Lucien didn't stop to scream. He didn't delay. He ran.
The moment he'd seen those glinting eyes in the mist—he knew. Wherever this was, it wanted him dead.
His legs burned with each step, lungs clawing for air, but he pushed himself forward through the twisted landscape. Riven earth crunched underfoot.
Black thorns tore his sleeves. Shadows twisted at the edges of his vision.
Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop.
He had no clue where he was. No clue how he'd got here. But survival didn't require answers.
Only movement.
All his instincts were screaming at him to move.
He ducked beneath low-branched boughs of dead trees, sidestepped poking rocks and
broken remnants that littered the ground like leftovers from some long-forgotten war.
The scritch-scratch of claws on rock sounded louder behind him.
They were gaining on him.
He risked a glance back—eyes. Dozens of them, burning like hot coals in the dark. No faces. Just twisted bodies and hunger.
Lucien vaulted over a fallen pillar, fell into a shallow ditch, and landed with a jolt. Dirt filled his mouth as he scrambled to his feet, biting back a cry.
MOVE!!
He climbed up the other side of the gully, using roots as hand and footholds.
His muscles screamed in protest, but he didn't care.
He didn't have time to think, didn't waste his breath on fear.
Just run.
Just live.
Lucien's foot caught on a root, and he staggered once more—but this time, his eyes saw something in the distance.
A ruin.
Half-hidden beneath ash and vines, a shattered stone structure leaned against the world like a dying beast.
A once-grand archway stood askew, its walls cracked and covered in runes that pulsed faintly beneath the dust.
"Shelter, YES" with a softened facial expression
He sprinted through the arch, weaving past broken columns and toppled beams until he reached what remained of a room—four whole walls and a ceiling, the wind barely whispering through one broken gap.
He closed the massive stone door behind him with a gasp, dust and sweat clinging to his skin. Darkness enveloped him, but it was still.
No more glowing eyes. No more pursuit.
For now.
Lucien backed away into the corner and dropped to the ground, heart pounding in his ears.
He didn't cry—he just breathed.
He looked at his hands. They were trembling, bloody from the thorns and stone. But he was alive.
"…What the devil is this place?" he grunted.
He had no idea how long he stayed there—minutes, maybe more.
The silence in the ruin felt heavy, pressing down upon him like the dark had weight.
Then—
A sound.
Soft. Deliberate.
Footsteps.
Lucien's eyes snapped towards the door. Not the scuttling of monsters. A different rhythm. Controlled. Human.
Someone—or something—was inside the ruins with him.
He rose slowly, leaning his back against the wall, looking for something to use as a weapon. His fingers closed around a piece of jagged broken stone. It would have to suffice.
The footsteps came closer.
Then, a figure in the doorway. Taller than any human Lucien had ever encountered. Wound in tattered gray fabric, a metal mask over their face—empty, save for a tiny slit where one eye shone pale blue.
They stiffened and tilted their head at Lucien.
".You're not from this world," the voice growled—metallic and exhausted. "Are you the one they called for?"
Lucien's hold on the shard grew tighter, his own voice low and sharp. "Who are you?"
The figure walked into the room fully.
And behind them… others began to gather in the darkness.
Lucien's fingers clamped tighter on the rough-edged stone in his fist, knuckles whitening. The hooded figure moved closer, the blue of their eye sending an unearthly glint dancing in the shadows.
"I'm not asking for a second time," the figure spoke, voice distorted through the mask. "Were you summoned?"
Lucien didn't answer.
He attacked instead.
A last-ditch attempt. Clumsy. He swung the stone as a dagger, at the figure's shoulder, but it was like trying to cut air.
The figure moved sideways with ease, catching Lucien's wrist halfway through the swing. A quick twist, and the shard fell to the ground. Lucien flinched—then screamed as he was pushed back, slamming into the hard stone wall.
He slid down, panting.
"That was idiotic," said the figure flatly. "You're weak. You don't even know how to live here."
Lucien glared at them, gasping for air, holding on to his arm. "Then go ahead and kill me."
There was a long silence. The masked figure edged slightly, gazing in the direction of the ruined doorway. More figures wrapped in cloaks were watching now—some on the wreckage, others hidden just beyond the seams of light. Dozens of glowing eyes looked at Lucien.
"Because we don't know what you are yet," the masked one said. "You don't carry magic. You don't wear armor. You weren't branded. And yet…" They tilted their head again, looking at him. "You were summoned by a forbidden circle. The type that hasn't been cast in centuries."
Lucien's stomach plummeted. "I didn't ask for this."
"No one ever does."
And then the figure got down in front of him.
"We don't know if you're a weapon… or a mistake. But either way, someone wants you her. And that makes you dangerous."
Lucien clenched his jaw and turned away.
The masked figure stood and gestured to the others. "Bind his hands. He's coming with us."