The plaza had quieted, dust settling over the cracked stones, but the tension lingered like a living thing. Lucien's pale gaze swept across the three figures before him. They were still standing — bruised, slightly off-balance, but very much alive.
The crimson-caped man finally straightened, brushing dust from his cloak as if nothing had happened. "Impressive," he said, voice light, teasing, yet laced with something sharper beneath the surface. "Far more than I expected. You are… unlike any I have encountered."
The twin-bladed fighter sheathed one of his swords with a precise flick, eyes narrowed. "We underestimated you. That will not happen again. Mark my words, pale one."
The metallic-gauntleted fighter let out a low hiss, shaking his gauntlets slowly. "We will retreat for now. There is… more to consider. You are strong… perhaps too strong for today."
They exchanged a few sharp glances, their synchronized arrogance tempered now with cautious respect — the first cracks in their confidence. Then, almost simultaneously, the three vanished from the plaza, moving with the same dramatic, effortless grace they had entered, leaving nothing but shadows behind.
Lucien did not pursue them. Instead, he observed, reading the subtle traces they left behind — the slight distortions in the air, the faint residual aura, the whispered ripples of arrogance and power. They are not defeated, he thought. They are calculating. Preparing.
The crowd slowly began to murmur again, fear mixed with awe. Merchants peeked from behind crates, guards lowered their swords, but everyone felt the echo of the confrontation. Even in retreat, those three had commanded the stage.
Lucien adjusted his cloak, shadows coiling subtly at his feet, and began walking along the river that cut through Galenreach. His mind was already dissecting the battle — their patterns, weaknesses, and the faint traces of hidden abilities they had concealed. Each had left a mark: a small signature of power that hinted at far greater depths than what he had seen.
Somewhere across the Verdant Expanse, those same signatures would ripple through the world. Allies, enemies, rival factions — all sensitive to shifts in power. Lucien sensed it: the world itself was alive, responding to him and those who sought to challenge him.
And somewhere, in the distant shadows of other continents, forces far older and stronger than these three stirred. Whispers passed through hidden circles: "The Sole Exception has appeared. The world will test him… and so will we."
Lucien paused, his pale eyes scanning the horizon where the city met the rolling plains. He did not fear them — not truly. But he recognized the weight of challenge in their retreat. They had left for a reason, and that reason would shape the battles yet to come.
Fun, he thought. Yes… this will be entertaining.
The sun dipped lower, casting long, pale shadows across the plaza. Lucien's cloak fluttered despite the absence of wind, shadows rippling as he walked away. He was the Sole Exception, yes, but the world beyond this city was vast, dangerous, and filled with power that could rival even him.
And he would find it.