Indulgence

Lucien stared blankly ahead, no words or thoughts able to form in his mind. The silence was deafening—broken only by the soft creak of his chair and the rhythmic echo of his heartbeat pulsing faintly in his ears.

Why don't I have an Indulgence Pathway? he brooded aloud, fingers curled over his lips, hands resting heavily on the table.

Lucien," came the soft, familiar call of his name.

He lifted his gaze.

Seraphine smiled gently, reaching across the table to take his hand. Her touch was warm. Reassuring.

Don't worry," she whispered, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

"But how come?" Lucien muttered. "Is that… normal? Or am I some kind of enigma?"

Angela, who had been quietly listening, looked at him—eyes narrowing not in anger, but weariness. A shadow of pain settled behind her expression.

Be happy with what you think is a curse," she said quietly. "People like us, who walk the Indulgence Pathways… we're always in danger. You think we chose this? That we wanted it?

She paused, her voice dipping into something darker.

We walk these paths not because we chose them—but because the world marked us flawed. The powers are not rewards... they are mirrors. And in them, we only see how deep our corruption runs.

Lucien's chest tightened. His heartbeat thudded again—slow, heavy—before settling into something colder.

Angela continued, her voice trembling slightly.

Do you know how many people your mother and I have watched crumble under this cursed system? How many were damned—torn apart by the very power they thought would save them? And yet… it's the only way. The only path to strength is the one paved in sin.

She leaned back, her voice dry and bitter.

Is that really something to envy?

Lucien hung his head. "I'm sorry, Aunt…" he whispered.

Another silence fell across the sanctum—heavy, unspoken.

Then came Seraphine's teasing voice, lightening the air just slightly.

"Well… at least your mother doesn't have to keep spending coin on your sin vials."

A soft chuckle followed.

Lucien blinked and raised his head. "Sin vials?" he echoed in confusion.

They help counteract the slow descent into corruption," Seraphine said simply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Especially for those of us at Phase Nine. You only need to take one vial a week to stay balanced.

She paused. "The cleansing bottle… the one your mother's probably been using on you while you slept? That's for the unmarked. A way to keep corruption from ever finding its way into the soul,

Angela continued . "It's a protection—both for those who bear sin and those who don't."

Lucien furrowed his brows. "Phase Nine? Wait—there are actual… levels?"

Angela answered this time, her voice low. "Yes. Phases begin at Nine. Most people will never know that. And they're not meant to. Most of the Nightguards you'll see manning the city gates—quiet, watchful enough power to quell riots in an instant—they're Phase Eight. The ones in the Bishop's robes, the real ones, not just ceremony—they're Phase Seven anything above that is not talked about but we all know that the deeper you descend, the more your humanity becomes… negotiable.

Lucien looked stunned. "And this isn't common knowledge?"

"No," Seraphine said, her smile now gone. "The Church keeps it quiet. When someone begins to show signs—when their spirit frays, or their aura trembles—they're called aside during the ritual for the cleansing bottle."

And the Church—the real Church—knows exactly who's been marked. When you go to collect your first vial from a bishop, they don't say it aloud… but they know. They'll call you aside. ask a few private questions then look you in the eye a little longer than usual. Whisper the word: Indulger."

Lucien swallowed. "…So the public doesn't know?"

"Most don't," Seraphine said. "To the world, we're just a little more… devout.

Few outside the Church hierarchy suspect there's anything more than an odd piety behind the practice.

Lucien opened his mouth again, a dozen questions swimming to the surface of his thoughts—but before he could speak, Seraphine raised a finger and gently pressed it to his lips.

Enough, little scholar," she teased. "Any more questions, and you'll have to dig them out from the library. Or better yet... wait for your first day at the academy."

Lucien bit his tongue, holding back the storm of questions waiting behind his teeth—questions like How did I survive five months unconscious? That felt like a good place to start, and again the academy he thought ..he was going to ask his mom later.

But before he could dwell on it further, Seraphine stood, collecting the plates in her arms. She padded softly into the kitchen. Angela, moving slower, rose to join her with a tired sigh. Their voices echoed faintly from the other room.

We'll be back soon.

Lucien remained seated, eyes narrowing in thought.

So that's one of the causes behind the unrest, he thought. Those corrupted by the Pathways are using this moment as a chance to indulge freely.

Stall owners raising their prices to outrageous levels. Moneylenders—as Aunt Angela called them—adding cruel interest. Thieves and killers prowling the streets unchecked, likely driven by envy or wrath.

Everything, it seemed… was connected.

I need to become lucid in my dreams, he thought, jaw clenched. Make sense of what I saw there. And then—I need to visit the library. Learn everything I can about this world.

There was a lot to learn.

Far too much.

The sun, once bright and golden, now cast a deep orange hue through the windows. Day was turning to dusk.

Behind him, he heard Seraphine and Angela returning. They each took their seats once more, savoring the comfort of silence.

Then, with a final push, Angela stood. She dusted off the hand-sewn purse slung across her shoulder, smiling faintly.

She said a bit hesitantly

"Lucien, I can't stay here all day. I have a business to run," she said with a small grin.

Lucien looked down, then nodded. "Thanks… for worrying."

Seraphine rose as well. "Let's escort her," she said, glancing toward Lucien. "We probably should, don't you think?"

A small smile crept onto his lips. "Yeah. We should."

He stood, brushing away crumbs from his clothes.

Seraphine and Angela headed toward the raven-hued door at the far corner of the dining room, Lucien trailing just behind. He paused at the threshold and muttered quietly to himself—

"So this is going to be my first time outside… in a long while."

Suddenly, two warm hands clamped gently on his shoulders—Angela on one side, Seraphine on the other. A quiet reminder that he wasn't alone.

Seraphine reached for the door handle, but then paused.

"Gosh—you look incomplete without it," she said suddenly, rushing off toward her room.

The sound of drawers opening and furniture shuffling echoed in the small home. Moments later, she returned with a black top hat and a matching cane. The cane bore a deep wood finish with delicate gold etchings.

"Wear this," she said, handing them over.

Lucien blinked, confused, but obeyed.

Once the top hat sat snugly on his head and the cane found its way into his right hand, Seraphine stepped back and gave a content sigh.

"Now," she said, smiling, "you look exquisite."

And with that, she opened the door—its dark wood creaking faintly—and the small trio stepped out into the twilight.