Marked by the Unseen

Lucan blinked as he felt the pain, clutching his side as he slowly awaken from his sleep.

[System Reboot: Initiating Recovery Protocol]

[Sin Stability: F̶͎͂͠L̴̜͐̽U̶̖͝C̵̯̋T̵̤̐U̶͈̕À̸͉T̸̢̓Ḯ̸͖N̴̼̊G̴͈͂]

[Host Status: Critical… But improving]

A distorted flicker of light above him as he glanced up with blurry vision. A glyph pulsed across the ceiling.

Lucan exhaled. It came out ragged.

Wherever he was... it wasn't Ashvale.

He pushed himself upright—barely. Say up and heard the system again.

[System Alert: L̷͚͐o̵̥͛c̷͙͠ä̴̖́ẗ̸͚́i̸͍̚ő̴̲ṉ̴̀ ̷͍̑Ư̷̲n̷̲̈́k̷͕̍n̸̛͕o̶̦̽w̴̦͝n̸͎̕]

[System Integration with surroundings: REJECTED]

[Surveillance nullified. You are off the map.]

He staggered to his feet as his limbs ached, but they obeyed. Barely.

"What did you pull me into?" he whispered to no one.

The system buzzed.

[That's the pr̷̪͘o̷͉͝blem, Apost̶͇͂å̴̝te. We ḏ̵͒i̸̩̿dn't.]

---

He walked out of the chamber slowly, heading towards gods know where.

The corridor in front of him looked long and he could hear voices ahead. As he walked towards the faint noise, he passed murals carved into the walls— those of past gods, angels, mortals, humans and even strange beast he's only heard of in stories.

At the first junction, he saw three figures all armed and waiting or watching. He couldn't tell.

Their armor wasn't like those in Ashvale. No gold, no flame sigils, no crimson robes. Instead: they looked like something made with low budget. Steel, reinforced runes even their swords.

One of them tilted their head at him, almost... amused.

None of them spoke. None of them moved.

Lucan kept walking.

They didn't stop him.

But their silence said: you're breathing because we're curious—not kind.

---

He stepped into a larger chamber which looked like a cathedral, a small cathedral and that's when he heard her.

She emerged from a side with the casual grace. Cold, poised but at the same time elegant.

Rivenna Drae.

And she was... stunning.

Her beauty wasn't delicate—it was deliberate. A blade forged, not born. Built of discipline, ruin, and silent wisdom.

Her hair, jet black, falling down to her past her shoulders. Her eyes, unreadable—almost cruel. She didn't look like the type who would talk too much but she also looked like she calculates everything with every step she takes.

She didn't try to be alluring, she just was.

The cloak she wore was torn in places from a recent fight while her gauntlets still stained from someone else's blood.

Lucan's system pulsed sharply when she stepped into full view.

[Entity Identified: UNKNOWN — MATCHING V̵̡̔O̷̲͌I̵̟͗D̸̩̍STEEL Trace from Previous Engagement]

[Threat Status: UN̴̞̄C̶̙͘LASSIFIED]

[Note: This entity killed seven Inqú̵͖i̴̙͂sitors and a W̵͗ͅarden in 13.4 seconds. You were barely conscious. She did not m̶̦̏i̷͇͐s̸͙̾s.]

[Memory Sync Fragment Found — Re̵̤̕constructing Visual: RIV̴̟̿Ë̶̖́NNA DRAE]

Lucan blinked.

It was her.

The woman who'd torn through the ambush. The one who rescued him from an imminent death. He hadn't seen her face then—not fully. Just movement, impact, the clean finality of death delivered without rage.

Now he was seeing her. And somehow, she was more terrifying.

She looked at him like she'd already measured him and passed judgement and he could tell his score wasn't very high.

"I'm surprised," she said, calmly. "Most people I save don't survive this long."

Lucan said nothing, didn't know what to.

His eyes tracked the runes along her gloves, the pattern of her stance. Not hostile. Not exactly. But defensive in a way that said: I know how to kill and I would without flinching.

She walked closer and as she approached, Lucan could swear he felt the air shifted. Even the glyphs in the walls dimmed.

"You lost a lot of blood," she said. "A lot of faith, too, I hear."

Lucan tensed as a strange cold passed through his chest.

The system buzzed again.

[Unusual Arcane Pulse Detected: Source — INTERNAL]

[Glyph Signature Residue: ACTIVE]

[Encryption Unknown. Decryption? DENIED.]

He felt it, now.

Something embedded, but somehow dormant.

Rivenna didn't mention it.

But she looked at him like she already knew. Like she was giving him the chance to figure it out himself.

"You're the gods' discarded child," she said, circling him once. "Burned, broken, branded. And yet—"

She paused.

"—still breathing. Inconvenient, isn't it?"

Lucan met her gaze. "So what now? You saved me just to study me?"

She smirked and almost gave a smile. Almost.

"I saved you because watching something divine fall should be art," she said. "And you're still... mid-stroke."

She stepped past him, toward a wall etched with a map—no labels on it, just drawings.

Then, without turning:

"You're not the only one marked, Lucan. Just the only one they regret."

He stared at her and for the first time since the rite and Aelira's betrayal, he didn't feel like prey.

He felt seen.

---

LOCATION: AETHERION — COUNCIL CHAMBER PRIME

The doors were sealed shut as the council held its meeting, a meeting they rarely ever held.

Seven thrones. Seven factions. All arranged in a circle around a pit of nullfire.

Mother Halix stood in the center, seems she had been saying something and something important from how she looked. She closed her eyes and exhaled then opened them the moment Ezekar Nythe entered.

He walked in and you could tell the room chnaged. His presence acknowledged like the meeting was held because of him and yet it wasn't.

He did not speak nor did he blink until he arrived at his seat and sat. Then —

"You overreached," Ezekar said, voice flat as judgment. "And now the Rite has collapsed."

Halix didn't flinch. "I contained the fallout."

"You contained nothing," he continued. "You shattered the altar, killed the Warden of Flame, and turned the Apostate into prophecy incarnate."

She turned toward him slowly, the glyphs at her back forming a halo of red.

"He was never meant to survive."

"No one ever is," Ezekar replied, stepping into the circle. "But the boy lives. And the System still clings to him."

A few of the other thrones flickered. Disciples of lesser influence appeared in projection—some cloaked, some masked, none daring to speak aloud.

Ezekar continued: "We cannot kill him."

That cause an instant silence.

Halix tilted her head, just enough for warning as her eyes grew colder.

"Explain."

"He is bound to something older than our code. Older than the everything we know. Possibly older than the Seven Pillars themselves," Ezekar said. "You didn't just birth a rogue. You birthed a key."

"To what?" Halix snapped. "To some forgotten horror? To the vault of failed gods? We've dealt with prophecy before, Ezekar. They burn."

He smiled, and the chamber dimmed.

"To something worse than gods."

---

A projection flared behind Ezekar, it was the Divine Order's system interface spinning.

[Subject: Lucan Malryk – Designation: Apostate]

[System Corruption: 79.3% — Irreversible]

[Influence Detected: EXTERNAL | Deity-Class Source: UNVERIFIED]

"Something watches him," Ezekar said softly. "And now, because of you, it watches us."

Halix's jaw tightened. "I have already issued kill orders. Inquisitors, Wardens, Seers—"

"All dead or missing," he cut in. "And your precious Aelira? She let him go."

Halix's eye twitched.

"She placed a glyph," she muttered. "Tracking. Perhaps more."

Ezekar arched a brow. "And you trust it?"

"I trust the leash," Halix said coldly. "Not the dog."

Another voice—one of the lesser Thrones—finally whispered, "Then what do we do?"

Ezekar turned with a sharp gaze and said immediately like he was waiting for that question, "We do what we've always done," he said. "We twist the knife deeper."

He looked at Halix now—not as a rival like always, like he was trying to make her see reason.

"We let him run. Let the world fear him. Let prophecy sharpen him."

"And when he finally breaks the heavens…"

He smiled again, slow and cruel like a wicked smirk.

"…we take the pieces."