The story begins in the same room as before.
Suvarnam lies slouched upon his throne, fast asleep, the golden mask tilted slightly to one side. Suddenly, his eyes snap open. Even through the hollow sockets of the mask, his gaze feels fixed directly on us.
"Oh… so you are all back," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
He stretches, cracks his neck, and lets out a quiet yawn before straightening himself.
"Very well," he says, reaching for the same book from the previous chapter. "Let us continue the story."
The pages turn.
—
Back in the slum area of Lumiére.
Time has passed.
The rain still falls, the streets remain broken, but the child we once saw is no longer the same. Lucien stands taller now—perhaps seven years old. His blood‑red hair has grown long, hanging down like tangled vines, framing a face that has already learned hardship far too early.
He moves through the slum with purpose, helping Adrien with the daily labor—carrying scraps, sorting supplies, doing whatever little work keeps them alive.
"I told you," Adrien says as they work, his tone tired rather than angry. "This is our life. We will keep suffering like this."
Lucien does not look at him. "I know," he replies quietly. His voice is heavy, weighed down by thoughts far older than his age. His face remains serious, almost emotionless.
Adrien pauses and places a hand on Lucien's shoulder. "You are disappointed with this life. I can see it," he says softly. "But what can we do? We have nothing. The only thing left to us is finding happiness in small things."
Lucien exhales. "Yeah… yeah, I know," he answers, though there is no real conviction behind his words.
Suddenly, a loud, excited voice cuts through the air.
"Guys! I did it!"
They turn.
The voice belongs to a boy around Lucien's age—perhaps a little older. He wears a strange leather mask shaped like a bird's beak, similar to the doctors from ancient plagues. The mask hides his face completely, giving him an unsettling presence.
Lucien tilts his head. "Who's that?" he asks, confused.
Adrien barely glances at the boy. "That's Malrick Voss," he replies, sounding indifferent. "The most mysterious person in this place. He's always doing some kind of experiments."
Lucien raises an eyebrow. "Then how have I never seen him before?"
Adrien sighs. "Because he's always underground, in his laboratory. Sometimes he doesn't come out for weeks. This time…" he pauses, annoyed. "This time he came out after two years."
Lucien studies Voss carefully, his expression unreadable.
"He looks interesting," Lucien finally says.
Without waiting, he walks toward Voss and taps him on the shoulder.
"Hello, Voss," Lucien says calmly. "My name is Lucien Devraille. I am interested in your creations."
Voss stiffens, then slowly turns toward him. Even through the mask, surprise is obvious.
"Really?" Voss says, his voice suddenly alive with excitement. "Then come with me. I will show you everything!"
Before Lucien can respond, Voss grabs his hand and pulls him toward a hidden entrance, leading deep underground—into the laboratory.
Adrien watches from behind, unease creeping into his expression, as the darkness swallows them both.
—
The underground laboratory was nothing like Lucien had imagined.
The moment they descended the narrow stone steps, the air changed—thicker, warmer, heavy with unfamiliar scents: metal, oil, burned herbs, and blood. Dim lanterns hung from iron hooks along the walls, their pale blue flames flickering unnaturally, as if reacting to thoughts rather than air.
Lucien's eyes widened.
Chains lined the walls.
Not decorative—functional.
Clawed marks scarred the stone floor, deep and violent, as if something had been dragged, resisted, or unleashed more than once. Symbols were carved directly into the ground, forming overlapping containment circles that pulsed faintly.
"This is…" Lucien begins, then stops.
"Alive," Voss says eagerly. "Finally."
From the shadows at the center of the chamber, something shifts.
A low growl reverberates through the stone—then another, then a third.
Lucien's breath stills.
Three massive heads emerge from the darkness, each bound by runed chains. A monstrous hound steps forward, its body enormous, muscular, stitched with scars both old and fresh. One head snarls, baring burning fangs. Another watches silently, eyes glowing with unnatural intelligence. The third tilts its head, studying Lucien with eerie curiosity.
"A… dog?" Lucien whispers.
Voss laughs sharply. "Do not insult him."
The beast growls louder, flames licking from its jaws.
"I call him Cerberion," Voss says proudly. "A guardian. A judge. A weapon. Three minds bound into one body—instinct, reason, and wrath."
Lucien steps closer instead of backing away.
"It should be attacking us," Lucien notes calmly.
"Yes," Voss agrees. "It kills everything else."
The intelligent head locks eyes with Lucien.
The growling stops.
The flames dim.
Voss freezes.
"That… has never happened," he whispers.
Lucien raises a hand slowly. The beast lowers its massive frame, chains rattling violently as all three heads focus on him.
"It listens," Lucien says quietly.
"No," Voss mutters, shaken. "It obeys only pain and command."
Lucien's fingers brush the creature's fur.
The runes flare.
The chains loosen.
Voss staggers back. "That is impossible."
Lucien turns to him. "Then you created something that recognizes authority."
Voss stares at Cerberion—then at Lucien.
"You are not normal," Voss says slowly.
Lucien smiles faintly. "Neither is your creation."
—
Above ground, Adrien paces restlessly near the slum's edge.
The sky has darkened, clouds rolling overhead like bruises spreading across flesh. The wind carries distant thunder, though no rain falls.
He feels it.
Something has awakened beneath Lumiére.
—
Days turn into weeks.
Lucien spends more time underground. Cerberion grows calmer in his presence—ferocious toward everyone else. The three heads begin to act differently around Lucien: one guards, one watches, one waits.
Voss documents everything obsessively.
"It is not loyalty," Voss whispers one night. "It is recognition."
Lucien kneels before the beast. "A guardian should choose what it protects," he says.
Cerberion lowers its heads.
—
When conflict erupts in the slum, Cerberion is unleashed only once.
No one speaks of what happened.
Only that afterward, the slum is quieter.
—
Deep beneath Lumiére, Voss finishes his work.
"The gatekeeper is ready," Voss says.
Lucien watches the three‑headed hound in silence.
"One guardian is not enough," Lucien says calmly.
Voss turns slowly. "You want more?"
Lucien's smile is deliberate.
"One is fear," he says. "Many is order."
—
High above them all, in the throne room beyond time, Suvarnam closes the book.
"Hm," he murmurs thoughtfully. "So the hound has chosen."
He looks up—straight at us.
"Are you still following?"