Chapter 16Lucien
Chapter
Sixteen
LUCIEN
18 Years Old
The estate is quiet, too quiet, except for the soft crunch of my boots on the gravel path. Even the air feels heavy, weighed down by the oppressive silence that clings to this house like ivy on its stone walls. My family calls it tradition. I call it suffocating.
I can see the faint glow of the dueling chamber ahead, spilling out into the night from the tall, arched windows. Inside, they’re waiting. My father, my brother, my mother—they’re always waiting for me to prove myself.
My hands clench at my sides as I approach the massive oak doors. They loom over me like a challenge, carved with intricate runes that pulse faintly under the light of the moon. I’ve walked through these doors a thousand times, but tonight, it feels different. Tonight, I’ll either earn my place or lose everything.
Taking a deep breath, I push the doors open. The chamber greets me with its usual chill, the air cool and sharp against my skin. Runes etched into the stone floor cast an eerie green light, their glow illuminating the towering walls lined with ancient banners. At the far end of the room, my father stands like a statue—unmoving, unyielding. His sharp features are framed by silver hair, his expression unreadable. Beside him, my brother Elias stands with his arms crossed, his posture as relaxed as ever.
And then there’s my mother, seated in the shadows near the edge of the room. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap, her face calm but distant. She doesn’t meet my eyes.
“You’re late,” my father says, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
“I’m here,” I reply, forcing my voice to stay steady. It’s not like him to acknowledge I exist unless it’s to point out what I’ve done wrong, so I’m not about to give him more ammunition.
He steps forward, his boots echoing against the stone floor. The room seems to shrink under the weight of his presence. “Do you understand why you’re here tonight, Lucien?”
“To fight Elias,” I say, my voice flat. I’ve known about this duel for weeks, ever since he announced it at dinner with all the ceremony of a death sentence. “To prove my strength.”
“To prove you can control your strength,” he corrects, his sharp gaze boring into me. “Raw power is nothing but a liability if you can’t wield it properly. A sword is useless if it cuts the wrong target.”
I grind my teeth, fighting the urge to argue. This is how it’s always been with him—lectures about control, about discipline, about how I’ll never measure up to Elias until I can stop letting my emotions dictate my actions.
Elias steps forward then, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t take it personally, Lucien. Father’s only hard on you because he sees potential. He just doesn’t want you to waste it.”
I glare at him, my jaw tightening. Elias always plays the part of the dutiful son, the golden child who can do no wrong. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to constantly feel like you’re one mistake away from being discarded.
“Enough,” my father says, his voice a command that leaves no room for argument. He gestures toward the center of the room, where the runes pulse brighter, their glow casting long shadows across the chamber. “Take your positions.”
I step onto the platform, my boots scuffing against the stone. The runes beneath my feet feel warm, their energy humming faintly against my skin. Across from me, Elias takes his place, his movements calm and deliberate. He looks completely at ease, as if this is just another sparring session.
“Tonight, you will fight as equals,” my father announces, his voice echoing through the chamber. “No interference, no excuses. The one who demonstrates control and strength will have my favor. The other...” His eyes flick to me, cold and piercing. “...will have to live with their failure.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. The weight of his words settles over me like a shroud. This isn’t just a duel. It’s a judgment.
“Begin.”
The single word hangs in the air, and for a moment, everything is still. My heart pounds, my breath catching as the weight of my father’s expectation presses down on me. Across from me, Elias stands poised, his stance relaxed but deliberate. His gaze meets mine, calm and calculating. He’s done this before—beaten me without breaking a sweat. But tonight, I swear it will be different.
Elias moves first. His magic ignites in a blinding cascade of silver light, sharp and precise, slicing through the air like a blade. The runes beneath him pulse brighter, feeding off the controlled intensity of his power. The light arcs toward me with lethal accuracy, and I barely manage to throw up a hasty shield of crimson flame.
The impact slams into me like a tidal wave, forcing me back a step. My shield flickers under the strain, and I grit my teeth, channeling more energy into it. My magic surges, wild and fiery, responding instinctively to the challenge. It lashes out in jagged arcs, crackling with raw heat. The runes beneath my feet thrum, drinking in the chaos.
Elias moves effortlessly, his silver magic coiling around him like a second skin. He sidesteps my attack with infuriating ease, his expression calm and almost bored. “You’re too slow,” he says, his tone maddeningly detached. “Focus, Lucien.”
“Shut up!” The words burst from me, fueled by frustration. My hands flare with fire, the heat searing the air around me. I channel the flames into a concentrated blast, aiming directly at his center. The fire roars to life, a torrent of untamed energy streaking across the chamber.
Elias doesn’t even flinch. With a flick of his wrist, his silver magic surges forward, swallowing my attack whole. The fire dissipates into harmless embers, leaving nothing behind but a faint shimmer of heat. My stomach tightens as I realize how easily he countered me.
“You’re predictable,” Elias says, his voice cool and infuriatingly calm. He circles me slowly, his movements deliberate and controlled. “You let your emotions dictate your moves. That’s why you’ll never beat me.”
His words cut deeper than his magic ever could, igniting something raw and primal inside me. Anger surges to the surface, molten and uncontrollable. I lash out again, harder this time, pouring every ounce of power into the attack. Flames explode outward in a wild, fiery storm, consuming everything in their path. The runes beneath my feet blaze with light, amplifying the chaos.
For a fleeting moment, I think I’ve caught him off guard. The fire tears through the chamber, the heat distorting the air, and I see Elias brace himself. But then, as the flames close in, a faint shimmer of silver surrounds him—a shield, perfectly timed and perfectly placed. My attack crashes against it, breaking apart like waves on a cliff. The fire is gone in an instant, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.
Elias’s counterattack comes fast and precise. A burst of silver light slams into my chest, sending me staggering back. The force of it knocks the breath from my lungs, and I hit the ground hard, the cold stone jarring against my spine. My vision blurs, the world spinning as the runes beneath me dim slightly, their energy fading. My flames sputter out, leaving me with nothing but the ache of defeat.
I try to push myself up, but my limbs feel heavy, the weight of exhaustion dragging me down. Across the chamber, Elias stands tall, his magic still humming around him like an aura of invincibility. He looks at me with something resembling pity, and it burns more than the fire in my veins ever could.
“Enough,” my father’s voice booms, cutting through the haze of pain and humiliation. His footsteps echo in the silence as he strides toward me, his presence suffocating. He stops a few paces away, his expression unreadable as he looks down at me.
“You’ve proven what I already knew, Lucien,” he says, his voice cold and final. “Power without control is worthless.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and unforgiving. I feel them sink into my chest, each syllable a dagger twisting deeper. My breath catches, the sting of his judgment cutting through the exhaustion. I force myself to my knees, my head bowed, my fists clenched against the cold stone.
“I can do better,” I manage, my voice raw and trembling. “Give me another chance.”
My father’s eyes narrow, his gaze sharp as a blade. “Another chance?” He steps closer, his shadow falling over me. “How many chances have I given you, Lucien? How many times have you let your emotions control you? You are reckless, unpredictable, a danger to yourself and to this family.”
I flinch at his words, the shame and anger warring inside me. I glance at my mother, hoping for some sign of support, but she doesn’t move. Her hands remain folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on the floor. Even Elias doesn’t gloat—he simply watches, his expression unreadable.
“Go,” my father says, his voice colder than I’ve ever heard it. “Until you learn to master your power, you are not welcome here. Out there”—he gestures toward the arched doors behind me—“is where you’ll find your answers. Not here.”
The finality in his tone leaves no room for argument. My chest tightens, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a crushing force. I stagger to my feet, the trembling in my limbs barely concealed. My eyes burn with unshed tears, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.
Without another word, I turn and walk toward the doors. Each step feels heavier than the last, the silence behind me deafening. As I push the doors open and step into the cold night air, the fire inside me flares again—not with rage, but with resolve.
I will prove him wrong. I will become stronger, more powerful, more controlled than he could ever imagine. And when I return, he’ll see the truth.
I’ll show them all.
The night I leave the estate, the fire inside me is a raging inferno, fueled by shame, anger, and something I can’t quite name. I walk for hours, past the sprawling grounds of my family’s land and into the dense woods beyond. The cold night air does nothing to quiet the heat inside me.
For weeks, I wander, surviving on scraps and sleeping under the stars. I try to harness the fire, to mold it into something controlled, but it refuses to obey. The harder I push, the more unpredictable it becomes. It flares to life at the worst times, scorching everything in its path. A cart. A barn. A tree that blazed so high it lit up the night sky.
People begin to whisper. He’s cursed. Unstable. Dangerous. They aren’t wrong.
It’s during one of those restless nights that the invitation comes.
I’m sitting by a dying fire in the ruins of an old chapel, the air thick with ash and regret. The firelight flickers against the broken stone walls, casting shadows that seem to mock me. The hunger in my chest is insatiable—not for food, but for release. The fire inside me crackles, restless and untamed, demanding to be set free.
“Lucien Devereaux.”
The voice pulls me from my thoughts. I look up to see a man standing in the doorway, his figure cloaked in shadow. His face is hidden beneath a hood, but there’s something about the way he stands—calm, commanding—that sets my nerves on edge.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice sharp. I’m used to people avoiding me, not seeking me out.
The man steps closer, the faint glow of the firelight catching the edges of his robe. “Not what I want,” he says smoothly. “What I can offer.”
I frown, the fire inside me flaring at the edge of his words. “I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”
He chuckles, the sound low and knowing. “I’m not selling anything, Lucien. I’m offering you a chance to embrace what you are. To stop fighting your nature and let the fire burn.”
His words strike something deep inside me. “What are you talking about?”
He tilts his head. “The Hunt,” he says simply. “A tradition among the strongest of us. A place where power doesn’t need to be controlled, only unleashed.”
Unleashed. The word hums in my chest, setting my fire alight. For years, I’ve been running from it, trying to suppress it, and here’s someone telling me I don’t have to. That I can let it out. That I can be .
“What’s the catch?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
The man’s lips curve into a faint smile. “No catch. Just a chance to prove that chaos is just as powerful as control. Think of it as... a release.”
The first Hunt is intoxicating. The rules are simple: chase, capture, claim. I don’t have to hold back. I don’t have to worry about collateral damage or the judgment of others. Here, my chaos is an advantage. My fire burns brighter than ever, consuming everything in its path.
And yet... it’s not enough. No matter how many times I win, no matter how many others fall before me, the fire never quiets. It’s never satisfied.
Every year, I return to the Hunt, hoping this time will be different. That this time, I’ll find the release I’ve been chasing. But the fire stays. The chaos stays. And the voice stays: Power without control is worthless.
Now, as I stand at the edge of another Hunt, watching the prey gather, I feel the fire stir again. My hands twitch at my sides, the familiar itch of magic crawling beneath my skin. I tell myself this time will be different. This time, I’ll unleash everything. I’ll prove that chaos isn’t something to be feared—it’s something to be worshipped.
And maybe this time, the fire will finally quiet.