Before the first light of dawn reached the city, the wind was whipping dust and ash into Lucien's face. The streets were deserted, except for the faint sound of bells in the distance, announcing the passing of another soul.
Lucien trudged forward, his boots sinking into the mud up to his knees. His hands were buried in the pockets of his worn coat, but his fingers wouldn't stop trembling — not from the cold, but from the tension twisting inside him. His eyes were deep, as if each glance carried the weight of a thousand death scenes.
In the distance, he approached the door of a crumbling church. Faded words, barely legible in the wind, were etched above it:
Vita Aeterna – Eternal Life.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air reeked of rotting wood and old wax. Only extinguished candles, broken statues, and a thin beam of sunlight streaming through a crack in the ceiling filled the space.
A small group of people huddled in the center — some elderly figures whispering prayers, while a child clung to his mother's dress, eyes darting nervously around.
Lucien sat on a pew and pulled from his pocket a leather-bound journal that had once belonged to his grandfather. He had just begun flipping through the pages when heavy footsteps echoed through the church. Every head turned.
From the shadows emerged a man clad in a long black robe, his face hidden behind an iron mask. In his hand, a massive, rusted sword gleamed dully. Without a word, he lunged forward.
In that instant, the world seemed to shatter. Screams filled the church. Lucien froze — the masked man cut down everyone in his path with merciless precision. Blood pooled on the stone floor, the scent of burning wax mingling with the coppery stench of death.
Lucien couldn't move. His eyes locked on a single, freezing image — the blade slicing clean through a child's throat. The mother collapsed onto her son's body with a scream, but the masked man pressed on without hesitation.
Within minutes, life in the church was gone… replaced only by the silence of death.
Lucien struggled to breathe. His vision blurred with tears, yet he could do nothing but stare at the crimson floor. Then, for the briefest moment, he thought he saw them — his family… his father, his mother, even his little sister. They clung to each other, fear in their eyes, looking straight at him. But in a blink, they were gone.
Lucien slowly lifted his head… and there, at the exit of the church, stood the iron-masked man, his bloodied sword still in hand. A shaft of sunlight illuminated the cracks in the metal covering his face.
Lucien's heart pounded. Fear, rage, and an inexplicable sense of destiny churned within him.
In that moment, he knew — this man would be the beginning of his fate.
— End of Chapter 1