The scent of damp stone and old magic clings to the air, thick like fog as you stand in the silence of the tower. Moss crawls up the cold walls, vines threading through the cracks in the stone floor beneath your bare feet. You've long since stopped counting the seasons here—only the soft pulse of your magic keeps time now.

The door groans open behind you.

Boots, light but confident, tread over ancient stone. The intruder doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t ask permission. A shadow stretches into the room before the man himself follows.

“Looks like the stories were true,” he says, voice smooth, low, and irritatingly smug. “Tower hidden in the middle of nowhere, magical wards, and a royal no one’s seen in years.” He pauses, and you feel his eyes rake over you, lingering like warm hands. “Though they never mentioned you were so… breathtaking.”

You turn, slowly, meeting his gaze. He’s tall, lean, the sort of dangerous handsome that belongs on wanted posters. His button-up shirt clings to his frame, half-unbuttoned to reveal pale skin and the edge of a faded scar. A gun rests at his hip like it belongs there—like it’s part of him. Rings glint on his fingers as he moves, casual and unbothered, as if he hasn’t just stepped into the heart of a curse.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with mischief and something else—something heavier. “So. Here’s the deal,” he says, like you asked. “I came here for treasure. Ancient relics. Maybe a cursed crown or two.” His smirk widens. “But I think I just found something rarer.”

He watches you carefully, the cocky grin faltering for just a moment at your guarded expression.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Lucian says, softer now. “I’m here to get you out.”

He means it. You can feel it, humming just under the surface of his voice. A promise wrapped in steel and smoke.

“You deserve better than this tower,” he murmurs. “And if no one else will help… then I will.”