Lucian sprinted down the eastern corridor. The air thrummed, thick with power that had bloomed and then fractured. He felt Kael’s roar, a tremor through the very stone beneath his feet, and pushed faster. The scent of ozone and something impossibly ancient, like the first rain on granite, grew sharper with every stride. He slammed into the door, hearing the weak click of a lock he knew was not meant to hold a god, let alone one driven by urgency. It was a barricade, an insult. He did not pause. His shoulder hit the thick wood, a sound like thunder echoing in the quiet hall. The frame splintered, groaning, and then the entire door tore from its hinges. It flew inward, twisting, and crashed against the far wall with a deafening crack. Dust exploded into the air. Lucian stepped over the ruin, his gaze sweeping the room in a single, cold beat. Richard Aldric lay sprawled on the stone floor, his face pale and slack, one hand twitching faintly, his breath a shallow rasp. Near the small, low bed, a child lay still, a small bundle of cloth and pale skin. And above her, a shape, luminous and fading, like light caught in a morning mist. It was Selene. --- Her form thinned, the edges blurring, dissolving as he watched. She was a ghost, a memory given substance, and now that substance was unravelling. Her eyes, luminous and vast, turned to him. They held a depth of sorrow he could not fathom, a silent question, a flicker of something close to recognition. He registered the impossible, the fact that a dead goddess stood before him, but he did not understand the weight of her gaze. He simply catalogued it: Selene. Here. Now fading. The scent of wild roses and summer rain, heavy and sweet, clung to the air for one last breath. Then she was gone. The light that had built her dispersed into nothing, leaving only the dim glow of the room’s single lantern. The air felt suddenly cold, empty. The impossible had happened, and then it had unhappened, leaving only the aftermath. Richard, unconscious but breathing shallowly. The still child. Lucian stood for a long moment, the silence oppressive. He had seen countless wonders, horrors beyond description, but this, a goddess’s last, sorrowful glance, left a chill he could not name. He felt no triumph, no resolution. Only a stark, empty space where something monumental had been. --- He moved to the child, his steps measured. She lay unnaturally still, too pale against the rough linen sheet. Her injured hand, now bandaged, pulsed faintly with a dark, angry light beneath the gauze. He knelt, his shadow falling over her small form. Her breath was shallow, almost imperceptible. She was so small, impossibly fragile. He reached for her, his large hand gentle beneath her back and knees. He lifted her. She weighed next to nothing, a collection of bone and frail skin. As he held her, a peculiar sensation rippled through him, something cold and sharp, an unwelcome intrusion he recognized as fear. It was a feeling he had not known for centuries, not since the early days of the Demon Realm, when his own existence had been a raw, uncertain thing. Why now? Why for this particular child, a foundling, a supposed liar? He did not understand it, this sudden, gnawing dread. It was illogical, without reason. Yet it coiled in his gut, a tight, cold knot. He held her closer, a silent oath forming in the ancient chambers of his mind. He would not let her go. --- Elias arrived, his golden light preceding him, followed closely by a pale-faced Kael. Elias took one look at Lucian holding the child, then at Richard, breathing shallow, ragged breaths, and his expression hardened. He moved with swift efficiency, a hand glowing as he scanned Elara. His brow furrowed. He peeled back the bandage on her hand. The wound was angry, swollen, edged with a dark green infection. He made a low, guttural sound. “Poison,” Elias stated, his voice quiet but sharp, “and a deep infection. This hand… it has been killing her for days. Nobody looked.” His golden light intensified, pulsing into the child’s small body. He worked quickly, drawing out the dark, insidious poison, then cleansing the wound itself. “The poison would have finished her within hours. The infection alone would have taken her inside the week, a slow, miserable death.” Lucian’s jaw tightened. He watched Elias, the cold anger a familiar comfort compared to the fear that had just gripped him. Nobody looked. The words echoed, a damning indictment against the world that had cast this child aside. Elias continued his work, murmuring softly, his hands tracing patterns of light over Elara’s chest. Lucian held her, his gaze fixed on her face, trying to read the subtle shifts in her pallor, the shallow rise and fall of her breath. Her clothes, simple and worn, were cinched tight at the neck. He wondered if they were hand-me-downs, too small or too large. The fabric seemed to press into her throat. He wanted to give her more air. He reached out, his finger gently hooking the rough collar. He tugged it down, just enough to let the healing light touch her skin. The fabric shifted, exposing the hollow of her throat. There, just beneath her jaw, a faint mark bloomed. A swirl of stylized shadow and bone. Lucian stopped breathing. He wore its twin.

The Man Who Sent Her Away