Agony seared through him, a white-hot brand against the chill of oblivion. Then, a gasp—air, sharp and sweet, flooded his lungs like a drowning man breaking the surface. The scent of damp earth, cloying and laced with the metallic tang of unseen minerals, filled his nostrils. In the distance, a fire crackled, its warmth a faint promise against the encroaching dark.

Lucian Alden blinked, his vision clearing to reveal an alien sky, stars scattered in constellations he didn't recognize. He wasn't on Earth. Memories flickered—boardroom battles, whispered deals, the sting of betrayal. He had once ruled a world of power and deception, only to meet an end he hadn't foreseen. Now, he was here, in a land far removed from the skyscrapers and politics he knew.

A groan escaped his lips as he pushed himself upright. His body was different—lean, strong, youthful. The last time he had moved, it had been with the feeble, trembling limbs of a dying man. He recalled the sterile scent of a hospital room, the dull beeping of machines, and the suffocating weight in his chest as his organs failed him one by one. That weakness was gone. His hands clenched into fists, feeling real, tangible strength coursing through his veins. He was alive. But where?

Towering trees loomed around him, their bark gnarled and ancient, pulsing with an inner light. Azure veins, like rivers of cold fire, snaked through their trunks, casting an eerie glow upon the forest floor. Giant, fleshy mushrooms pulsed with cerulean light, their shadows writhing like living things. The air was thick, heavy with unspoken threats.

He wasn't alone.

Shuffling in the darkness drew his attention. He turned, muscles tensed, instincts on edge. From the underbrush emerged a group of ragged individuals—men and women clad in tattered clothing, their eyes hollow with desperation. A tremor ran through one woman's fingers as she clutched her cloak, her gaze darting to the shadows.

"A stranger?" a rough-looking man muttered, gripping a rusted dagger. "He doesn't look like one of them."

Lucian's mind raced. Outnumbered, unarmed, ignorant of this world's rules. But power wasn't brute strength—it was control, influence, deception. He offered a calm smile, though his pulse quickened. "I mean no harm. Just a traveler lost in unfamiliar lands."

The group exchanged wary glances. A young woman with dirt-smudged cheeks studied his hands, her breath catching as if he'd dodged a death sentence. "Vandrel's hunters don't ask questions. No noble's brand? You're meat for their chains—or their pyres."

"Hunters?" Lucian's gaze sharpened. "They patrol this deep into the wilds?"

The man with the dagger snorted, scratching his beard. "They don't need to. Dogs and torches flush us out—and worse." His eyes flicked to the trees, where the blue veins pulsed faintly.

Lucian's smile was a practiced weapon, honed in Earth's boardrooms. Yet beneath this alien sky, a flicker of unease stirred. This wasn't a negotiation he could win with charm; it was a gamble, lives dangling as stakes. Still, opportunity beckoned. These people were desperate, broken, ripe for direction. A leader didn't wait for power—he seized it.

"You've got that look," the man said, squinting. "Like you're scheming. But we've got no weapons, no supplies. Last fool who promised a way out got us chased from a mill with bruises."

Lucian nodded, scanning their gaunt faces. "If you faced their blades tomorrow, you'd be dead by dawn. I'm not here to lead you into that."

"Then what are you here for?" the young woman snapped, her voice brittle. "Words don't dodge arrows."

Lucian crouched, pointing at a snapped twig half-buried in mud. "You're leaving a trail a blind dog could follow. Stay here, and you won't need me to lead you to a slaughter—they'll find you by dawn."

The group stiffened, eyes darting to the ground. An older woman crossed her arms, her knuckles faintly blue, as if stained by the trees' glow. "So you've got sharp eyes. Doesn't mean you're not a spy fattening us for the noose."

Lucian held up his hands, unmarked. "A spy would've sold you out already. I'm here, breathing the same air, rotting like you." He nodded at her tainted knuckles. "You're not just running from hunters. You're sick out here, aren't you?"

Her jaw tightened, but she didn't deny it. The man with the dagger exhaled sharply. "What's your angle, stranger? You're not preaching war or hiding. What do you want?"

Lucian's smile promised answers without giving them. "Information. You know the land—paths they don't patrol, streams they don't watch. Tell me, and I'll find us a crack to slip through. One night where you're not the hunted."

The young woman hesitated, then gestured west. "There's a ravine two days from here. Narrow, vine-choked. Horses can't follow. But it's no paradise—no food, no shelter."

"Yet you're alive," Lucian said, seizing the thread. "Take me there. I'll turn a crack into a foothold—and maybe more than that."

Suspicion lingered, thick as the damp air. The man with the dagger shrugged. "One night. You're useless—or worse—we're gone. Or you are."

"Fair enough," Lucian replied, rising. The seed was planted in their need, not their trust. He didn't need them to storm castles—just to follow, step by step, until they couldn't survive without him. Power was a web, woven thread by thread.