They called it Valtros Manor, though "manor" was a generous term.
Crumbling stone, ivy-choked walls, and winds that howled louder than the servants. The estate sat on the edge of the Aethryn Wilds, far from the noble circles of the capital — tucked away like a shameful secret the empire hoped everyone would forget.
And at its heart stood Lucifer Valtros, Duke of Ashridge, ruler of nothing.
He stood alone on the balcony, cold wind stirring his dark cloak. Below, the fields lay barren, the sky painted in shades of mourning gray. No banners flew from the towers. No soldiers patrolled the walls. His territory was a ghost.
But Lucifer? He was very much alive.
And he remembered everything.
Not of this world — not entirely. His body was. His name, this cursed title, the hollowed-out legacy of the Valtros bloodline. But the soul? That came from somewhere… far older. Somewhere broken.
It had taken him years to piece the memories together. Visions. Echoes. A voice in his dreams that kept calling him by another name.
But he didn't chase the past. He sharpened it. Like a blade waiting in silence.
"Your Grace," came a gravel-rough voice behind him. "The village elder awaits your judgment."
Lucifer didn't turn. "What did he steal?"
"A cart of grain from the storage cellars. Enough to feed five families."
"And his reason?"
"His son is dying. Fever. No medicine left in their hold."
Lucifer exhaled, breath misting in the air. "Bring him to the great hall."
"Yes, my lord."
The butler, Judas, was more shadow than man — always silent, always watching. A relic of the old Valtros guard, and perhaps the only soul Lucifer truly trusted. Even so, Lucifer never let his guard down. Not anymore.
He turned from the balcony and walked back through the broken doors into the hall — cold stone, candlelight flickering on old banners and armor that hadn't seen war in decades. He moved with calm purpose. Controlled elegance.
A noble in title.
A weapon in truth.
Fifteen minutes later, the old man was brought before him — thin, frail, wrapped in rags that hadn't kept out the cold in years.
Lucifer sat in the throne that wasn't a throne, but an old carved seat of petrified oak.
"Name," he said simply.
"Tharn, my lord."
"You stole grain from my stores, Tharn."
The elder bowed his head. "Aye. I did. I accept punishment."
"You do not beg for mercy."
"I've no time to. My boy's burning like a torch. And there's no gods here to save him."
Lucifer studied the man. His eyes weren't clouded by fear. Only loss. Desperation.
He raised a hand.
Judas stepped forward, blade drawn.
"Judas," Lucifer said.
"My lord?"
"Take the grain from the storage. Add another cart. Deliver it to Tharn's family. Then send my personal physician."
The old man's eyes widened. "My lord?"
Lucifer stood. His presence filled the room like a slow-rolling storm.
"Stealing from me is a crime. But letting a child die of fever in my land is a greater one. If the Empire will not feed its people, I will."
Tharn dropped to his knees. "I… I don't understand…"
Lucifer's voice was ice and fire all at once. "You do not need to. You simply need to survive."
That night, the winds whispered across the fields like broken prayers.
Lucifer stood again on the balcony, staring up at the night sky — starless. Heavy. Like it was holding its breath.
And then it came.
A flicker. A shimmer. A burning glyph in the shape of a crown and a blade overlapping in the sky above.
It appeared just behind his eyes — a voice followed.
"Protocol recognized."
"Ashen Protocol initializing."
Lucifer staggered, grabbing the balcony rail.
"What…?"
More glyphs flooded his vision. Symbols he half-remembered. Foreign, yet familiar. He couldn't move — not from fear, but from weight. Like something ancient had just awoken.
Then a pulse.
Not physical. Spiritual.
And suddenly, he could see it — lines of light tracing through the world. Mana. Pure, raw essence that once remained invisible… now bleeding through the cracks.
A panel hovered in front of him:
> [THE ASHEN PROTOCOL HAS BEEN ACTIVATED]
Target: Lucifer Valtros
Status: Host confirmed
Classification: Reclaimer
Objective:
[ ] Survive the Reawakening
[ ] Reclaim the Twelve Seals
[ ] Break the Throne of Fate
Penalties:
[X] Death
[X] Soul fragmentation
[X] Eternal recursion
He blinked. The panel remained.
"This… isn't magic," he muttered. "It's something else."
Then the stars finally returned — not softly, but violently. Twelve of them, glowing black, burst into the sky like bleeding embers.
One blinked.
Then another.
And then they whispered:
"You were never meant to wake."
Lucifer clenched his fists. The wind no longer felt cold. It felt like war.
He turned and walked into the manor, heart pounding with silence.
Whatever this Protocol was… it was ancient. Cosmic. And someone — or something — had just started the clock.