Lucian, having proven his might and believing he had successfully reclaimed his divine image, decided to leave the two mortals behind.
One, he was furious. Furious that he had not been given the chance to prepare before being cast down into the Primordial Realm. Two: he had no intention of dragging along what he considered "baggage." His mission had to be swift, precise, and without unnecessary attachments.
"Sir, please… do you mind if we tag along?" Claris begged, her voice trembling. She had seen what this celestial being could do, and she clung to the hope that his presence meant safety—at least until they reached the nearest safe zone.
Lucian did not even glance at her. Instead, he raised his wrist and tapped at it as though operating an invisible device. A soft hum followed, and from the folds of the void itself, a sleek hover-bike materialized, gliding into existence with a faint shimmer.
"Nope," Lucian finally replied, mounting the bike. Without waiting for another word, he shot forward, vanishing into the horizon with no destination in mind.
Claris's prayer had been answered, but not in the way she had hoped. Salvation had come, yet not in the form of companionship or protection. As Lucian knew all too well, Otaenians were not gods—they never desired the worship of mortals, even though divinity flowed in their veins.
It wasn't that Lucian despised mortals. He simply believed in minimizing burdens. Protecting two frail humans would only slow him down, and he had no patience for weakness.
---
As the hover-bike cut across the skies of the Primordial Realm, Lucian's thoughts drifted. His assignment weighed heavily on him, though he still didn't fully understand it. Even a fragment of his power—merely a fraction of his Origin—was enough to make immortals hesitate before standing against him. Yet… why had the heavens not sent a god to safeguard the mortals? Why him, of all beings?
He reached out with his mind, attempting to contact his father. Silence. No response. The connection was severed. For the first time in his existence, Heaven itself felt… locked. Heaven was never locked.
A chill ran through him. This is no punishment for mischief, he thought. No mere lesson for a wayward prince. Father and the rest of Heaven sent me here because of what Mother Orton revealed to them. Something grave is coming.
---
The sudden screech of the hover-bike's halt broke his thoughts. Lucian stepped off, his eyes narrowing as he took in the devastation before him.
What had once been a city of grandeur lay in ruin. Towering skyscrapers that once pierced the heavens now stood broken, jagged spires against a gray sky. Automobiles, once proud symbols of mortal ingenuity, were nothing but rusted husks and twisted metal.
Lucian's eyes glowed with violet light, scanning the city with the sharp gaze of divinity. The sight that greeted him hollowed his chest. Dead bodies, countless and unburied, sprawled amidst the rubble. Men, women, children—all reduced to stillness, their lives extinguished in terror.
"This was recent," he muttered, his voice heavy with restrained emotion.
He walked among the ruins, each step echoing against the silence of death. The weight of mortality pressed against him—this was the fragility of the world his father sought to protect.
But walking would take too long. Rising into the air, Lucian alighted atop the tallest remaining tower. His vision expanded, and his gaze swept across five hundred kilometers with each surge of Origin. He leapt from ruin to ruin, scanning again and again, his eyes piercing through shadows and debris.
And then—life.
A flicker amidst the darkness.
A child, no more than two or three years old, hidden in a collapsed building. The little one's parents had given everything, carving out a fragile shelter with their final breaths, to ensure their child would live.
For a moment, Lucian's heart stilled. In the sea of death, one fragile flame of life yet remained.
Silence pressed down on Lucian as he hovered in the air, eyes fixed on the fragile flicker of life below. He hesitated. Taking care of a child—so helpless, so breakable—was a burden he had no desire, nor experience, to carry. And yet… something within him stirred. A softness, faint and unfamiliar, tugged at the walls of his pride.
Descending, his boots touched the rubble with barely a whisper. He stretched out his hand, violet light coursing through his veins, his Origin power shimmering to life. The ruins responded instantly, as though eager to obey his command. Stones groaned, beams shifted, and debris lifted into the air in trembling silence until a tiny form was revealed beneath.
The child.
No older than three summers, trembling violently, with cheeks streaked in dirt and tears. Wide eyes, glassy with terror, locked onto Lucian as though seeing both salvation and a new kind of monster.
For a long moment, Lucian simply stood there, staring. He had faced gods, beasts, and void-born horrors without blinking. But this, this frail, breathing ember of life—held him still.
He took a step closer. Then another. The closer he came, the more the child shrank back, whimpering softly. The mighty prince of the Heavens realized then, with a pang of clarity, that his very presence terrified the little one.
Lucian dropped into a crouch, lowering himself until his glowing eyes met the child's at the same level. His features softened, and though his voice trembled with unfamiliarity, he spoke with the gentlest tone he could summon.
"Are you… okay?"
The words felt strange on his tongue, almost foreign. Mischief and arrogance had always been his masks, but here, in the ruins of death and silence, those masks slipped. For the first time in his long existence, Lucian allowed himself to show something he had never dared before...care.
Lucian remained crouched, his violet gaze fixed on the trembling child before him. Tiny hands clutched at a scrap of cloth, the last remnant of parents who would never return. Their final act had been to shield this little one from death, entrusting their hope to a world that had already failed them.
A weight pressed against Lucian's chest strange and uncomfortable. He was a prince of Heaven, heir to Origin's might. He had never been taught how to hold something so fragile, so mortal. I can command storms, he thought bitterly, but I cannot even command my own heart in this moment.
The child whimpered, shrinking further into the rubble. Lucian sighed, running a hand through his hair
. "This is madness," he muttered under his breath. Taking a child would slow him, make him vulnerable. Every battle would be fought with one hand shielding the weak. And yet, the idea of walking away… felt impossible.
He extended his hand, palm open, and softened his expression. "Come," he whispered, his voice low and unsteady. "You are safe now."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, hesitantly, the child reached out tiny fingers brushing against the divine glow of his hand. The contact was feather-light, but it struck Lucian like a thunderclap.
Something shifted within him. A vow , yet etched into his being: as long as this child breathed, he would not allow harm to touch them.
Carefully, almost awkwardly, he lifted the child into his arms. The little one buried their face into his chest, small sobs muffled against his divine robes. Lucian froze, unfamiliar with the warmth pressing against him. His arms, meant for war, felt strangely clumsy as they cradled life instead of destruction.
"Looks like… you're mine now," he murmured, half to himself. There was no arrogance in his tone, no mischief. Only resolve.
Mounting his hover-bike once more, Lucian glanced at the horizon. His mission had not changed, but now it carried weight beyond his own pride. For the first time in his long existence, the prince of Heaven was not fighting for himself, nor for gods, but for the fragile heartbeat resting against him.
And deep inside, though he would not yet admit it, Lucian understood: this child was not a burden. They were the beginning of his transformation.