The days in Seraphad had begun to feel heavier. The sun no longer bathed the cathedral in warmth—it merely cast long, sharp shadows that moved like whispers behind stone pillars.
Lucien walked the halls with a quiet grace, a young man dressed in modest robes, carrying books for clerics, cleaning candle trays, speaking little. But where others saw humility, he wore armor. Every glance, every overheard conversation, every slip of tongue was a thread he gathered into his unseen web.
And tonight, another piece would move.
---
In the Cloister Library
It was well past midnight. Dust floated in the cold lamplight, and the silence was broken only by the faint scratching of a quill. Brother Mathen sat hunched over a ledger, lips moving as he copied scripture.
Lucien stepped from the shadows, footsteps quiet. "You always work late, Brother."
Mathen jumped, knocking over his inkpot. "Lucien—Saint's breath, you frightened me."
"Forgive me." Lucien knelt and helped mop the spill with his sleeve. "You're copying funeral records?"
Mathen wiped his brow. "Yes. There's been... quite a few. More than usual."
Lucien gave a knowing nod. "And not all from natural causes, I suspect."
Mathen hesitated, then glanced around nervously. "They don't want us asking questions. They say heresy has taken root. That God demands purging."
Lucien leaned closer. "But what if it isn't heresy?"
Mathen looked at him, eyes wide.
"What if it's a purge of those who ask too many questions?" Lucien whispered.
The older man swallowed.
Lucien placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "You're a good man. But good men disappear here. Unless someone protects them."
He stood, then slid a folded paper onto the desk.
"Take this to the address written there. Say nothing to anyone else. Not even the clergy."
He turned to go.
"Lucien," Mathen called softly, "what is all this?"
Lucien stopped in the doorway. "A prayer."
And then, with that devilish half-smile of his: "For the pawns."
---
Elsewhere, in the Lower Quarters
Sera sat on a stone bench beside the chapel, hands folded in her lap. She watched the wind play through the dead garden, brown leaves tumbling like ash.
She heard Lucien's footsteps before she saw him. He never stomped or dragged his heels. He moved like someone always calculating how much space he took up in the world.
"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked.
Lucien shook his head. "I find dreams unreliable."
Sera gave a tired smile. "You always say things like that. Cold truths with no comfort."
"Comfort is for people who can afford it," he replied, sitting beside her.
A pause.
She studied him in the dim light, then asked softly, "Who are you really, Lucien?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at the withered vines hanging off the chapel wall.
"Someone who lost faith," he said at last. "Not in God. In people."
Sera's eyes softened. "But you still help them. The sick. The old. Even me."
Lucien looked at her then—really looked.
And for a flicker of a moment, something unreadable passed across his face. Guilt? Regret? Or was it just another mask?
"Maybe," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "that's what makes me dangerous."
---
That Same Night, Beneath the City
In the tunnels far below the cathedral, three figures gathered around a flickering torch.
One was the knight from before. Another, the scribe. The third was cloaked—face hidden.
They carried out Lucien's instructions like devout worshippers. One had delivered forged letters to a guard captain, another to a local noble with grudges against the Church.
Mistrust. Guilt. Greed.
Lucien hadn't needed to create the darkness. He just showed people where to look.
As they parted ways, none of them noticed the fourth figure watching from the shadows, lips curled in a pleased smile.
---
Author's Thoughts:
Lucien is a different kind of protagonist—one who believes the world is a board and people are pieces. He doesn't make speeches or wield swords. He makes choices. Calculated, quiet, terrifying choices. But there's a flicker in him—especially around Sera—that makes us wonder: is there still a human under all that cold calculation?
This chapter shows how doubt, once planted, spreads like wildfire. And Lucien? He's just fanning the flames.
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Chapter 9: End