The sea had been merciless, tossing Lucien's ship across waves that glimmered like shattered mirrors. Yet he did not falter. Even the storm seemed insignificant beneath the weight of his purpose. His cloak flowed unnaturally around him, unaffected by the wind, shadows curling at his feet as if alive.
The Verdant Expanse stretched before him, a continent of rolling plains, dense forests, and distant, mist-capped mountains. Cities dotted the landscape, each a hub of wealth and intrigue. Caravans moved like veins across the plains, connecting villages, noble houses, and fortified cities. Traders shouted over the din of marketplaces, but even their noise seemed to bend subconsciously around him, muted, as though the world itself acknowledged his presence.
He stepped onto the shore without fanfare. The sand beneath his boots was dry, warm, and unremarkable — yet even here, he could sense the pulse of the land. Political tension, the friction of noble houses vying for influence, whispers of mercenary bands and thieves' guilds… all were threads woven into the continent's web of power.
The first city he approached was Galenreach, a fortified trading hub perched on the edge of a sprawling river. Its walls were tall, its gates massive, and banners flapped lazily despite a still breeze. Citizens stopped, caught between fear and awe as he passed. Some whispered of legends: pale men who survive impossible odds, shadows that obey them, figures whose mere presence bends reality. None could place him, yet all felt the pull of something extraordinary.
Even in this bustling city, Lucien's steps were silent, calculated. His pale eyes scanned every alleyway, marketplace, and watchtower. The city's nobles, unaware of the greater threats beyond their walls, plotted and schemed. He did not intervene — not yet. Observation came first. Knowledge was always the edge he relied upon.
And somewhere beyond the forests and mountains, he felt it — faint ripples of power, subtle disturbances that set the land on edge. The world was alive with forces that would challenge him, perhaps rival him, perhaps… awaken the whispers of beings who moved unseen, arrogant, and powerful, whose very posture radiated danger and style.
Lucien adjusted his cloak, letting it flow unnaturally behind him as he walked along the river's edge, the sun casting his shadow long and pale. This continent… it is different, he thought. And yet, the same rules apply: observe, adapt, survive.
For now, he was alone. But the land, the air, and even the shadows themselves carried subtle signs that his journey was far from solitary. Somewhere, perhaps, others like him — or those bound by different voids — stirred in patience, arrogance, and latent power.
Lucien's pale eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon. His steps were deliberate, silent. He was the Sole Exception, and the world — every continent, every faction, every whispered legend — would take notice.