn't bother him.
He had one leg hanging off the edge, a crust of stolen bread in one hand, and a bored expression on his face.
He stared at the horizon.
Flat hills.
Cold rivers.
Dead trees.
Windmills that creaked like old men.
"Velthros," he muttered. "The land of honor, virtue, and really bad food."
A raven flew by.
He waved at it.
"This world," he said, "used to be glorious. Shining kingdoms. Heroic champions. Gods actually answering prayers."
He scratched his jaw. "Then people happened."
He tossed the bread crust over the edge.
"There's five major kingdoms," he went on. "All of them think they're special. None of them are."
He pointed east, toward the tall mountains barely visible through the fog.
"That's Eronthia. Empire of knights, gods, and idiots. Where I was born. They love their holy banners and their arranged marriages. If a man looks too long at the wrong woman, they brand him a seducer."
"Guess I'm living proof."
He leaned back on his elbows.
"To the south, there's Varrosh. Bunch of warriors swinging giant swords and yelling about bloodlines. Very angry people. Very sweaty. Smell like old iron."
He smirked. "Good place to find girls who want to 'rebel against their fathers.' I plan to visit soon."
To the west was just mist.
Thick and endless.
"Velwynth," Lucien said. "A mess. No kings. No gods. Just mercenaries, thieves, and people who lost their homes and built cities out of tents and old bones. It's like someone dropped a kingdom and said, 'eh, close enough.'"
He yawned.
"Then there's Nalvarea. Northeast. Land of mages and ancient libraries. They keep track of everything. Family lines, blood purity, which color robe means what… It's where magic is born and personality goes to die."
He grinned to himself.
"Magic girls in white dresses who've never been kissed. I'll have fun there."
He stretched his arms behind his head.
"And finally, the Droskar Dominion. Dark lands. Ruled by cursed bloodlines and ancient deals with demons. The kind of place where if your wine glows, you drink it anyway."
Lucien scratched the back of his neck.
"Most people are terrified of them. I just think they have better parties."
The wind picked up.
Lucien stood and walked across the rooftop, balancing easily despite the loose tiles.
"Used to be gods actually ran things," he said. "The Divine Court. Seven major gods. Whole pantheon of smaller ones. They handed out blessings like candy. Sent heroes on quests. Smote the wicked."
He paused.
"Then the wicked stopped caring."
He crouched by the chimney.
"Faith started cracking. Kings started cheating on their god-blessed wives. Holy men got caught with unholy women. Heroes realized saving the world didn't pay as well as selling it out."
He plucked a feather from a dead bird lodged in the chimney.
"Now the gods barely speak. Except for one."
He twirled the feather between his fingers.
"Vel'Zheron. The whisperer. The one they buried under a thousand years of sermons. He's still awake. Still laughing."
Lucien flicked the feather into the wind.
"People think power comes from three things magic, steel, and prayer."
He held up three fingers.
"They're half right."
He dropped one finger.
"Magic. Aethercraft. It's everywhere. Flows through the world. People shape it into fireballs, mind tricks, healing, whatever. The fancy ones call it soul-thread manipulation."
He chuckled.
"I call it cheating with style."
He lowered a second finger.
"Steel. Martial Resonance. Fighters who train so hard they punch through walls. Channel spirit energy through their weapons. Screaming while shirtless is apparently part of the technique."
He dropped the last finger.
"Then prayer. Divine Channels. God-blessed knights. Healing clerics. Holy maidens with purity rings."
He grinned. "You can guess which ones I'm interested in."
He sat down again, resting his chin on his knees.
"There's other types too. Bloodlines. Inherited curses. Relic wielders. There's even people who fight with music."
He scratched his chin. "I wanted to date her once. But heard that she tried to strangle her boyfriend with a harp string."
The wind shifted again.
Lucien looked down at the people in the street.
"Yeah," Lucien muttered. "This world's perfect."
Someone slammed a window open below him.
"Hey! Get off the roof, you damn vagrant!"
Lucien smiled sweetly.
"I'm contemplating the fragile illusion of order."
"What?"
He rolled off the roof and landed in a hay pile with a thud.
He stood up, brushing straw from his coat.
"My bad."
He wandered toward the market.
As he walked, he passed people without names.
Faces with pain behind the eyes.
Girls with bruises.
Men with broken pride.
Boys who thought they'd grow up to matter.
"They all want something," Lucien said softly. "Love. Faith. Safety. Meaning."
He tilted his head.
"And I'm the answer they don't know they're looking for."
He paused by a well.
Looked into it.
The water was dark.
He saw his face.
And something else behind it.
A flicker of a smile that wasn't his.
"I'm not the strongest," he said. "Not yet. But I know what they love."
He leaned closer.
"And I know how to take it."
The well didn't respond.
Lucien turned and walked away.
That night, he sat on a hill outside town, staring at the stars.
The moon looked cracked.
Like it had been dropped.
"They say the gods put the stars up there," he said. "Each one a light for a soul they cherished."
He picked up a rock and tossed it.
"I wonder which one's mine."
A rabbit scurried by.
Lucien watched it disappear into the brush.
"Probably that one with the flickering tail. Always about to go out."
He pulled his coat tighter.
"Velthros," he said. "Land of broken systems and prettier lies."
He looked toward the glowing horizon where the lights of Eronthia shimmered.
"Full of people pretending to be good."
He grinned.
"Let's remind them what bad really looks like."