Lucas woke to a familiar sound—one so unpleasant it almost made him retch.
He had always hated that voice.
"Wake up, my children. It's time to rise."
The call echoed like an alarm through speakers spread across the entire building.
Every day, the same voice.
The Mother always called them with the same words.
Lucas pushed the blanket aside and stood up, taking his place among the other children, lined up in formation.
The children moved together in perfect harmony, like machines.
The boy standing behind Lucas was unusually lively.
"Psst," the boy whispered.
Lucas ignored him.
"Hey… you," the boy tried again.
"Pssst."
Lucas thought he was calling someone else and didn't turn around.
The boy poked him lightly with a finger.
"I'm talking to you."
Lucas didn't turn, but replied calmly,
"You didn't call me by my name. How would I know?"
"What name are you talking about?" the boy laughed weakly.
"We don't have names…"
His voice faded the moment he realized the truth—that he had never owned a name.
Lucas felt confused as the boy's figure began to dissolve before his eyes.
The long iron corridor—once ordinary, lined with water and heating pipes—suddenly stretched unnaturally far.
One name surfaced in Lucas's mind.
(Ma).
That was all he could remember of it.
Panicked and drenched in sweat, Lucas thought desperately:
Why am I back here? I thought I buried this far away.
He started running.
The guards and children remained in their lines, their voices continuing as if they couldn't see him passing straight through them.
Then suddenly—all of them turned to stare at him.
In unison, they whispered:
"Traitor."
Lucas ignored them, focused only on finding a way out.
The corridor kept stretching, growing longer and longer.
Young Lucas's breathing grew heavier.
His vision blurred.
Then the corridor abruptly shrank.
The children vanished.
The guards vanished.
Only a single door remained before him, marked:
CLOSED
Lucas recognized the door—but didn't know what lay beyond it.
From behind it, through a small slit like a prison cell's opening, a voice spoke:
"Go. Everything you see is a dream…"
The voice dragged Lucas back to reality.
He snapped his eyes open, jolting upright, sweat pouring down his body, his breathing sharp and loud.
He looked around.
A glass of cold water and some fruit sat beside him.
Lucas grabbed the glass and drained it in one go.
"By the gods… someone was wandering the desert."
That voice wasn't unfamiliar.
Rion stood at the doorway, watching Lucas, who was clearly on the edge of collapse.
"Would you like more water?"
Rion asked politely.
Lucas placed the glass on the table and walked toward him with heavy steps.
Behind Rion, Lucas noticed Hana standing silently.
"Don't push yourself," Rion added.
"The sedative is strong."
Lucas forced out a single question, the words struggling to leave his mouth:
"Where… is Emi?"
"The girl?" Rion asked, surprised.
"Don't worry, Sir Tattooed One. The girl and her bird are fine. They're playing in the next room."
Lucas glanced toward Hana—and collapsed.
Hana spoke in disbelief as she watched him fall.
"I can't believe this… He resisted the Otar Flower sedative just to make sure the girl was safe."
Rion replied after wiping away the fake smile he'd worn earlier.
"And he was ready to fight, too."
He knelt down and lifted Lucas back onto the bed.
Hana watched Lucas's dangling hand—his fingers tense, as if gripping something that was trying to escape…
or like a fist carving a path to survival.
"You know, Hana," Rion said quietly,
"If I hadn't been honest with him, we would've had to fight."
After covering Lucas and leaving him to sleep off the drug, Hana asked:
"What do you mean?"
Rion headed toward the door she was leaning against.
"Simply this—we might have won… but I can't guarantee we'd walk away intact."
Hana stared at him in disbelief.
"How can the commander's personal guard and one of the world's finest assassins fail to handle a man drugged with Otar Flower?"
Rion shrugged mockingly.
"That's your answer."
Hana's eyes widened as she turned to look at Lucas lying defenseless before her.
"Should we kill him now?"
She reached for the blade hanging from her leather belt.
Rion placed a finger on the blade.
"Easy. The Council wants to speak with him."
Lucas opened his eyes again.
He felt no heaviness.
He felt light—like a bird carried by the wind.
This strange sensation…
The drug had given him what he needed.
What's wrong with me? Why do I feel this energetic? Where am I?
Then he remembered.
Right… Hana drugged me.
Damn it. I knew she was pretending.
A kiss… and poison on her lips.
The room was dark.
Lucas searched for a switch and turned on the hanging light.
It was a simple room: a bed, a table, a clothes rack with neatly folded garments, and another door.
He tried the door—it was locked.
Leaving it alone, he picked up an apple and began eating, eyes fixed on the second door as he took slow bites.
On the clothes rack, he found a note:
Please shower and wear these.
We'll come for you once you're done.
Press the button beside the light switch.
Lucas opened the second door—it led to a bathroom.
"That fox…" he muttered.
Emi really is safe. He wasn't lying.
After a long shower, Lucas stepped out naked, drying his hair.
The clothes prepared for him were simple:
a short-sleeved white shirt, a black coat, and black trousers.
There were sandals and shoes.
He chose the sandals.
He pressed the button.
A soft bell rang.
Lucas sat on the bed, waiting.
Moments later, the door opened.
"Did you sleep well, Sir Tattooed One?"
Rion stood there again, smiling patiently.
"The Council is waiting. Let's go."
Lucas stepped toward him, closing the distance until he leaned close to Rion's ear and whispered:
"I'm not going."
Silence fell.
"What do you mean, you're not going?" Rion asked, confused.
"You heard me," Lucas replied calmly.
"If you want me to meet your superiors, show me Emi."
Rion nodded.
"I assure you—just like I said before—she's safe. She fell asleep waiting for you.
She and her bird are in a separate room."
Lucas paused.
"…Fine. Then let's go."
Rion was puzzled by him.
He'd heard stories—that Lucas was cold, merciless, and that wherever he stepped, rivers of blood followed.
Why is he like this?
He judges people by their words…
Driven by curiosity, Rion asked:
"Why did you believe me? I could have been lying."
Lucas answered neutrally:
"You weren't lying.
Reading people and sensing falsehood—it was drilled into me.
I was worried a fight would break out, so you told the truth.
Your fist wasn't clenched. You weren't thinking about killing me—unlike this morning."
Rion was surprised by the accuracy.
Their tone earlier had been tense.
Now, it felt… almost friendly.
"One more question," Rion said.
"Can we fight again someday?"
Lucas smiled faintly.
"Anytime you want.
Just don't destroy my house."
Rion grinned, clearly pleased.
As they walked, Lucas glanced around, noticing the expensive carpets beneath their feet, the elegant furniture, the dim lighting that gave the place an old, noble atmosphere, and the countless bookshelves lining the walls.
"Where are we?" Lucas asked.
Rion replied simply:
"The House of Wisdom."
Lucas had expected it—but not like this.
From the outside, it had looked like a masterpiece…
more like a king's castle than a place of counsel.
"And… here we are," Rion said.
"The Council, Sir Tattooed One."
He opened the door.
Lucas stepped inside slowly, standing before them as they stared back.
"So," Lucas said without blinking,
"what do you want from me?"