Lucid walked with his head lowered against the chill. He had survived the collapse of the domain and secured his return, yet his thoughts remained fixed on the weight of what he had lost in the process. His feet dragged slightly against the wet stones, each step a reminder of the physical and mental toll the void had extracted.
The heavy rainfall over Port Vexis smelled like harbor salt. Cold water Sheeted across the basalt cobblestones and spilled into the street drains, carrying silt, sawdust, and market debris toward the lower docks.
He had gained another enemy today. The veiled women still moved through the city unhindered, their quiet footsteps haunting the borders of his awareness.
Over the course of his journey, he had been deceived, extorted, physically violated, and threatened with divine punishment.
Arthur walked ahead of him, his heavy greaves splashing deliberately against the stones. The knight kept his shoulders squared, his gaze scanning the upper rooflines.
Ayame moved a step to the right, keeping her hands clear of her cloak so she could draw her red blades without issue.
All three of them had returned from the void intact, though the silence between them felt thicker than the surrounding fog on his face.
Around them, the harbor district remained active despite the downpour. Citizens stood beneath wooden eaves and canvas awnings.
Merchants called out prices from behind their stalls, their voices hoarse and measured.
Laborers loaded timber crates onto iron-rimmed carts, arguing over delivery routes while children ran through the narrow lanes between the tenement buildings.
Lucid observed the crowd. His recent trials had proven that the world functioned entirely through trade.
Everything demanded a price, whether in gold, labor, or blood. Yet hope remained an exception.
Hope was a transaction a person made with themselves. No governor, monarch, or deity could regulate or tax it.
It required no authority and no intermediary.
He glanced toward an alley entrance and spotted a young boy watching the street from the dry shelter of an overhang.
Lucid offered the child a brief smile.
Port Vexis would endure.
The city cared nothing for divine politics or collapsing domains.
It simply continued to breathe.
"You know what," Lucid said aloud, his voice cutting through the steady hiss of the rain. "I am glad that I went back and finished the job."
Arthur paused and looked over his shoulder.
Water dripped from his hair.
"You do realize that I went through naval warfare because of you, right?"
Lucid tensed.
Arthur's tone was flat and carried no hint of exaggeration.
There were no flourishes in Arthur's speech.
"Yeah, and so the mission is solved," Lucid replied, forcing a lightness into his posture that he did not feel.
'A job well done by whom, exactly?' Alice asked within his mind. Her voice sounded measured, but also sweet like she was taunting him.
'Me, obviously,' Lucid answered.
He stopped walking and looked down the main thoroughfare.
Ayame shifted her stance, her heels pivoting on the wet stones. "There are more people."
A crowd had formed at the center of the avenue. Citizens stood in tight, silent rows that blocked the path to the upper square.
The gathering did not look like a typical market queue or a civic assembly.
The people were motionless, standing shoulder to shoulder with their faces turned toward the plaza.
Their clothes were soaked through, adhering to their limbs, yet none of them shivered or sought shelter.
Lucid felt his pulse quicken. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.
'It cannot be her. Why would she come here?'
He suspected that the troublesome young queen had tracked him down again. She seemed to take a perverse satisfaction in monitoring his movements across the territory, deploying her agents like pieces on an ivory board.
Lucid quickened his pace and pushed through the outer edge of the crowd.
The crowd had gathered tightly near the front, packed shoulder to shoulder beneath the rain. Men, women, merchants, workers, and even children stood together without speaking.
None of them seemed bothered by the water soaking through their clothes or the bodies pressing against them from every direction.
Lucid slowed as he approached.
Something was wrong.
At first, he thought it was the silence. A crowd this large should have been noisy, especially with everyone crammed together like this. There should have been complaints, arguments, children crying, someone demanding to know why another person had stepped on their foot.
There was nothing.
Lucid moved closer and placed a hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
"Hey."
No response.
The man did not turn around. He did not acknowledge the hand on his shoulder or even shift beneath Lucid's touch.
Lucid frowned and leaned to the side to see his face.
His hand slowly fell away.
The man was smiling.
Not just him.
Everyone was.
Wide, rigid smiles stretched across their faces, exposing rows of teeth. Their cheeks remained tense, and the skin around their mouths had gone pale from holding the same expression for far too long.
Lucid looked from one person to another.
The same smile.
Again.
And Again.
Rainwater ran down their faces, mixing with tears that slipped freely from several pairs of eyes. Nobody wiped them away. Nobody blinked. Their gazes remained fixed straight ahead, eyes opened painfully wide and pupils dilated until there was barely any color left around them.
Lucid took a cautious step backward.
Still, nobody looked at him.
Hundreds of people stood beneath the rain, smiling at something ahead of them.
Not one of them made a sound.
Lucid scanned the surrounding crowd. A baker in a flour-stained apron clapped her hands with slow, rhythmic intensity, the wet slaps of her palms timed to some unheard cadence.
Beside her, a dockworker knelt on the wet stones and whispered repetitive phrases to the sky, his fingers digging into the mossy crevices between the cobblestones. Every person in the square displayed the same unnatural euphoria.
Lucid narrowed his eyes and looked toward the center of the plaza.
As he focused, the dark clouds above the square parted. A single shaft of intense sunlight cut through the overcast sky and illuminated the cobblestones, leaving the rest of the street in damp shadow.
The sudden change in weather was too precise to be natural; the light descended like a physical column, carrying a dry, metallic warmth that banished the scent of the sea.
A man in white robes stood within the circle of sunlight. He held a tall staff in both hands, raising the polished wood toward the light. He appeared young, with short brown hair and luminous amber eyes that reflected the descending glare. His fair skin remained completely dry despite the surrounding storm; the rain seemed to evaporate inches above his garment, curling into thin wisps of steam.
"O Mother Alisia," the robed man called out, his voice carrying clearly across the silent square without the need to shout. "O Mother, I have been tasked to carry your words of benevolence."
'Alisia,' Lucid thought, his chest tightening. 'Who is Alisia, and why are they worshipping her?'
The man lowered his staff and swept it horizontally across the crowd. The spectators swayed in unison with the gesture, like reeds caught in a river current.
Arthur reached Lucid's side and observed the magistrate. His hand dropped instinctively toward the pommel of his broadsword.
"This is," Arthur began.
"Bad," Arthur finished.
"The Church of the Luminari Covenant is here," Arthur said.
Lucid scoffed, though his fingers twitched at his sides. "Oh, great. Some pastors have come to spread the word of God."
Arthur turned to Lucid with a rigid expression. His voice dropped to a harsh, low register. "Lucid, we have to leave at once."
Before they could step back, the robed man pointed the brass tip of his staff toward their section of the street.
"You there, child," the man called out. His tone was serene, yet it carried an underlying edge that cut through the murmur of the crowd. "Or should I say, troubled youth."
Lucid braced his feet, his muscles locking as he prepared for an impact, but the staff was not aimed at him.
A young sailor stood a few paces to Lucid's left, holding a half-empty glass bottle. The man smelled strongly of rum and stale sweat. He swayed unevenly, his boots slipping on the wet stones, and squinted at the sunlight with bloodshot eyes.
"Do you have no respect for the Acolytes of the Luminari Covenant?" the robed man asked.
The sailor sneered and took a clumsy step forward, raising his bottle as if to toast the sky.
"What Mother Alisia?" the sailor slurred, spit spraying from his lower lip. "Why would I care when she allowed me to have a bad harvest this year?"
A loud, wet crunch echoed across the stone plaza.
There was no flash of light, no visible projectile, and no gesture from the priest.
Lucid looked down. The sailor had collapsed onto the cobblestones. The crown of the young man's skull was caved inward, shattered by an unseen, localized impact.
Blood and rum pooled together across the wet stones, flowing into the crevices and washing toward the boots of the clapping baker. The sailor's limbs twitched once, then stilled entirely.
None of the surrounding citizens screamed. None of them broke their rhythmic applause. The baker stepped slightly to the right to avoid the spreading puddle, her wide, unblinking smile unchanged.
"We do not accept non-believers here," the robed man said. His tone remained gentle, conversational.
Lucid summoned his chains of envy. Cold light gathered along his forearms as the white chains began to manifest around his wrists, their ethereal links rattling with a dry, metallic resonance that only he could hear.
The air around his hands dropped in temperature, frosting the damp cuffs of his sleeves.
Arthur stepped directly in front of Lucid and blocked his path, pushing a heavy, gauntleted hand against Lucid's chest to halt the summoning.
"Do not," Arthur warned softly. "Not here. Not surrounded by them."
The robed man lowered his staff and observed the three of them with bright amber eyes. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on the faint residue of light fading from Lucid's cuffs.
"You three," the man said. "Do you believe in the legacy of Mother Fate, or are you non-believers?"