The city of Velmoria had not changed. Its towering spires still reached for the heavens, its cobbled streets still bustled with merchants and beggars alike, and its nobles still played their endless game of deceit and ambition. Yet, despite its grandeur, the city reeked of filth—both the kind that stained the streets and the kind that ruled from gilded thrones.
Lucien Valehart stood at the edge of the city's main bridge, his hood drawn low over his face. A cold breeze swept through the air, carrying the scent of damp stone and burning oil from the lamps lining the streets. It had been ten years since he had last set foot in this city. Ten years since the Valehart name had been erased from history.
They thought he was dead. How unfortunate for them.
Lucien's lips curled into a faint smile, though there was no warmth in it. His eyes, sharp as a blade's edge, scanned the city before him. Velmoria was not just a home. It was a battlefield.
His war had already begun.
The Return of a Ghost
The gates of Velmoria were heavily guarded, as expected. The city had become a den of paranoia, with noble factions watching each other like vipers waiting to strike. Lucien, however, did not need an army to infiltrate.
He needed only a name.
Approaching the guards, he reached into his coat and produced a sealed letter, its wax sigil marked with the crest of House Ravencourt—one of the oldest noble families in Velmoria.
The guard, a grizzled man with a scar across his cheek, glanced at it before narrowing his eyes. "State your business."
Lucien's voice was calm, controlled. "I am Lucien Aldcroft, an emissary from the Ravencourt estate. Lady Evelyn expects me."
The guard hesitated. The name "Aldcroft" was unfamiliar, but the sigil on the letter was unmistakable. To deny entry to a Ravencourt envoy was to invite disaster upon oneself.
With a grunt, the guard signaled for the gates to open. Lucien stepped inside.
The first move had been made.
A City of Liars
Velmoria was a city where whispers held more power than swords. Lucien walked through the streets unnoticed, blending into the crowd. His attire was simple yet refined—enough to suggest wealth without drawing suspicion. He had learned long ago that true power did not announce itself. It worked from the shadows, pulling strings unseen.
He needed information. And in Velmoria, information was bought with gold—or blood.
His first destination was The Silver Hare, a tavern notorious for housing spies, mercenaries, and informants. As he stepped inside, the scent of ale and damp wood filled his senses. Conversations buzzed around him, each word laced with deception.
At a far corner, a woman in a deep blue cloak sat alone, swirling a glass of wine between her fingers. Seraphina Nachtveil.
She was as sharp as ever, her piercing gaze surveying the room like a predator among prey. Lucien knew she was already aware of his presence.
Good.
Taking a seat at a nearby table, he ordered a drink and waited. He would not approach her—not yet.
She would come to him.
A game had begun.
And Lucien never lost.
End of Chapter 1