Again, Lucian found himself swallowed by darkness— again an embrace so familiar it no longer brought fear. But this time, the void didnt feel cold or suffocating. It was warm… fluid. His body felt weightless, suspended as if cradled in an endless sea. Breathing came easily
'Atleat i'm in drowing again.' flowed in his mind.
Then, a gentle tug, like a current beneath his skin, began to pull him upward. With a soundless gasp, Lucian burst through the surface of the dark abyss—and emerged into light.
He hovered in the open sky, suspended between two worlds. Above him, vast, silver clouds drifted lazily across an endless cerulean dome. Below, a still, shimmering ocean stretched into infinity, reflecting the heavens like a polished mirror. Sunlight poured across this place like liquid gold, painting everything in warmth.
Lucian floated at the heart of it all, surrounded by silence and serenity. Then suddenly as if on que.
Rising from the water below were colossal pillars—ancient and awe-inspiring—each carved from stone so pristine basking in the suns radiance. They reached for the sky like the fingers of a cololossal god, their tops vanishing into the clouds. Dozens of them, arranged in a wide circle, gave the illusion of a sacred cage… or perhaps, a sanctuary.
Then, the world spun gently, like a leaf drifting on water. Lucian was no longer in the sky.
He now found himself laying upon the surface of the ocean itself—except the water did not ripple beneath him. It held him aloft, soft and buoyant, like resting upon silk. When he sat up, he could see the pillars fully for the first time.
Each one was carved with images, aged but masterful. Symbols and muralst. He rose to his feet—the water beneath like a membrane of air and dew beneath his bare soles.
It was like a dream. But it was also real.
Drawn by some unseen force, Lucian walked across the water toward the nearest pillar. Each step made the surface ripple with color—sapphire, violet, soft green—as if the ocean responded to his presence. As he reached the massive stone column, he tilted his head up to study the engraving carved into its face.
It was a woman—tall, graceful, and fierce-eyed—bound in chains of light. She knelt inside a cage of spears, her face calm despite the burden. Above her stood other towering figures, robed and faceless, their hands raised in silent judgment. Around them were runes, shifting subtly as though alive.
The sight of the other figures made lucian angry for some reason.
It was beautiful, yes—but there was sadness in the image. An ancient pain trapped in the stone. A story frozen in time. He lifted his hand and gently pressed his palm to the pillar. The stone was warm at first—almost comforting. But that comfort quickly twisted into something far more sinister. Heat surged beneath his palm, intensifying with every passing second.
His eyes widened. 'Hot... too hot!'
He jerked his arm, trying to pull away, but it was too late. His hands were stuck—fused to the surface of the pillar as if it had claimed him. A searing pain shot through his flesh, the burning sensation crawling up his arms like wildfire. The skin sizzled, smoke curling into the air. He grit his teeth, a muffled growl escaping his throat.
"Move... damn it, MOVE!"
He yanked, twisted, even tried to claw at the stone, but it held him fast—unyielding, merciless. The agony deepened.
Still, he refused to scream.
"Enough!"
A voice, clear and commanding, echoed through the vast dreamlike expanse like a ripple of thunder wrapped in silk. It wasn't loud—yet it held the authority.
The pillar released Lucian instantly.
He stumbled back almost in a panic The surface of the water beneath him shimmered, glowing briefly like starlight caught in motion, before settling once more into tranquil stillness. The pillar, too, returned to normal—as though it had never stirred.
Lucian's regained his composure as he slowly turned toward the source of the voice. And then he saw her.
She sat upon a massive throne—carved not of marble or wood, but a throne of scales and gold, as if a great serpent had coiled itself into a regal seat. The throne shimmered, its red velvet cushion plush and glowing softly in the light.
Upon it, legs crossed with casual authority, sat a woman who could have been carved by the divine. Her skin gleamed like burnished brass, each inch of it aglow with inner fire. Wild crimson hair cascaded from her head in untamed waves, flowing down to the surface of the water, where the strands stirred and curled like dancing flame. Her eyes, two molten orbs of gold, did not flicker—only stared, steady and piercing, as if she could see through his innermost.
She wore elegant golden armor, ornate and trimmed in deep red ribbons about. The chestplate bore the emblem of a coiled serpent, its head raised in challenge, fangs bared in defiance of the heavens themselves. The armor was not ornamental. It was made to kill. Made to reign.
She didn't need to move. She didn't need to speak again. She was a queen yet something older. A force of nature shaped into the form of a woman. The kind of presence that made empires kneel and oceans tremble.
Her expression wasn't angry. Nor was she kind. But was unreadable—placid and unmoved, like the moment before a storm.
Lucian instinctively reached for the broken hilt at his side before realizing he had no weapon. No armor. Nothing but his will. His legs tensed. His spine straightened. He had no where to run to, he had faced death. He had died. And he had clawed his way back.
Whatever she is—whatever this place was—he would face it as he always has.
He took a step forward.
Then—pressure.
Crushing. Immeasurable. It struck him like an invisible wave, folding him instantly to his knees, then further, until his palms were pressed into the watery surface. His back arched under the weight, muscles straining as his breath fled his lungs. It wasn't magic. It wasn't brute force.
It was presence.
He had faced many ferocious beasts, battle-hardened warriors, and the death itself. But this—this woman—she made him feel like dust clinging to the edge of her shadow.
But still, he did not break. Even as his body trembled and bent under the strain, Lucian raised his head slowly. His neck shook with effort. Blood dripped from his nose. But his eyes—those golden eyes—remained locked on hers. Steadfast. Glaring.
A challenge without words. A refusal to bow.
The woman's lips quirked—barely, the ghost of a smile, or perhaps a recognition of defiance.
Then the pressure lifted.
Lucian collapsed sideways, coughing violently as the invisible weight vanished, his entire body soaked in sweat. He dragged air into his lungs in desperate gulps, his fingers trembling… but still, he did not look away.
The woman spoke again, her voice now softer. Still distant, yet somehow nearer.
"Cursed child… You do not kneel easily."
Lucian, still catching his breath, forced out a hoarse reply.
"Then stop trying to make me."
Another flicker of amusement touched her eyes. Not warmth. Not approval. But perhaps curiosity.
The serpent on her chestplate shimmered, as though it too were alive.
"Good, the world is already full of spineless cowards who kneel."
The water around them began to ripple, faint golden runes forming in slow spirals.
"Rise, Lucian, for the debt of your forefathers must be repaid.