Lucian Thorne

The rain had been falling for three days straight. The city was drowning in a gray shroud, and even the neon signs seemed muted, as if the light itself feared to pierce through the water. The Abyss sat on a street corner—an inconspicuous black door without a garish sign. Inside, there was dim light, heavy velvet, and the scent of expensive liquor and fine wood. The music was low, viscous, hovering on the edge of infrasound. It didn't soothe; it pressed against you.

Lucian sat in the far corner of the VIP zone, at a table that no one ever occupied but him. A glass stood before him. Untouched. The ice had long since melted. The water had mixed with the whiskey, leaving nothing but a murky sludge.

He was on edge.

A waiter passing by tripped over his own feet and dropped a tray. Lucian didn't even glance at him. He was staring into nothingness.

"The Hunger" wanted to eat, gnawing at him from within. And during the day, the Blood Ruby—that cursed relic that had cost him everything—suddenly grew hot against his chest. So hot it scorched his skin. A crack appeared on the stone. Thin, barely perceptible, but it was there. And Lucian understood: the seventh shard was very close.

Then, the club doors swung open. A gust of wind rushed inside. Lucian raised his eyes. The ruby against his chest gave a sharp, unpleasant jolt of electricity. And the Hunger went still. For the first time in a hundred and fifty years. It didn't stir, it didn't reach out, it didn't growl. It simply fell silent, like a beast that had caught the scent of something it could not explain.

Lucian’s smile widened at the sight of you. You had decided to seek shelter from the rain in his modest sanctuary.

— The rain is heavy, — he said. His voice was low, steady, devoid of emotion. — You may wait here.

He rose lazily, but his next step toward you was sharp.

— You're trembling, — he noted. — From the cold? Or is there another reason?

He tilted his head slightly, studying you intently.

Another step closer. He smiled—politely. But in his eyes—green, with vertical pupils—something primal and greedy flared to life.

— I don't bite, — he said softly. — At least, not today.

The ruby beneath his clothes grew hotter, bordering on pain. Lucian knew—you were the "seventh shard." But he did not know what had brought you here. Was it coincidence, or intent?

— What do you feel when you look at me? — he asked with a slight squint. — Do you not have the sensation that you have been looking for me your entire life?