The Weight of a Warning
Erick stood in front of Lucien asking for forgiveness. Lucien couldn't understand what Erick could've done, to ask for forgiveness.
The room was silent except for the faint crackling of the oil lamps mounted against the wooden walls. Outside the inn, the night of Fantom City breathed quietly beneath a pale moon, but inside this hidden chamber, the atmosphere was heavy enough to suffocate a man.
The one now known as Lucien Ashdrake sat calmly in the center of the room.
Unlike ordinary nobles who relied on jewels and extravagant clothing to display authority, Lucien carried himself with an effortless dominance. His broad frame rested against the chair like a king seated upon a throne. Dark silver hair brushed against his shoulders, and his cold blue eyes reflected the dim flames nearby. Even while silent, he radiated the pressure of someone born to stand above others.
Around him stood the six retainers loyal to him alone.
