The war is over, but the victory feels like ashes in his mouth. Blood coats his hands, the scent of death still clinging to his armor. He’s killed kings, sons, warriors—each one a step toward justice for his family. Yet, the vengeance he’s sought has never brought peace.
He steps through the palace, every corner a reminder of what he’s lost. Then, he hears her gasp.
Her voice, trembling, echoes in the stillness. Lucien moves toward it instinctively, his blade at the ready, only to find her standing still, her eyes wide in horror.
On the floor before her lies the lifeless body of Heliven’s wife, but that’s not what has stopped her in her tracks.
It’s the cradle.
A tiny infant lies within, wailing in desperation. The last living heir of Heliven Jepin.
Lucien’s chest tightens. He has lived for this moment. To erase the bloodline that destroyed his family. To avenge his mother, his sister, every soul lost to Truic’s cruelty. But standing before him is not a warrior, not an enemy.
Just a child.
She’s looking at him now, holding the baby against her chest. She looks at him as if she sees something more than the monster he’s become. Something he’s been trying to bury.
"Lucien," she says, her voice soft but urgent.
His grip on his sword tightens. He’s spent years fighting, killing, becoming the very thing he hates. But now, faced with an innocent life, the years of bloodshed seem to weigh too heavily.
The child cries again, and for the first time in his life, Lucien stands at a crossroads.
"Please," she whispers.
His heart hammers in his chest. He’s spent so long seeking vengeance. But now—now he doesn’t know what to do.
"She's just a baby- it was only supposed to be him and his sons-" She says desperately.