Lucian sidestepped the first strike, Mourne flashing in the dark as he parried an incoming blade, twisting to avoid a second attacker.
They weren't sloppy.
Every movement was precise, every strike calculated to drive him back, to force him into a corner.
A blade skimmed too close, slicing through the fabric of his coat. Another found the wound at his ribs, reopening it.
Lucian gritted his teeth, twisting his body to lessen the damage, his dagger sinking into the side of the nearest assassin—clean, quick, efficient.
The body dropped.
Seven left.
But the moment he stepped back, a shot rang out. It was not aimed at him.
A bullet tore through the skull of the assassin moving behind him, dropping them instantly.
Lucian's breath hitched, but he didn't hesitate. He used the distraction, pivoting to dodge another strike, cutting the tendons of another attacker's wrist.
And then—
She stepped into the fight.
The rain drummed against the rooftops, against the stone, against the bodies in the alley.
And there, at the mouth of the street, standing in the dim glow of the lanterns, was a figure clad in black and smoke.
A woman.
Lean, sharp, moving like a shadow given form.
Her coat was slick with rain, her gloved hands steady around the twin pistols aimed at the remaining assassins.
Seraphine Duskveil.
She tilted her head slightly, silver eyes gleaming beneath the low brim of her hat.
Her voice was calm, unreadable.
"You look like you could use some help."
Lucian exhaled sharply, shifting Mourne in his grip. "Took your time."
Seraphine's smirk was barely there, her fingers tightening against the triggers. "I was enjoying the show."
Another assassin lunged.
Seraphine fired.
It was a storm of bullets and blades.
The moment the first shot rang out, the fight shifted.
Lucian moved, Seraphine covering him, their movements fluid despite the chaos.
She was fast.
Not just in reaction, but in how she anticipated the assassins' movements, her guns firing in perfect rhythm, each shot taking down another masked figure.
Lucian carved through the chaos, Mourne flashing under the dim light, finding weak points, slipping between ribs, slicing tendons, leaving bodies behind.
Another gunshot and another assassin staggered back, a bullet through the eye socket.
Lucian didn't waste the moment, he twisted, burying Mourne into another's throat.
The fight was evening out.
Four left.
But the assassins didn't falter. They never did.
Lucian felt the pull of exhaustion now, the ache settling in his limbs, the cut at his ribs bleeding freely.
Seraphine glanced at him, reloading effortlessly, voice calm despite the chaos. "You going to drop dead, or should I finish this first?"
Lucian rolled his shoulders, wiping blood from his jaw. "You talk too much."
Another assassin lunged.
Lucian caught their wrist, twisting it until the bones cracked, stealing their dagger in the same movement and driving it into their stomach.
Seraphine spun, firing both pistols simultaneously, two clean shots, two bodies falling in unison.
The last assassin hesitated.
Then ran.
Lucian moved to pursue, but Seraphine caught his arm.
"Let them go," she murmured.
Lucian frowned, watching the shadow disappear into the night. "They'll report back."
Seraphine holstered her guns, exhaling softly.
"Good."
Lucian narrowed his eyes. "You want them to send more."
Seraphine's smirk returned, faint but sharp. "I want them to realize they don't have enough."
The alley was silent once more.
Lucian leaned against the wall, pressing a hand against his ribs, breath evening out.
Seraphine tilted her head, watching him.
"You look like hell," she murmured.
Lucian chuckled, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek. "You should see the other guys."
Her gaze flicked to the bodies around them. "I am."
A pause.
Then, she said softly, "You're bleeding."
Lucian sighed. "It's just a scratch."
Seraphine pulled a flask from her coat, tossing it to him. "Drink."
Lucian caught it, raising an eyebrow. "Since when do you share?"
Seraphine leaned against the alley wall beside him, holstering her pistols. "Since you stopped pretending you don't need help."
Lucian snorted, but he didn't argue. He took a slow sip, the burn settling into his ribs, dulling the pain.
The night stretched around them, quiet and heavy. The bodies lay cooling in the rain.
And the war was far from over.
The night hadn't settled yet.
The alley stretched beside them, still slick with blood, the corpses of the Umbral Blades cooling under the rain. The scent of steel and gunpowder still clung to the air, but the fight was over.
And yet, something remained.
Lucian exhaled slowly, his stance shifting slightly, placing himself subtly between Seraphine and the alley's mouth.
The rain whispered against the stone, washing the blood into the cracks of the alley.
Lucian stood still, breath even, but his pulse had slowed—not from exhaustion, not from relief, but from something else.
Something wrong.
Mourne's blade was still warm in his grip, slick with the remnants of those who had come for his life. He wiped it against the torn fabric of his sleeve, smearing dark crimson across the already ruined cloth.
The bodies lay silent around him, cooling in the mist-choked air, but the fight was not over.
Not yet.
Because something had shifted.
A ripple in the air, soundless, weightless, like the past had stirred beneath his feet.
Lucian tensed, his muscles coiling, and then,
Remnant Sight flared.
The alley shuddered, the world around him losing focus, time folding back in on itself like a wound reopening.
And for a brief, fleeting moment, She was there.
The Hollow Queen's Shadow
Amber Castell.
She stood at the far end of the alley, where the lantern light barely reached, where the rain refused to touch.
Dark armor, edges gleaming with the faintest sheen of silver. A cloak that moved like smoke, its shadows stretching, twisting, recognizing her as their queen.
A dagger rested against her palm.
Not gripped. Not raised. It was only waiting.
And her eyes. Lucian had seen blue before, in moonlight, in steel, in the reflections of cold water.
But her gaze was something else.
It wasn't looking at him.
It was through him.
Unblinking. Unreadable.
Not a memory.
Not a vision.
Something else.
Something watching.
Lucian felt a prickle at the base of his skull, an old instinct whispering that he was not just seeing her—she was seeing him.
And then—
The vision snapped.
The past bled back into the present, leaving only the alley, the bodies, the rain.
And something else.
Lucian's gaze dropped to the stone.
A sigil was carved into the wet pavement, deep and deliberate, its edges still smoldering despite the rain.
A message.
A warning.
And a promise.
The Umbral Blades were not finished with him and so was the Hollow Queen.
A boot scuffed against the stone.
Lucian didn't flinch. Didn't turn.
Seraphine stepped beside him, her twin pistols still warm from the fight, the lingering scent of gunpowder clinging to the air between them.
She didn't speak at first.
Didn't ask.
She simply looked.
At the sigil.
At the blood.
At the space where Lucian had been staring.
Then—softly, but not without sharpness—"Who was she?"
Lucian exhaled, slow and steady, slipping Mourne back into its sheath. "Amber Castell."
Seraphine's lips pressed into a thin line. "The Hollow Queen."
Lucian nodded.
Seraphine glanced at the sigil, tracing its burned edges with a gloved fingertip, testing the heat that shouldn't still be there.
"You saw her," she murmured. It wasn't a question.
Lucian's jaw tightened. "Something like that."
Seraphine didn't look at him. "And she saw you back."
Lucian didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The rain had started to wash the blood away, but the sigil remained, unbroken.
And somewhere in the shadows of the city, AmberCastell was still watching.
The Hollow Queen's Gift
A sound.
Soft. Sharp. Metallic.
Something small and heavy hit the cobblestone beside the sigil, sliding against the wet stone with a dull, deliberate clink.
Seraphine's hand snapped to her pistol, but Lucian had already stilled her with a glance.
"Not a threat," he murmured.
Seraphine arched a brow. "You sure?"
Lucian didn't answer.
Instead, he crouched, fingers closing around the object left behind.
A coin.
Rust-dark at the edges.
No. Not rust.
Blood.
A sigil had been burned into its surface, etched deep into the metal—the same sigil as the one carved into the stone.
Lucian turned it over between his fingers. Too heavy.
Not just a coin.
A weight.
A burden.
A demand.
An invitation.
Seraphine let out a slow breath, watching him carefully. "We taking the bait?"
Lucian didn't answer immediately.
Didn't move.
Didn't blink.
The air still felt charged.
Like the past hadn't fully let go of the present.
Like the Hollow Queen was still here, watching from the places where shadows stretched too long.
Lucian closed his fingers around the coin.
The rain drummed against the rooftops.
His heartbeat steadied.
And finally, he spoke.
"Not yet."
But soon.
Very soon.
And they both knew it.