Zeritheus Vaene Lucian.
The villain from a novel. The merciless, charming, capricious force who shook the power balance within the Velmoria Empire.
The man who wore masks of charm, elegance, and cruelty—masks he discarded until he became a blade that carved through Eryndral, forcing the dominions around Velmoria to stand wary, on edge, more than ever before.
And now, he stood in front of her.
Nine years old.
Confused. Concerned. Reaching for her like she mattered.
No. No, no, no.
This isn't right.
A tremble laced her fingers—not fear, but a fracturing. Her foundation splintering.
He's dangerous. He will become dangerous.
But... he wasn't.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
He was just a boy. A boy who had shielded her. Who had told her she mattered.
Damn it.
Then—
Footsteps. Rapid. Closing in.
Her senses spiked. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, her hearing sharpened, and the scent of damp stone faded as a new, acrid odor filled her nostrils, drowning her thoughts. Urgency surged higher, tinged now with something she rarely allowed herself to feel: unease, frustration.
It wasn't just survival anymore. It was the unknown. The dangerous weight of implications she couldn't yet comprehend.
And because of the sudden presence of their captors, her instincts overrode everything. Efficiency first. Cut the risk. Create distance from uncertainty.
She stepped back, her voice devoid of emotion. "Go. Down that alley on the right. It's the safer route."
Zeritheus blinked, confused. "What? Why? What about you?"
Her voice came sharper than she meant. "Don't argue. Just go, Zeritheus."
"But—"
"What about me?" she snapped. Her voice cracked, then solidified. "Do you want to live or not? Stop asking questions and move."
He stared at her, trying to understand something he didn't have the words for.
But at last, he obeyed. His footsteps vanished into the dark.
Xhaelyn exhaled sharply, sagging against the wall.
This is insane.
She dragged a hand down her face, her pulse still racing.
What the hell is going on?
The wind tugged at her cloak.
In the distance, boots struck stone—too many. Too close.
She straightened, all emotion hardening into motion.
Whatever he might become—whatever this fate had planned—there was no room for hesitation.
Not now.
Frustrated, she bolted in the opposite direction.
The route she'd given Zeritheus was the safer one.
Hers wasn't. Not by a long shot.
But she could manage.
She always did.
The alley Xhaelyn plunged into was a claustrophobic chasm of overflowing bins and damp brick. The stench of refuse filled her nostrils, a stark contrast to the sterile unease that had gripped her moments before. She darted with desperate energy, vaulting over overturned crates and squeezing through narrow gaps, the sounds of pursuit echoing closer than she liked.
Her mind, usually a sharp blade, was a whirlwind of disjointed thoughts: Zeritheus, the villain, a novel, her past lives. It was too much, too sudden. She needed to compartmentalize, to push the overwhelming implications into a locked box for later dissection. Survival now. Understanding later.
She risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Three figures had rounded the corner of the main alley, their forms distorted by the flickering gaslight. They moved with a grim determination, their eyes scanning the shadows. They hadn't seen her yet, but it wouldn't be long.
Xhaelyn veered sharply, ducking into a covered alcove that reeked of stale beer. She pressed herself against the damp stone, listening intently. Their footsteps pounded past her hiding place, their voices low and urgent.
"Did you see where they went?"
"The one of them created a false trail with their blood. Should be easy enough to follow."
"You. Use your unique ability."
A cold knot tightened in Xhaelyn's stomach. They had been deceived by the false trail, and now that they found out, they came our way. Xhaelyn sensed a unique energy slowly manifesting on a specific part of one of their pursuers—his nose. With that, she instantly knew what the function was of that unique ability.
Zeritheus... had he made it down the other alley? A wave of unexpected concern washed over her, quickly suppressed. He was resourceful. He would manage. Their pursuers won't expect both of us to separate. They would stick on my path.
She glanced at her wounded arm. Her blood hadn't yet completely stopped dripping. With an enemy with a keen sense of smell, it would be inefficient to keep running. I must get rid of them.
She ruthlessly swung her wounded arm, splattering blood all over the area. Then she hid herself, observing intently from the darkness.
Her pursuers, who were following the scent of her blood, stopped.
"The blood stops here, scattered."
"What? I can't sense nor see any presence here? Where are they?"
They started putting on guard. But Xhaelyn, who was watching, the moment they stopped, had already prepared to lunge.
In a matter of moments, one of them dropped to the floor—precisely the one with the keen sense of smell. Then she sprang away before they could react. She resumed her escape without a sound. All of this happened in just two minutes. Terrifying indeed, but that's the limit of her current capability.
She had just gotten rid of a potential threat so she could escape efficiently.
The remaining two pursuers whirled around, their eyes wide with shock and confusion. The one with the crimson energy cursed under her breath, her hands crackling with renewed intensity.
"What in the blazes was that?!" she snarled, her gaze darting around the shadowed alcoves.
The gaunt man, his blue energy flickering erratically, looked down at his fallen comrade, a thin trickle of blood seeping from a precise cut across his throat. His face paled. "She's... fast."
They both knew then that they weren't dealing with a helpless child. There was a calculated precision to the attack, a lethal efficiency that belied Xhaelyn's small frame.
"Spread out!" the woman commanded, her voice tight with urgency. "She can't have gone far. Find her!"
They moved with a newfound caution, their senses on high alert, no longer relying solely on the scent of blood. The alley, once a simple chase route, had become a dangerous hunting ground.
However, it was too late for them, as Xhaelyn had already gone far away with an inconsistent path that she intended for them to lose.
Xhaelyn moved with the fluid grace of a shadow, her small frame melting into the deeper recesses of the alleyways. The adrenaline coursing through her veins sharpened her senses, allowing her to anticipate the subtle shifts in the environment – the echo of a footstep, the rustle of fabric against stone.
She knew she couldn't afford to linger. The remaining pursuers would be enraged by the loss of their comrade and would hunt with even greater ferocity. The image of the precise cut she had delivered flashed in her mind – a necessary act, devoid of emotion, yet leaving a cold residue of what she was capable of.
She navigated the labyrinthine network of backstreets, her earlier frantic pace settling into a more sustainable, calculated movement. She varied her direction, doubling back on herself, utilizing the maze-like structure of the city's underbelly to her advantage. The scattered blood trail she had initially left, now a distant memory, would hopefully continue to sow confusion.
As she put more distance between herself and her pursuers, the frantic energy began to ebb, replaced by a gnawing unease.
Zeritheus. Had he truly gone down the safer route? Had he managed to evade detection? The image of his confused face, then the sudden flash of protectiveness in his eyes, lingered in her thoughts.
Dismissing the unwelcome surge of concern, she focused on her immediate needs. She needed to find a safe place to rest, to tend to her wounded arm, and to process the earth-shattering revelation about Zeritheus and the nature of this world.
As she considered her next move, her thoughts inevitably drifted back to Zeritheus. His full name: Zeritheus Vaene Lucian. The name echoed in the recesses of her mind, each syllable carrying the weight of the villain he was destined to become.
But the boy she had just escaped with, the boy who had shielded her, who had spoken of her worth... he didn't fit the mold of the ruthless antagonist from the novel. Could people truly change? Or was this just a fleeting moment, a temporary deviation from a predetermined path?
The implications were staggering. If this world was indeed a novel, did that mean their fates were already written? Were they merely characters playing out preordained roles? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a feeling of being trapped within a narrative she had no control over.
But Xhaelyn had never been one to accept fate passively. She had clawed her way through multiple lives, adapting, surviving, and even thriving in the face of adversity. The knowledge that this world might be fictional didn't diminish her will to survive; if anything, it ignited a fierce determination to defy the script, to forge her own path.
And Zeritheus... he was now a variable she hadn't accounted for. His unexpected actions, his surprising display of protectiveness, had thrown a wrench into her carefully constructed plans for a solitary escape.
Xhaelyn tensed, her senses sharpening once more. The respite was over. The game of survival continued. And now, with the unsettling knowledge of the world around her and the unexpected actions of the boy who was meant to be a villain, the stakes had become infinitely higher.
After endless running, Xhaelyn finally emerged onto a busy street. Even though it was already late at night, it seemed like City A of the Duskar Dominion always seemed energetic.
"Hey! Have you re-checked the wagons?"
"Yes! All items are inside. Ready to be delivered to the merchants in Ozyria Dominion."
"Alright. You can go now. Make sure to deliver it safely."
Ozyria? Isn't that the place ruled by merchants? Seems like I have a destination now. Then she smuggled herself onto the wagon.
Almost an hour had passed since they parted ways, and many events had transpired in what felt like the blink of an eye. Zeritheus stood in the eerily quiet alley. Blood that smelled familiar to him was scattered on the damp cobblestones. A metallic tang hung heavy in the still air, a stark contrast to the fleeting scent of the girl who had pushed him away. He ran his small fingers along the rough brick wall, a tremor not of fear, but of lingering adrenaline, still thrumming beneath his skin.
He hadn't questioned her sharp command then, his instincts echoing the urgency in her voice. He had simply obeyed, his nine-year-old mind struggling to reconcile the fierce protectiveness he'd felt moments before with her sudden, almost brutal dismissal. The alley she'd directed him to had indeed been quiet, a shadowed passage that twisted and turned, eventually leading him to this intersecting lane. He had waited there, hidden in the darkness, a knot of worry tightening in his chest. He had expected to see her follow, but only silence had answered his silent pleas for her return.
Now, the sight of the blood, unmistakable in its familiar scent, painted a grim picture. Confusion warred with a dawning understanding. She hadn't sent him away for his safety alone. She had been protecting him from something she knew was coming, something that had clearly involved a fight. A cold certainty settled within him: whatever danger lurked in the shadows of this city, Xhaelyn had faced it head-on. And somehow, he knew, this blood was a testament to her battle.
A fleeting darkness flickered in his eyes, as if a part of him, the vulnerable boy she had protected, was fading away in that alley.
The pursuits hadn't ceased yet, they had simply expanded, letting that alley free of immediate danger as they widened their search. Little did they know, their 'premium products' were already well beyond their grasp.