The streets of Galenreach hummed with life, but Lucien moved like a ghost through the throngs of merchants, nobles, and guards. Even the most alert eyes seemed to bend instinctively away from him, as if the city itself acknowledged the presence of someone far beyond ordinary. His cloak floated behind him without wind, shadows clinging to his heels, coiling with silent intent.
He had not traveled far from the riverbanks when a commotion erupted at the central plaza. Merchants shouted, guards drew swords, and a figure descended from above — lithe, arrogant, and dressed in crimson trimmed with gold. The crowd froze as the man landed effortlessly, cape flowing despite the still air.
"You there," the newcomer called, eyes glinting with amusement. "You've disrupted the flow of this city long enough. Step aside, or be removed."
Lucien's pale gaze swept over him, measuring the arrogance, the raw presence. There was something… different about this one. The way he carried himself, the subtle aura that made even the guards hesitate. A challenger? Perhaps. Or a fool about to learn his place.
Before Lucien could respond, two more figures appeared, descending from the rooftops in synchronized grace. One wielded twin blades that shimmered like dark lightning, the other's hands were encased in metallic gauntlets etched with glowing runes. Their movements were precise, theatrical, and absurdly confident — every step, every pose screamed dominance.
"You're brave to wander alone," the first newcomer said, tilting his head, a grin splitting his face. "But bravery without strength is… charming, in a pathetic sort of way."
Lucien's cloak shifted subtly, shadows coiling around him as if aware of the growing tension. Interesting, he thought. Finally, someone capable of drawing attention. Perhaps even more than capable.
The plaza became a stage. Guards held their ground, citizens cowered behind crates, and the three figures paused dramatically, letting their presence dominate the square. Lucien took a single step forward, the shadows around him rippling like dark waves, and the first man's grin faltered slightly.
"Who… or what… are you?" the twin-blade wielder asked, a rare edge of caution in his voice.
Lucien's lips curled faintly, a smile without warmth. "I am… the Sole Exception," he said, voice calm, precise, carrying weight that resonated through the plaza. "And I do not ask permission to walk where I choose."
For a heartbeat, time seemed to bend. The three stopped in their tracks, sensing something intangible — an aura, a presence, something that defied comprehension.
Then chaos erupted.
The twin-bladed figure lunged with impossible speed, leaving afterimages that danced across the plaza. The metallic-gauntleted fighter slammed the ground, sending shockwaves that rattled stone and startled the crowd. The crimson-caped newcomer circled, smiling, movements fluid and theatrical, as though the world itself were a stage and he the star.
Lucien moved like a shadow within shadows. Every step, every tilt of his head, every subtle shift of his cloak countered their attacks before they landed. The plaza shook, dust and debris spiraling, yet he remained calm — observing, analyzing, ready. He didn't just fight; he calculated every probability in real time, predicting their movements as if reading the very rhythm of their arrogance.
But for the first time in this era, Lucien felt the faintest tug of tension that was different. These three were no mere soldiers, no petty criminals, no minor champions. Even now, their presence, their raw arrogance and coordination, whispered a challenge — one that he could not ignore.
And somewhere deep in the city, in the shadows, unseen eyes watched. Whispers passed from lips to lips: "The Sole Exception has arrived… and yet… he is not alone in the world of power."
Lucien's pale eyes scanned the three figures before him. He didn't yet know their names, their motives, or the depth of their power — but he understood instinctively: these were individuals who could, if pushed, threaten even him. Not easily, perhaps not completely… but enough to demand caution, strategy, and respect.
A faint grin touched his lips. Finally… something worth my attention.
The plaza became a battlefield not only of strength, but of presence, arrogance, and theatrical dominance. Every movement, every clash, was a performance — a warning to the world that a storm was approaching, and the Sole Exception was no longer alone on the stage.