Not long before leaving the room, Lucian found himself caught in thought about what to do next.

He knew the plan was a flop from the start but he went ahead with it anyways. The Sarfir card hadn't played out as well as he'd hoped.

What was I thinking…

"You weren't thinking at all, to be honest," Quenya replied quickly.

"Yeah, maybe you're right."

"But I don't plan on giving up."

"Guessed as much. Still, what now?"

"Now? We go deal with our unfinished business." He gave Quenya a look and she flew, her dresses fluttering like petals in spring.

His feet moved through building corridors. He was no longer in the Deluos underground halls, but in the other complex—used for official dealings rather than gambling. He didn't leave through the gate when he near the exit but rather went near the opposite wall to stand.

Lucian's thoughts wandered as he waited for Quenya to return. His mind turned, inevitably, to the man whose shadow hung over all of this: Amadeus Navorian.

Amadeus Navorian might not hold a high noble title, but his reputation spoke volumes. He's the last one of his blood and let alone the fact he has not chosen the next wielder of the Archean passed down in his family. During the war Airantis-Sedron war 30 years ago, Amadeus built a good reputation but not without sacrifices and one of them being his ability to walk.

He later adopted Sarfir, trained him to carry on his legacy and pass his Archean bond to him. But Sarfir ended up being a martyr and thus the bond came back to Amadeus. From the looks of it he never tried to continue his lineage.

Lucian was sure far too many would have already approached Amadeus, giving different reasons but most of their intention was similar. To somehow convince Amadeus to give the Archean bond to them.

Quenya returned before long. "Two odd-looking men are just around the alley two buildings ahead."

"And our dear friend?"

"Taking a beating in the alley next to it."

"Well, then we're still on time."

They moved together. The silence of the night hit differently this time. Like eyes watching from some place afar.

Lucian lingered at the corner of the service alley, Quenya at his side. The cobbles were slick, the stench of spilled ale heavy in the air. Urias was on his knees, two men gripping his arms while a third beat him with measured strikes. Two more stood further back, torches raised, watching the street.

Lucian said nothing at first. He let his eyes adjust to the flickering glow, counting positions and the rhythm of each blow. Above, across the alley, he caught a faint silhouette on the rooftop. Someone else was watching.

Quenya shifted, voice low. "Four close, one higher. Urias won't last long."

Her form blurred as she slid along the wall. A crate clinked faintly, as if a coin had struck the wood. One of the torchbearers turned his head at the sound, shifting a step aside.

Lucian stepped forward. His shoes struck the wet stones with deliberate calm. He moved into the torchlight, hands loose at his sides, his voice even. "Now then. Is this how you treat a friend after he pours coin on the house?"

The beater paused, fist halfway drawn back. The two torchbearers frowned, uncertain. Lucian walked closer, posture unhurried, his eyes on the man doing the striking.

The first move came fast. Lucian feinted high with his right, then caught the man's arm and pulled. A sharp twist of the hip threw him off balance, sending him into the nearest crate with a crack. Wood splintered, the man slumped.

The two holding Urias froze, hands still locked on his arms. Fatal hesitation.

Lucian moved before they recovered. He drove his knee into the leftmost one's gut, forcing him to release Urias. The man doubled over. Lucian's elbow came down hard on the back of his neck. He dropped.

The second holder shoved Urias aside and lunged. Lucian sidestepped, letting momentum carry the man past. A quick elbow to the spine, then Lucian hooked his ankle and sent him crashing face-first into the cobblestones. He didn't get up.

The remaining beater came at Lucian, swinging wild. Lucian slipped in close, the fist grazing past his jaw, and drove his elbow under the man's chin. Pain jolted up his own arm, but he twisted through it, wrenching the grip until the man collapsed, choking on his own breath.

One of the torchbearers finally moved, dropping his torch and reaching for something at his belt. Lucian caught the glint of steel.

He closed the distance before the blade cleared its sheath. His hand clamped down on the man's wrist, twisting hard. The knife clattered on cobblestone. A swift knee to the gut doubled him over, and Lucian let him fall.

The last torchbearer raised his hands, torch trembling. "I'm just watching. Just watching."

Lucian met his eyes, voice flat. "Then keep watching from somewhere else."

The man didn't need to be told twice. He backed away, torch still raised, and disappeared around the corner at a near-run.

The alley went still. Quenya reappeared at Lucian's shoulder, eyes drawn upward.

Urias staggered, one hand pressed to the wall, blood dripping from his split lip. His eyes burned hotter than the torches still guttering in the alley.

"You—traitor!" he spat, voice cracking with fury and pain. "I trusted you, and you left me to the dogs."

Lucian crouched near him, unbothered, brushing dirt from the noble's collar with two fingers as though nothing had happened. The faintest curl of a smile touched his mouth.

"Don't dress it up. You took a loss, Urias. Happens to anyone who sits at the table."

Urias's laugh came ragged, bitter. He shoved Lucian's hand away. "Loss? That wasn't loss. That was ruin. You vanished while I bled coin and face in front of everyone. I thought you'd cut me loose for good."

Lucian tilted his head, voice level. "If I wanted you finished, I wouldn't be here. I'd have let them do more than bruise you. Better fists than knives, don't you think?"

The words made Urias flinch—not from fear, but from the truth stinging beneath them. He spat blood on the stones, his pride trembling as much as his knees. "That's your comfort? You watch me crawl, then sweep in with clever words. Damn you, Lucian."

Lucian slipped a folded slip into his hand, his tone dropping low, conspiratorial. "Go and regain what you lost tomorrow. That should pay more than what you lost today."

It was the slip of the right bet he made previous to his fight.

Urias blinked at the paper, thumb smearing blood across its edge. His glare softened, not forgiving, but caught in reluctant recognition.

"Feels like betrayal still," he muttered, voice hoarse. "Like you wanted me crawling before you showed your hand."

Lucian's grin widened, a knife's edge beneath it. "To fool your enemies, you fool your friends first. If you can't stand that, perhaps you don't belong in Deluos at all."

A harsh laugh tore from Urias's throat, half pain, half bitter amusement. He tucked the slip inside his jacket, his eyes narrowing but no longer blazing.

"One day that mouth will cost you, Lucian," he rasped. "And I might be the one placing the wager."

Lucian rose, brushing dust from his sleeves, his voice calm as ever. "Then bet wisely. Until then, we're still at the same table."

Urias pushed himself upright, unsteady but unwilling to yield, his gaze lingering on Lucian with distrust tempered by necessity. A fragile thread held between them—shaky, frayed, but unbroken.

The sound of a cane striking stone broke the moment. Casalus emerged at the mouth of the alley, dragging his leg in that uneven gait. Each tap of his cane echoed louder than the last, and five men followed in his shadow, their eyes fixed on the bodies sprawled by the crates.