A ring of shocked, perfumed, and bejeweled faces closed in around Lucid. He was the center of a spectacle he'd never wanted, kneeling on the hard surface of polished stone like a creature that had crawled up from the dark. Murmurs of alarm and disdain swirled above him. He saw polished boots and silk slippers beginning to inch closer, driven by morbid curiosity.
Then, through the crowd, he saw the guards. Two of them in the governor's livery, their faces set in professional sternness, were pushing their way toward the commotion. Their hands rested on the pommels of their swords.
'Crap!'
He was trapped. Surrounded by gawking nobles on all sides and with authority bearing down on him, any attempt to run or explain would end with him in a cell, or worse, giving the man in black exactly the secluded opportunity he wanted.
Suddenly, the elegant melody of the string quartet screeched to a halt, replaced by the sound of snapping strings. A split second later, a thick, greyish-white smoke billowed up from the center of the garden party, not from one source but from several, as if small smoke bombs had been tossed into the flowerbeds. It spread with unnatural speed, swallowing the twinkling lantern light and enveloping the crowd in a choking cloud.
Pandemonium replaced polite conversation it turned into screams of genuine fear. The aristocracy, used to duels of words and coin, was utterly unprepared for a physical ambush in their own sanctuary. They scattered, tripping over gowns and each other.
Lucid dropped low, his rift-hunter instincts kicking in. The smoke burned his eyes, but it was also cover. He started to crawl, aiming for the memory of where the sewer hatch lay.
A hand closed on the back of his shirt, not grabbing, but gripping firmly. Before he could react, he was hauled off his feet. Not dragged, but lifted. The ground fell away beneath him. The smoky garden shrank, the screams fading into the rush of wind. He was flying, or being carried through the air at incredible speed. The intricate lines of the lower town streets wheeled beneath him, a dizzying map of lamplight and shadow.
"Who is it?!" he yelled into the wind, struggling against the impossibly strong grip.
The answer was the hard, unyielding impact of a slate roof. He landed with a grunt of pain, rolling several feet before coming to a stop. Gasping, he pushed himself up onto his elbows. He was on the peaked roof of a tall, narrow clock tower that overlooked the governor's estate.
A figure stood silhouetted against the larger of the two moons, perched casually on the roof's crest. As Lucid's eyes adjusted, he saw the person was cloaked, but not in the fine, menacing black of his attacker. This cloak was a practical, travel-worn grey. One hand was tucked inside it, the other rested near the strap of a large, oddly shaped case slung across their back. The shadow of a wide-brimmed hat obscured their face.
"Oh, me?" a voice said. It was light, male, and tinged with a wheezy amusement. "Just a humble musician."
The figure hopped down from the crest, landing lightly beside Lucid. "Must say, you made quite a spectacle of yourself down there." He was overcome by a sudden, rattling cough that shook his slender frame. He recovered, pulling a handkerchief from his cloak and dabbing his mouth. "Not the recommended method for securing a dinner invitation."
He stepped closer and extended a hand. It was gloved, the leather worn soft. After a heartbeat of hesitation, Lucid took it. The man's grip was firm, and he pulled Lucid to his feet with surprising ease.
"Thanks a lot," Lucid said, brushing dust from his stained sewage clothes. "I thought I was a goner back there."
"Don't mention it," the musician replied, another slight cough punctuating his words.
"What's your name?" Lucid asked, his guard still very much up.
The man was silent for a moment, as if rummaging through a cluttered attic of memories. "Jake," he said finally. "Jake Rosenberg."
"Lucid, why don't we head for the night?" Jake suggested, turning to look out over the sleeping town.
'What the...' Lucid's blood ran cold.
"He knows your name," Alice gasped in his mind, her voice sharp with alarm.
Jake turned back, his hidden face seeming to regard Lucid. "Let me help you. It seems like you are not from here."
It was all wrong. The timing, the rescue, the casual use of his name. Every instinct screamed that this was another layer of the trap, a player entering the game from a different angle. But a lead, even a poisoned one, was better than the blank wall he'd faced minutes ago. He had to play along.
He gave a slow nod. "Alright."
Jake's posture seemed to brighten. He unslung the large case from his back. It wasn't a weapon case; it was an instrument case, long and rectangular. He flicked the latches and opened it, not to reveal a weapon, but a beautifully crafted, complex-looking string instrument with a deep, resonating body and a long neck. He lifted it out with practiced care.
Then, standing on the edge of the clock tower roof, he began to play. It wasn't a song, but a series of deep, resonant chords that seemed to vibrate in the air itself. The space around them shimmered, like heat haze on a summer road. Lucid felt a lurch in his stomach, the same sensation as falling.
The mansion, which had been a distant silhouette across the estate grounds, suddenly rushed toward them. No, *they* rushed toward *it*. The world blurred into streaks of light and shadow. It wasn't flight; it was a brutal, disorienting translocation.
And then it stopped. The lurch became a plummet. Jake Rosenberg and his melody vanished. Lucid was alone, five feet above the hard stone steps leading to the mansion's grand entrance.
He hit the marble with a sickening crack. White-hot agony exploded in his right leg. He heard the bone break before he felt it, a nauseating sound felt more in his soul than his ears. A ragged scream tore from his throat as he crumpled, clutching his shattered shin.
"Arrrghhhhh!"
"Lucid, stay still! I will—" Alice's voice was frantic, the green healing light already starting to flicker around his leg.
Before the healing could take hold, the massive double doors of the mansion flew inward. Light from a grand chandelier spilled out, framing a figure in the doorway.
It was a young man. He had dark, neatly styled hair and vivid blue eyes that should have been striking, but were ringed with deep, bruise-like shadows of exhaustion. He was dressed in elegant but rumpled evening clothes, as if he'd been pulled from his desk. He looked like a ghost of a nobleman.
Behind him, an older man in a butler's uniform stepped forward, his expression severe. "Young Master, get behind me. I will signal the guards to handle this intrusion immediately."
The young man, Karmen, raised a thin, pale hand. His voice, when it came, was calm but carried an undeniable weight of authority. It was also raspy, as if his throat was sore. "Did you forget Tyriana's principal, Gerald? 'One should help one another.'"
"But, Young Master Karmen, this individual cannot be said to have peaceful intentions," the butler, Gerald, protested.
"Shhh," Karmen said, a faint, almost devious smile touching his lips. "I will be the judge of that."
At that moment, the green glow around Lucid's leg flared and then sank into his skin. The blinding, grinding pain receded to a deep, throbbing ache, then to a stiffness. The bone was knit, but the memory of the break was a fresh terror in his nerves. Gritting his teeth, Lucid pushed himself up, putting weight on the leg. It held. He stood, shaky but whole, on the governor's doorstep.
Karmen's tired blue eyes watched this happen. Not with shock, but with a profound, hungry intrigue. The sight of the inexplicable healing seemed to animate him, burning away some of the fatigue. Then he was overcome by a wracking, wet cough that doubled him over for a moment. He straightened, and Lucid saw a speckle of fresh blood on his previously clean lips.
"What is with everyone coughing tonight?" Lucid muttered, more to himself than anyone.
Karmen heard him. The nobleman wiped his mouth with a monogrammed handkerchief, his eyes never leaving Lucid's shrouded face. "Say, Lucid... why don't you come in?"
'That is weird,' Lucid thought. The use of his name, again, without introduction.
"This is all very strange," Alice's voice chimed in, her tone shifting to one of formal caution. "What of that young man, Jake? What happened to him?"
Lucid had no answers. He simply looked at Karmen, at the open door, at the waiting butler. Retreating back into the night meant facing the man in black or the governor's guard's. Advancing meant walking into the lion's den. But the lion had just invited him in, and seemed desperately interested in his company.
He took a limping step forward, then another. The butler, Gerald, gave a stiff, shallow bow and stepped aside, one hand gesturing gracefully inward. His other hand remained behind his back, poised and ready. Karmen turned and led the way, his steps slow but purposeful.
The interior of the mansion was exactly as Lucid would have imagined a noble's home: vaulted ceilings, oil paintings in gilded frames, suits of armor standing vigil, thick rugs that swallowed sound. It was opulent, but it felt more like a museum than a home, cold and strangely empty despite its grandeur.
"You... are that individual I was supposed to meet today at the dinner," Karmen said, his voice echoing slightly in the hall. "I heard terrible news about an attack on a Tavern in our town. I thought you would be unable to attend. What brings you here now, and laying infront of my doorsteps, no less?"
'Brings me... my ass!' Lucid yelled internally, but externally he kept his voice flat. "I... happened to take a late-night stroll."
"A stroll?" Karmen let out a soft, genuine laugh, though it triggered another minor cough. "Well, I fear you wound up a bit far from your district." He led them into a smaller, more intimate study. Books lined the walls, and a large desk was buried under more papers and ledgers than Lucid had ever seen. This was clearly where Karmen spent his time. "I am the acting governor of Tryania," Karmen continued, gesturing for Lucid to sit in a worn leather armchair. "And I hold a significant standing in the Kingdom of Vex. I wanted to personally thank you for that act of bravery, saving those children from the Rift. I am also rather... curious... about how you made it out of that Rift alive. I fear, had it not been for you, our town would have been devastated, and neighboring forces would have seized the opportunity to invade lands under Vex's protection."
"I see," Lucid said, sinking into the chair. His mind raced. The gratitude seemed real, but it was wrapped around a core of intense curiosity. Karmen wasn't just thanking a hero; he was studying a specimen.
He decided to test the waters, to throw a piece of the night's chaos onto the noble's tidy desk. "Say, do you know anyone that goes by the name of Jake Rosenberg?"
He watched Karmen's face closely. The young governor didn't flinch. No flicker of recognition crossed his exhausted, sharp features. He merely tilted his head, his expression one of polite confusion.
"I'm sorry," Karmen said, pouring two small glasses of amber liquid from a crystal decanter and offering one to Lucid. "Who is that, you may say?"
The lie was perfect. Or it was the truth.
"Sorry ... I don't drink"
Karmen poured him a glass of water instead.
"Lucid do you believe in earth?"