The world outside the Citadel was dead.
Selene had expected ruins — crumbled cities, burned forests — but she hadn't expected the silence.A silence so thick it clawed at her skin, pressing cold fingers against her spine.
No birds.No voices.Only the ragged howl of the wind through broken towers.
Lucien led the way, his black cloak trailing behind him like a shadow given form.He moved without hesitation, as if the broken earth still remembered him —as if the land itself bowed in quiet terror at his passing.
Selene followed, boots crunching over brittle bones half-buried in dust.
She should have been afraid.She was afraid.
But more than that — she was curious.Drawn forward by a reckless hunger she could no longer deny.
—
By the third day, hunger became a real, gnawing pain.
Their supplies — scavenged from the Citadel's forgotten vaults — dwindled fast.Selene's body weakened, her spirit fraying at the edges.
Lucien barely seemed to notice.He strode onward, untouched by thirst or fatigue, like a figure from a forgotten legend.
Finally, Selene staggered to a stop.
"I... can't," she gasped, leaning against a dead tree. "Lucien, I—"
Before she could finish, a sound shattered the silence.
A whimper.
Selene froze.
Lucien's head lifted sharply, the air around him tightening —an unseen pressure, heavy and suffocating.
From the ruins ahead, a figure stumbled into view —a girl, thin as a shadow, blood matting her hair.
She limped toward them, hand outstretched.
"Help... please," she croaked.
Selene surged forward instinctively.
But the air itself slammed her back —an invisible wall of crushing force radiating from Lucien.
"Stay," he said, voice low, commanding.
Selene stared at him, heart hammering.
"But she—"
"Not alive," Lucien murmured.
The "girl" looked up.
And Selene saw the truth:Fangs behind her smile.Bones bending the wrong way.Eyes black with hunger.
A wight — twisted flesh, crafted by foul magic.
It lunged.
Lucien didn't move.He didn't draw a sword.He didn't raise a hand.
He simply existed — and the world bent around him.
A pulse of pure, devastating power rippled outward — silent, invisible — and the creature crumpled mid-leap, crushed as if by the weight of a collapsing mountain.
Selene stumbled back, gasping, as the ground cracked beneath her feet.
When the pressure faded, the creature was nothing but twisted ash, scattering on the poisoned wind.
Lucien turned to her, eyes ancient and unreadable.
"This," he said softly, "is mercy."
Selene's stomach twisted.
She wanted to scream.To run.To collapse into the dirt and weep until there was nothing left.
But she didn't.
Instead, she straightened her spine, clenching her trembling hands into fists.
"I can handle it," she whispered.
Lucien studied her, and for a heartbeat, something achingly human flickered across his face —a sadness so deep it almost broke her.
"Good," he said at last. "Because you must."
He turned away, moving deeper into the wasteland.
Selene lingered a moment longer, staring at the crumbled remains of the wight.
She understood now:The Witch Kingdom's hunger wasn't for land, or gold, or power.
It was for her.Her blood.The ancient power pulsing quietly through her veins.
Her bloodline — the last living echo of something the witches feared... and craved.
And they would never stop hunting her.
Unless Lucien stopped them first.
Unless she learned to survive.
Drawing in a shaking breath, Selene followed Lucien into the ash-choked ruins, the weight of destiny heavy on her shoulders.
She was afraid.She was furious.
But most of all —she was ready.