Lukas's heart pounded so violently he was certain everyone could hear it.
He shrank into the folds of the Cardinal's robe, putting as much distance as possible between himself and that guard. Because he knew—everyone knew—the only beings without souls were demons. And that man... no, that thing shaped like a man, watched him with hollow eyes that seemed to devour him whole.
"Where... are you taking me?" Lukas managed to ask, fighting to keep his voice from trembling.
The gilded carriage of House Duvont rolled through increasingly cleaner streets, leaving behind the stench of the slums. But Lukas's throat burned—he hadn't been able to say goodbye to Elara.
Cardinal Valtor didn't even glance at him.
"You will be raised by the Duvonts. One of the Three Great Houses of the realm," he said, wiping his white gloves with a silk cloth as if touching Lukas had dirtied him. "You should be grateful, bastard."
"I don't want a new family!" Lukas shouted, his voice ringing with an unnatural echo that made the nearby torch flames flicker. "I want my sister!"
For the first time, the Cardinal turned to look at him. And Lukas saw it clearly—in those cold eyes was not compassion, but... calculation.
"Forget that girl," the Cardinal commanded, his words laced with something like a spell. "The High Pontiff did not choose you so you could remain a gutter rat."
The carriage halted.
Outside, a black marble mansion loomed like a monstrous gargoyle. The Duvont banners—a wolf devouring a sun—rippled in the frigid air.
But Lukas didn't see that.
Because at that moment, *the soulless guard* leaned in and whispered something to the Cardinal. Something that made the holy man's face pale.
And then, Lukas felt it:
A sharp pain in his chest.
His sacred power—that golden fire that protected him—twisted, as if something dark were trying to smother it from within.
The Cardinal shoved him toward the carriage door.
"Take him," he ordered a tall figure waiting at the entrance. "And ensure he *never* speaks of that sister again."
Before Lukas could protest, gloved hands yanked him from the carriage.
"Welcome to your new prison, little saint," murmured a woman's voice, sweet as poison.
When he looked up, Lukas saw two things
The woman holding him—Lady Duvont—had a *blue* soul, cold as ice.
Behind her, reflected in the hall mirror, the soulless guard was smiling...
...revealing far too many teeth.
...
The grand doors of the Duvont mansion's main hall swung open, revealing a chamber illuminated by floating magical lights. Lukas, still dazed from Lady Duvont's grip, took an unsteady step forward and froze at the sight before him.
A mountain of a man blocked his path—easily over seven feet tall, with shoulders like a bull and a golden beard adorned with silver charms. His soul burned a deep crimson, pulsing with a warmth Lukas had never seen in the slums.
"HA!" The giant's laughter made the chandeliers tremble. "Look at this scrawny little saint! No bigger than a winter turnip!"
Three blond boys tumbled out from behind him like excitable puppies. The twins—identical down to their missing front teeth—immediately began poking and prodding Lukas.
"He's all skin and bones!" one giggled.
"Like a plucked chicken!" the other added.
The third boy, Lukas's age but half a head taller, studied him with unsettling golden eyes.
"Father," he said solemnly, "this one smells like piss and stale bread."
"RICHARD!" The giant gave the boy a light swat before scooping Lukas up in a bone-crushing hug. "Pay no mind to these ill-mannered brats! I'm Magnus Duvont, and from today—" He set Lukas down with a thud and placed his massive hands on the boy's shoulders. "—you're my fourth son!"
The twins cheered, immediately trying to climb Magnus like a tree. Lady Duvont's icy smile never reached her eyes.
But Lukas barely noticed them. Because reflected in Richard's golden pupils, he saw it again—the soulless guardian, now lurking in the shadows of the hall...
...licking its lips in anticipation.
As the Duvonts celebrated, Lukas clenched his fists beneath the table.
The silk tapestries, the lavish feast, the promise of comfort—none of it mattered.
Elara was alone in the streets.
And even if he had to burn this cursed mansion to its foundations...
He would find his sister.