A man awoke to darkness, his head pounding as if it had been split open. Pain radiated through his body, his muscles burning as they bore the weight of his hanging form. Cold steel shackled his wrists and ankles, suspending him from the damp stone wall. Every shallow breath brought the stench of mildew and rot, making him gag. Slowly, he blinked, his thoughts sluggish and disoriented.
Wasn't I dead?
The thought echoed in his mind like a distant scream. He remembered the end vividly—betrayal, agony, and the suffocating grip of death. Yet here he was, alive… or something close to it. He raised his head, muscles protesting the effort, and stared at his hands. They weren't the hands he remembered. These were stronger, leaner, and marred with scars that told stories he didn't recognize.
Memories, fragmented and strange, began to surface. A boy's life unfolded in his mind: harsh words from a father, fleeting warmth from a mother, and the rebellious laughter of a younger sister. It all felt distant yet vivid, like watching a play he couldn't escape. He pieced the fragments together, and a name emerged from the chaos.
Lucian, he thought. This body's name is Lucian.
Then another memory struck him—one of desperation and survival. After being kicked out by his father, he had lived on the streets, scraping by with whatever he could find. His sharp wits and striking looks had been his tools, and he had learned quickly to use both to his advantage. Three days ago, he'd spotted an opportunity: a high-class gathering of the city's elite. Slipping in unnoticed had been the easy part. Using his charm to get close to a distracted guest, he'd stolen a necklace worth more than anything he could have dreamed.
He thought he had finally scored big. Heart racing, he'd slipped out of the venue and back to his hiding place—a cramped, forgotten corner of the city's underbelly. But before he could celebrate, they'd found him. The thugs, brutal and unrelenting, had dragged him away. His pleas for mercy had fallen on deaf ears.
And now, here he was, shackled and at their mercy once more.
The creak of a heavy door yanked him from his thoughts. A hulking figure stepped into the room, casting a long shadow in the dim light. The man was massive, with a face that looked carved from stone and cracked by time. A jagged scar ran down his cheek, and his beady eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as they locked onto Lucian.
"Well, look who's awake," the thug drawled, his voice rough and gravelly. "Didn't think you'd make it through the night, little thief. Guess you're tougher than you look."
Lucian's mind raced. He needed to stay calm, to avoid provoking the man. A weak smile cracked across his face. "Big brother, you're too kind. I'm not much of a fighter… more of a talker, really. Maybe we could talk this out?"
The thug snorted, stepping closer. "Talk, huh? And what exactly are you gonna say to make me forget you stole from us?"
Lucian forced a chuckle, though his heart pounded in his chest. "Big brother, stealing's a strong word. Borrowing, maybe? I'd have returned it eventually." He gestured weakly with his shackled hands. "Look at me… do I seem like the kind of guy who'd pull something big? I'm just trying to survive out here."
The thug's grin faded, replaced by a sneer. He cracked his knuckles, his shadow looming over Lucian. "You think this is funny? You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts won't stop me from breaking you."
Lucian's smile wavered, but he clung to the thread of hope. "Big brother, think about it. If I'm just some nobody, what's the point? You've got bigger fish to fry. Let me go, and you won't even have to remember my face."
The thug leaned closer, his breath foul and his voice a growl. "Oh, I'll remember your face. Every scream, every plea… that'll stay with me for a long time." He raised his fist, but before the blow could land, the door creaked open again.
The thug straightened, his fist still poised, as a new figure entered the room. She was dressed in a pristine black-and-white maid's uniform, her movements precise and deliberate. Long black hair was tied neatly into a bun, and her emerald green eyes gleamed coldly as they scanned the room, lingering on Lucian before settling on the thug.
"What the…?" the thug began, but his words died as recognition flashed in his eyes. His bravado crumbled, his face draining of color. "It's you," he whispered, terror creeping into his voice.
The maid's expression remained impassive. Her voice was soft, yet it carried a chilling authority. "My lady requires this one's presence."
"Your lady?" the thug croaked, his voice trembling. He fumbled for the knife at his belt but froze when the maid stepped closer. Her movements were unhurried, deliberate—each step radiating confidence.
With a flick of her hand, she grasped the steel chains binding Lucian. "This is more efficient," she murmured, her tone almost bored. The steel groaned and snapped as if it were mere paper in her grip. The sound echoed through the chamber.
Lucian gawked, his eyes wide. "What in the…" he muttered, half in awe, half in terror. His voice strengthened as he decided to take his chance. "You… you have a knack for making an entrance. I didn't know angels wore maid uniforms."
The maid glanced at him briefly, her emerald eyes unreadable. "Save your energy for staying conscious," she replied, though there was a flicker of something—amusement, perhaps? —in her tone.
Lucian, emboldened, grinned weakly. "If I faint, it won't be from exhaustion. You… you're too stunning for me to handle."
The thug dropped to his knees, his earlier arrogance shattered. "Please, I… I didn't know he was important! Don't kill me!" he begged, his voice cracking.
The maid ignored him, her attention returning to Lucian. She supported his weight effortlessly, as though he weighed nothing. "This dungeon belongs to my lady now," she said coldly, directing her words to the thug. "Inform your superiors. Their allegiance is no longer a choice."
The thug scrambled to his feet and bolted out of the room without another word. Lucian watched him go, then glanced back at the maid, still reeling from her display of strength.
"So," he said, his voice faint but playful, "are you this charming with everyone, or am I just lucky?"
The maid raised an eyebrow, her tone flat. "You're alive, aren't you?"
Lucian chuckled weakly, his vision swimming. "I'll take that as a yes…" he muttered before the exhaustion overtook him. As the world faded into darkness, one thought lingered in his mind: Who is this 'lady'… and what does she want with me?