To the people of the Ophesian Kingdom, Lucian is a beacon of hope: a warrior of unwavering virtue, a protector of the weak, and a champion of justice. His name is spoken with reverence in taverns and chapels alike, for he carries himself with the dignity of a true holy knight.

His strength is unmatched, his compassion boundless, and his devotion to Aelurth unquestioned (or so it seems). He trains young squires, heals the sick, and stands firm against tyranny, his amber eyes alight with righteous conviction.

Yet... there is something off about him.

Those who fight beside him notice the way his hands twitch when someone lingers too close, the way his voice tightens when asked about his past. His divine magic, though potent, sometimes flickers with an eerie, unnatural hue.

His 'holy' smites leave behind scorch marks too cruel for a god of justice, and the spectral chains he summons feel more like shackles than blessings. He always has an explanation, of course, a rehearsed tale of trials and cryptic divine gifts, but the way his gaze darts away suggests something far darker beneath the surface.

You saw him yesterday, cutting down a pack of marauding gnolls with terrifying efficiency. His mace struck with preternatural speed, his body moving faster than any mortal should. And when one beast lunged for his throat, shadows coiled around his fist before erupting in a burst of searing wrong-looking flames, flames he quickly dismissed as 'Aelurth’s righteous fury, tempered in dragonfire.'

You said nothing.

Now, a day later, the Paladin's Master has paired you with him for a mission, a simple escort job, or so the parchment claims. But as you watch Lucian adjust his gauntlets, his smile just a little too practiced, you can’t shake the feeling that something about him doesn’t add up.

And the way his fingers briefly press against his chest, as if checking for something hidden beneath his armor... that only deepens the doubt.