Click!

  A metallic sound echoed.

  Lucian woke to darkness.

  The crimson rays from the setting sun piercing the holes in the roof were the only source of light and a terrible one. He could barely see anything.

  Not that better light would have helped. His head throbbed with brutal pain, and his vision swam.

  “Ugh…!”

  He blinked a couple of times. Slowly, his sight steadied. Two silhouettes emerged in the distance…

  Click!

  …No, it was just one.

  ‘Am I kidnapped!’

  The situation demanded his thoughts to darken.

  He quickly scanned his surroundings. Old racks. Abandoned junk. He was still inside the storage facility.

  As his vision continued to clear, he began to notice things that didn’t belong there skulls that looked too real, and white cloth scattered across the floor, stained with words written in deep red ink.

  “Ah, you’re awake… finally.”

  A female voice drew his attention away from the unsettling scene.

  In the dim crimson light, he saw a woman seated on an old chair in front of him. Her hair, unrestrained by the darkness, glowed furiously. For some reason, it reminded him of a century-old tree burning beneath a moonless night.

  But what was even more odd was that she was paging through a book in that darkness.

  Which was enough of a clue for him to understand she was no ordinary woman.

  Lucian raised a hand to his head, rubbing his forehead twice, his expression tightening with confusion.

  ‘What kind of kidnapper lets their victim move freely? Must be an amateur mistake.’

  Despite his attempt to relax, his mind kept circling the woman’s identity.

  There were four possible parties connected to his predicament.

  The first were those seven or six who had come to kill him. But knowing how it ended, she was most likely not one of them. Not that she couldn’t be someone similar, sent for his head.

  The second was the man who called himself Mr. Snake. He even knew Lucian’s real identity, not to mention he had almost killed him. Perhaps it wasn’t his intention, but he was a psychopath with an offeror, or perhaps that offer itself was a lie. Lucian wouldn’t even be surprised if the man was some kind of organ seller. And Mr. Snake, who name himself that terribly.

  The third party was the people from the official guild.

  And the fourth was the mysterious man who had… saved him.

  ‘I’m not sure about that one.’

  After a long moment of thought, Lucian concluded she was most likely from the guild. Perhaps the man was as well. But he still didn’t have solid proof. Even if she was, she clearly had a hidden motivation judging by the way she held him here.

  “I was actually curious about your offer,” Lucian said with a forced smile.

  “Offer?”

  Her reply carried confusion, not the calculated kind, but an instinctive reaction. Now Lucian was certain she wasn’t connected to Mr. Snake.

  “Am I a prime suspect?” he asked, his tone shifting.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  In the silence, the woman broke into a small giggle.

  “You’re not as smart as I expected,” she said.

  Lucian’s awkward smile vanished, replaced by sharp, wary eyes.

  ‘Is she from a fifth party? If so, what is her agenda? Who is she?’

  Questions buzzed in his head like a disturbed hive, but the answers were far away.

  Lucian opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, her voice dominated the room.

  The woman leaned closer. A single ray of red light caught her beautiful, deep ocean-blue eye. Even then, it failed to overpower her true crimson hair.

  “I know who you are. Lucian Lysander,” she said flatly.

  Lucian’s heart stirred like a wave crashing against the shore. But he knew panic wasn’t the solution.

  ‘I really am meeting many people who know my name.’

  With a deep frown, he observed the woman in front of him.

  His predicament was becoming increasingly complicated. What he needed now was to know whether this woman was an ally or an enemy. If an ally, it would surprise him. If an enemy, which was far more likely then he needed to give her a reason to keep him alive.

  “And… you are?” he asked hesitantly.

  “A friend.”

  Lucian glanced around once more. His gaze lingered on the skulls and white cloth before he said, “Really!”

  She closed her book and followed his gaze.

  “For your own good. You’re still unstable.”

  Lucian remained silent for a minute, his head crowded with troubling thoughts. Then he looked back at her nervously.

  “Are you with the guild? …Or with that man?”

  She leaned back in her chair, a sunray touching her red lips as they curved into a soft, chuckling smile.

  “I thought you would be more like her. But I see your talent for strategic planning is quite lacking.”

  ‘Her…?!’

  Sensing the rising confusion in his forehead, she continued.

  “In this situation, your sister would have deduced all the information and planned the outcome.”

  At the words your sister, Lucian’s heart stammered like boiling water during an earthquake. He looked at her.

  Silence devoured his fear. His clear, sky-like eyes turned into the barrier of a deadly storm.

  “Who are you?”

  His voice was steady and faintly bloodthirsty.

  “Hahaha…” she laughed. “Now you resemble someone who is the last survivor of the world’s strongest clan.”

  Lucian gritted his teeth and swallowed hard. At this point, the idea of tricking her was impossible. She knew too much.

  Forcing a smile without preparation, he tried to widen the conversation.

  “Well, since you know so much about me, mind telling me how you know her?”

  “Hehehe… no need to be on guard. Like I said, I’m a friend,” she said, though Lucian’s expression rejected every word.

  She sighed and gestured to someone behind him. A dark silhouette moved.

  Click!

  A metallic sound echoed again. This time Lucian heard it clearly. It was the sound of someone pressing the crown of a hand watch.

  ‘There really was someone.’

  Lucian had noticed two figures earlier. But somehow, his senses had refused to believe it, his eyes rejecting the information as if it were a hallucination. An illusion.

  But now, clear as the sky, his eyes knew they had seen someone besides her.

  The shadow approached until his mind could process it in the dim light.

  It was a man slightly taller and far older than Lucian. His skin was so pale that the first thing Lucian noticed were the deep circles beneath his bloodshot eyes, as if he were fond of sleepless nights. In his hand a silver watch connected to a mismatch golden chain.

  As the man came closer, Lucian pinched his nose to block a terrible odor of rotten junk. He glanced at the woman, she wasn’t faring any better, holding a handkerchief to her nose as she frowned deeply.

  The man remained expressionless as he handed Lucian a box.

  The light was dim, so Lucian couldn’t properly see the object. The box was small and dark, cool to the touch, heavier than it appeared.

  “You knew I was there, didn’t you?” the man said before stepping back.

  Lucian didn’t reply. He avoided the man’s gaze mostly because he hadn’t truly heard him. The box had consumed all his attention.

  He squinted at the lock or rather the absence of one.

  Lowering his head, Lucian heard a snapping sound. When he looked up, the room had brightened enough for him to see clearly.

  He suppressed his surprise and focused entirely on the box.

  It was made of beautiful reddish wood, unfamiliar to him. There was no lock, only a single golden hinge. Strange, yet magnificent. A box he had seen before. Three years ago. Just before that terrifying nightfall.

  Numbness crept into his eyes.

  “Go on, open it,” she said softly. “It’s yours… from her.”

  Holding the box in his left hand, Lucian raised his trembling right and placed it on the golden hinge.

  “Noelle…” he whispered.

  With shaking fingers, he pushed the lid open. It was heavy for its size, but Lucian’s heart was heavier still.

  Inside, surrounded by leather padding, lay a quill. Its feather was crimson, the same color as the fire that had haunted his dreams for three years.

  Lucian stared at it in silence.

  “It doesn’t have ink,” he said, turning it slowly between his fingers.

  “I know,” the woman replied.

  “Then how does it write?”

  Tears slipped from his eyes.

  “It’s called Everlong,” she said heavily. “A quill used by a Librarian. It doesn’t write with ink, it writes with memories. As long as the writer yearn for something, it will never stop. Never falter. It will write until the heart itself begins to bleed.”

  Lucian looked at her.

  Now that there was light, he could see her clearly. The sadness in her eyes, the ache in her chest. Her yearning and quiet despair. Her desire and resignation. Her hope and grief. Her devotion and dread. Her tenderness and sorrow.

  “How do you know so much?” Lucian asked.

  “Because I gave it to her,” she said.

  “What do you want from me?” he asked.

  “A story,” she replied. “Of what happened that night. I want to know how the strongest clan in this world was slaughtered in a single night.”