A Hand Reaching Through The Dark

"Wake up."

A voice cut through the darkness.

Lucian's body ached, but the voice wouldn't let him rest. It was familiar, distant—just out of reach.

"You're not dead yet. So don't act like it."

Lucian's eyes snapped open. His vision was blurred, but the pain in his chest was sharp and real. He sucked in a breath, his lungs burning as if he had just risen from drowning.

"Finally," a gruff voice muttered. "Thought you'd sleep forever."

Lucian tried to sit up, only to feel a boot press against his shoulder, shoving him back down.

"Not so fast."

Through his dazed vision, he saw a man crouching beside him. Unshaven, with a sword resting across his knee, and eyes that carried the weight of too many battles. The boot keeping him down was light, but firm.

"Who...?" Lucian croaked, his throat dry.

"The guy who stopped you from bleeding out like an idiot," the man said. "Name's Garran." He removed his foot and tossed Lucian a waterskin. "Drink."

Lucian hesitated, then took a slow sip. The water was bitter, but it washed the taste of blood from his mouth.

"Where… where am I?" His voice was hoarse. His last memory was of Lilia, the temple, the man in white armor—

His hands clenched.

Garran watched him, unimpressed. "Forest. Two miles from that burning mess you crawled out of." He leaned back against a tree. "You're lucky I found you before the scavengers did."

Scavengers. Lucian had heard stories—people who looted battlefields, stripping corpses of anything valuable.

His stomach churned.

"Lilia," he whispered. He tried to push himself up, only for pain to slam through his ribs.

Garran sighed. "Here we go."

Lucian grabbed his arm. "The temple. The girl. Is she—"

"Dead."

The word hit him like a blade to the gut.

Lucian froze.

"You already knew that," Garran continued, his voice unreadable. "You saw it happen. But I guess saying it out loud makes it real."

Lucian's grip trembled. No. There had to be a mistake.

"You're lying," he forced out.

"Kid." Garran met his gaze, unflinching. "You think I'd waste my breath lying to some half-dead stranger?"

Lucian couldn't breathe. The world around him faded—his ears ringing, his vision swimming.

Garran sighed again. "Yeah, there it is."

Lucian's fingers curled into fists. His heartbeat pounded in his skull. He felt sick, like he might break apart.

Then Garran grabbed him by the collar and hauled him forward.

"Listen to me," he said, voice sharp. "You're alive. That means you have two choices—lie here and wait for death, or get up and do something."

Lucian's breath was ragged. "Do something?" he echoed.

"You lost everything. So what?" Garran's eyes were cold, but not cruel. "What matters is what you do next."

Lucian shoved his hand away. "I'll kill him," he hissed. "That bastard in white armor. I'll—"

"You won't," Garran interrupted. "Because you can't."

Lucian's body tensed.

Garran pointed at him. "Right now, you're weak. That man? He cut you down like you were nothing. If you go after him as you are, you'll die just as fast. Maybe faster."

Lucian grit his teeth. "So what? You expect me to run?"

Garran smirked. "No. I expect you to get stronger."

Lucian stilled.

"You want revenge? Fine," Garran said, standing. "But wanting it and achieving it are two different things. I'll give you one piece of advice—"

His gaze sharpened.

"Survive first. Then, we'll talk about killing gods."

Lucian stared at him. His heartbeat was still racing, his body still trembling.

But for the first time since the night of fire—he felt something other than grief.

A reason to move forward.

And he took it.