The night was darker than most. Not because the stars were missing—but because the land beneath them was drowning in smoke.
Lucien stepped through the treeline, his boots silent on the ash-laced ground. The smell of scorched brush and blood hit him before he saw the fire. Not wildfire—spellfire. Someone was under siege.
He didn't hesitate.
He drew his blade and crossed the final ridge in a blink, his cloak trailing sparks as he burst into the clearing.
Three figures circled a lone fighter—two wielding curved silver axes, the third casting flickering bands of red flame like snares.
The woman in the center was burned, cornered, but still standing. She whirled a short-handled spear with exhausted precision, her back against a ruined obelisk.
Lucien didn't need to ask.
"Seradine."
He was already moving before the word left his mouth.
A wave of crimson erupted from his palm. The spell tore through the nearest attacker with searing heat, knocking the others off balance. One tried to retreat—Lucien was faster. A single flick of his wrist and the air bent, dragging the man into the dirt.
The last one screamed and vanished into the trees.
Silence fell.
Seradine coughed, gripping the obelisk for support. Her armor was cracked, her face streaked with ash. But when she looked up and saw him—really saw him—her eyes widened.
"Lucien…?"
He nodded, breathing hard.
She laughed—a hoarse, half-broken thing.
"You came."
"I said I would."
Seradine stared at him like she didn't quite believe it. "How in the gods' name did you find me?"
"Smoke. Blood. And an old promise."
She let out another soft breath, like a weight was leaving her chest. Then her legs gave out and she slid to the ground, resting against the base of the obelisk.
Lucien moved to kneel beside her. He didn't touch her—he remembered how proud she was—but he stayed close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him.
"I thought you were dead," she said quietly. "After the Collapse, we heard stories. Some said you'd burned. Others… that you were sealed in the Rift."
"They weren't wrong," Lucien said. "Just incomplete."
Seradine shook her head. "I waited. I kept hoping someone would come. A sign. A banner. Something. But nothing came. Not until now."
Her voice cracked.
"I buried the sigil. I trained in secret. I fought for scraps of what we once were."
"I know," Lucien said. "That's why I came for you."
Her eyes shimmered, not with tears—but with something fiercer. Gratitude. Loyalty.
"I can't believe it's really you," she whispered. "You found me. After all this time. After everything."
Lucien let out a breath. "You're not easy to kill, Seradine."
A smile pulled at her lips. "No. But I was getting close."
They sat in silence for a moment. The smoke cleared. The sounds of night returned—crickets, wind, far-off water.
Then Seradine turned her face toward him again. "You're really rebuilding it, aren't you?"
He nodded.
"The Empire?"
"Not the old one. But something better."
She exhaled. "Then I want in. You don't have to ask."
Lucien finally let himself relax, just a little.
Seradine leaned back, closing her eyes for a beat. "I've missed this," she said. "Not the war. Not the fire. You. Us. The way we stood for something."
Lucien's expression was hard to read. "We still can."
She opened her eyes, a little sharper now. "You've seen others, haven't you? From the old guard?"
"A few," he said. "But not enough. We'll need more."
Seradine looked down. "Some of them… I don't know if they made it. I don't even know who I am anymore without them."
"You're one of mine," Lucien said quietly. "That's enough."
She looked at him then, really looked—and nodded once. "Then I'll follow you. Wherever this leads."
He stood and offered her his hand. She took it.
And in that simple gesture, the night shifted.
A kingdom stirred again.