Seven years had passed since that tragic day.
Amid the sleek, towering buildings of District G, Lucian Valenhardt stood motionless on the balcony of his apartment. The golden hue of the setting sun painted the sky in warm amber, casting a soft glow on the futuristic skyline.
A gentle breeze tousled his slightly messy jet-black hair as his eyes stared far into the distance, as if trying to pierce through time itself. In his hand, a neatly printed letter fluttered in the wind—an official acceptance into the Sentinel Corps, rank E. A small step in the grand scheme of things, perhaps, but for Lucian, it meant everything.
He smiled. Not the kind of smile people show when they're happy. This one was subtle, tired, but full of quiet triumph.
Three times he had failed. Three times he'd been knocked down. And yet, here he stood.
At seventeen, Lucian had finally earned a place among the elite protectors of mankind—the Sentinels. Though he was assigned the lowest rank, it didn't matter to him. Because this wasn't about status. This wasn't about pride.
This was about a vow.
Lucian had made a promise to himself—one born not out of ambition, but out of loss. He would become a Sentinel not for glory, not for power, but to ensure that no child would ever have to watch their family be torn apart the way he had.
He knew what it felt like to shiver not from the cold, but from a wound so deep it scarred the soul. He knew what it was like to hold back tears because crying would mean accepting there was no one left to hear them. In those darkest hours, he made a silent promise: "No more."
Every drop of sweat, every bruise and failed attempt—these weren't just personal battles. They were the cost of his resolve.
He would be the shield. The barrier between the innocent and the monsters. And for that, he would keep moving forward.
"I'll kill every last one of those goddamn monsters."
—
The wind grew colder as the sun dipped below the horizon. Lucian lowered his gaze and exhaled slowly.
Memories, uninvited, began to stir. Blood. Screams. Motionless bodies. And a pair of frightened eyes that haunted him to this day.
Cecilia Quess.
The name cut through his mind like a whisper through silence.
Back then, she had always seemed annoying to him—too cheerful, too talkative, too bright for someone like Lucian, who lived in the shadows.
But now, that brightness was something he missed more than anything.
Since that day, after the world fell apart around them, they had never seen each other again.
Not even once.
Lucian reached for the small sapphire pendant hanging around his neck—worn and faded, a childhood gift from Cecilia. The chain had been replaced more than once, but the stone still shimmered in the light. Every time he looked at it, he remembered his vow.
One day, if fate allowed them to meet again, he would stand in front of her—not as the helpless boy who screamed her name in terror, but as someone strong enough to protect her.
—
The next morning, District G was covered in a faint mist.
Lucian adjusted his new uniform: a light chestplate with blue accents, a black hooded jacket, and the emblem of the Sentinels stamped on his left arm—a sturdy shield crossed by two swords piercing through the silhouette of a monster's claw.
He stood before the G-7 Sentinel Branch headquarters, a sleek facility of metal and glass reinforced with energy barriers. As he stepped inside, the automatic doors hissed open, welcoming him with bright lights and a sterile military atmosphere.
Inside, other recruits had already gathered—some chatting, some anxious, others silent like him. Lucian stood alone in the corner, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning everything with quiet caution.
Footsteps approached.
"You're Valenhardt, right?" asked a man in his late twenties. His silver hair was slicked back neatly, and his eyes carried the sharp gaze of someone who'd seen war. On his chest, the insignia of a Rank B Sentinel gleamed.
"Yes," Lucian replied calmly.
"I'm Marien, commander of the G-7 training division. Starting today, you're under the E-Rank integration program. Don't die too early, kid."
Lucian gave a small nod. "I won't, sir."
Marien stared at him for a moment, then gave a faint, knowing smirk. "You've got the eyes of someone who's lost something. Use that. Don't let anyone else suffer the same fate."
The words struck a chord.
Lucian had lost more than he could ever say. And he would never allow that pain to repeat—not on his watch.
His journey as a Sentinel had begun.
And somewhere out there—in another district, another facility, maybe even under the same sky—was a name he hadn't let go of for seven long years.
Cecilia Quess.
"One day," he thought as he stepped into the training hall, "we'll meet again."