Chapter 97 - - 97 - The Gentle Stranger

Chapter 97: Chapter - 97 - The Gentle Stranger

"Let me give you company until you reach home," said Lucien.

Besriel looked at him, still trembling from the shock of watching nine lives end before her eyes—nine men who had tried to kidnap her, now nothing but corpses and disappeared into void. She was grateful to Lucien. Very grateful. But gratitude was a complicated thing when it came wrapped in violence.

All the running, all the mental pressure, the terror that had been coiling in her chest like a serpent—it all caught up to her at once. Her legs gave way. She fell forward, her face pressing against Lucien’s chest, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as though he were the only solid thing left in a world that had suddenly become smoke and shadow.

She felt relieved. Truly relieved.

After a long moment, she pulled back, embarrassment flushing her pale cheeks. She tucked a strand of her white hair behind a pointed ear and asked, "May I know the name of this gentleman?"

"I’m Axel," said Lucien, and his smile was beautiful—warm, comforting, the kind of smile that made you forget there was blood on his hands. "And what is your name?"

"Besriel." She straightened her posture, trying to reclaim some dignity. "I work in the Healing Sanctuary. Are you a Realm Master? I’ve never seen you here before."

"Yeah, I’m a Realm Master. I’m new here—I just wander from country to country." He paused, and something flickered in his eyes. "But it seems like people don’t really treat humans kindly here. I mean, it’s an elf city, but still..." He shrugged, casual, as though discussing the weather. "When I arrived, one of the workers who was supposed to take care of my belongings took my stuff and disappeared. I still have my money, but no place to live. Still looking."

Besriel studied him. "Yeah, I can tell how hard it must be." She tilted her head, curiosity softening her features. "But you were so strong—I thought you were some kind of noble. I’m glad you’re not, or I would have to talk with formalities."

"Why don’t we talk while we reach your house?" Lucien suggested, his voice gentle, unhurried.

They walked together through the winding streets of Azurefall, the city’s ethereal beauty casting long shadows in the fading light. Crystal spires caught the last moonlight, refracting them into puddles that danced across marble pathways. It was stunning—breathtaking—and utterly indifferent to the violence that had nearly claimed Besriel’s life.

"So what brings you here, Axel? Did the beauty of Azurefall pull you here?" Besriel asked, her voice lighter now, trying to distance herself from the earlier horror.

Lucien was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting across the architecture. "I was just... curious. I know there will be an ugly side of Azurefall, but I never thought it would be like this." He turned to look at her, and there was something ancient in his eyes, something that didn’t match his youthful face. "I’m a man who sees beauty in ugly things, and ugliness in beauty."

Besriel blinked. "So poetic. I never thought someone so poetic could be so strong."

"Maybe I’m strong because I’m poetic." A slight smile. "If you’re planning to travel, you must be at least this strong." He paused. "So do you like Azurefall?"

"Yeah, I love it." Her voice softened with genuine affection, but then the light dimmed. "The beauty of Azurefall is something that can never be matched anywhere in the world. But everyone is so busy climbing their status that they can never appreciate it. Even me." She let out a defeated breath. "Too busy to climb the social ladder."

"That’s not true." Lucien stopped walking and reached for a flower growing between the cobblestones—a tiny thing, purple and stubborn, thriving where nothing should. He brought it to his nose and inhaled. "There is nothing wrong with taking care of yourself or taking care of family. You cannot just ignore the real needs of your family and yours because of beauty."

Besriel watched him, something shifting in her chest. "I don’t have any family—just my mother. Who am I taking care of" She hesitated. "And what about you, Axel?"

"I don’t have anyone." He tucked the flower behind his ear with a playful grace. "Just me and my path."

Before they realized it, they had reached her house.

It wasn’t very shabby, but it wasn’t a palace either. Since the population in this country was large, the houses in Azurefall were modest—practical structures built close together. The house was two floors, made with stones and wood, and despite its simplicity, there was a beauty to it. Flower boxes lined the windows, and the door was painted a soft blue that reminded Besriel of the sky at dawn.

"This is my place, Axel," she said, stopping at the threshold.

Lucien nodded. "Well, seems like we have reached our destination, then." He turned, his hair catching the moonlight. "Maybe we will meet someday."

He began to walk away, his silhouette growing smaller against the luminous backdrop of the city. And Besriel felt something twist inside her—something bitter and sharp. He had saved her life. He had killed nine men for her. And now he was walking away like a homeless wanderer, with nothing but the clothes on his back and a flower behind his ear.

She touched her chest. The words caught in her throat.

If I let him go, I’ll never get another chance.

"Axel!" she called.

He stopped. Turned. His expression curious, patient. "What is it?"

"My room is big, and no one lives on the upper floor." The words tumbled out before she could second-guess them. "You can live there. You don’t even have to pay—after all, you saved me."

Lucien’s eyebrows rose. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I’m sure." She lifted her chin, defiant against her own doubts. "I’m sure my mother would agree as well."

"But I’m not going to live for free." His smile returned, warm and disarming. "I’ll pay whatever I can."

They entered the house together, and Besriel watched Lucien’s eyes move across the interior. It was beautiful inside—more beautiful than the exterior suggested. Woven tapestries hung on the walls, depicting scenes of ancient elven history. Candles flickered in iron sconces, casting dancing shadows. The furniture was simple but well-made, polished wood glowing with care.

Besriel showed him the path to the upper floor. Lucien climbed the stairs and immediately deposited the few possessions he carried—a worn leather bag, a traveling cloak—onto the bed in the corner of the room.

"If you want to take a bath, you can go inside now," Besriel called up the stairs. "I’ll take mine after you."

Lucien descended and opened the door she indicated. The bathing chamber was carved from natural rock, with water already warmed by some enchantment Besriel’s mother had paid handsomely for. Steam curled through the air, fragrant with herbs.

Lucien didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the warm water and allowed himself to relax.

Besriel waited outside, her back against the wall, her heart pounding in a way that made her feel foolish.

What am I doing? she thought. This morning I was telling lady Aelene how humans can be scary—how they don’t use their lives properly, how they’re dangerous and unpredictable. And now I’m standing outside my own bathing chamber while a human—

She stopped the thought.

He saved my life.

But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just gratitude that made her pulse race and her palms sweat. It was the way he moved—fluid, controlled, as though violence was as natural to him as breathing. It was the way he spoke—poetic and strange, seeing beauty in ugly things. It was the way he had looked at her when he said he had no one, just his path.

Axel was so strong, taking down everyone like dry leaves. He just makes my heart skip a beat. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the traitorous rhythm beneath her palm. But he is a human.

She prepared her clothes for her own bath—a simple linen dress, soft and worn, and a clean towel. Her white hair cascaded down her back, and her pointed ears twitched with nervous anticipation. She felt like a girl again, foolish and fluttery, butterflies swarming in her stomach.

Stop it, she told herself. He’s just a traveler. He’ll be gone in a few days. You’re just being kind.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the door open.

Lucien stepped out of the bathing chamber, quickly realizing that Besriel was still waiting nearby. He had assumed she would have left.

Besriel froze.

For three full seconds, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The unexpected sight left her completely flustered, and she immediately turned her face away.

Oh gods.

She slammed her eyes shut, covering them with her hands, her face burning so hot she thought it might combust.

"I’m sorry—I didn’t realize you would still be here," Lucien said, his voice carrying a note of genuine embarrassment.

"It—it’s fine!" Besriel squeaked. "It was my mistake, not realizing—"

She heard the rustle of fabric as Lucien quickly grabbed something to cover himself. But the damage was done. The unexpected sight was already seared into her memory.

What just happened? Her thoughts raced, tumbling over each other. Why was I standing there staring like an idiot?

She kept her eyes squeezed shut, but her mind was merciless, replaying the moment.

I’m going to die of embarrassment. He was—

Her breath caught.

I shouldn’t think about him like this. But it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t normal at all.

"Besriel? Are you alright?"

"FINE!" she yelped, still covering her eyes. "I’M FINE! I’m just—I’m going to take my bath now!"

She fled into the bathing chamber, slamming the door behind her, and leaned against it, her heart hammering so hard she could hear it in her ears.

What is wrong with me?

Lucien climbed the stairs to the upper floor, his expression unreadable. He entered the room he had been given, closed the door, and locked it.

Then he checked the lock again.

And again.

And once more.

Only when he was satisfied that the door was secure did he raise his hand and slash it through the air in a sharp, decisive motion. The space before him split open like a wound, revealing a void of absolute darkness—not empty, but full of nothing, a place between places.

He stepped through.

In a cheap inn on the other side of Azurefall, three figures waited.

Two of them were asleep—collapsed on their beds, exhaustion etched into their faces. They had spent the entire day gathering information, moving through the city like ghosts, listening to whispers and watching for patterns.

The third was awake.

Princess Verna sat by the window, a glass of wine in her hand, her gaze fixed on the moon. She was tensed—thinking about her country, her life, her choices. Everything that had led her here. Everything she had sacrificed. Everything she might still lose.

She sighed heavily, the sound swallowed by the darkness.

She wore light clothes—simple garments befitting a commoner, part of their disguise. But even in rags, there was something regal about her. It was in the way she held herself, the way her eyes assessed everything with quiet calculation. Her blonde hair—inherited from Queen Cynthia—shone silver under the moonlight, held back by a thin headband.

She took another sip of wine. It tasted bitter.

The air shifted.

Verna didn’t startle—she had learned not to startle—but her hand tightened around the glass as Lucien emerged from the void. The darkness folded behind him, sealing itself as though it had never been.

His eyes swept the room, taking in the sleeping figures, the scattered papers, the half-empty wine bottle. Then they landed on Verna.

It was the first time they had been alone together.

"Seems like everyone was tired," Lucien said, crossing the room and settling onto the bed beside her. The mattress dipped under his weight.

"Yeah..." Verna set down her glass, her fingers trembling slightly. "They were waiting for you. They found some information, and it’s concerning."

"Let me guess." A small smile curved Lucien’s lips—not warm, not comforting, but knowing. "Prince Andrin is already here, right?"

Verna’s heart stuttered. She wasn’t surprised—someone like Lucien could read her face like a book, could pluck the truth from her silence. But it still unsettled her, how easily he saw through her.

"Yeah." Her voice was steady, but barely. "Right now, he’s with Aelene. But he’s unconscious—maybe the physical and mental pressure has taken its toll on his body."

Lucien nodded slowly, processing.

"So what will you do?" Verna asked, turning to face him fully. The moonlight caught her eyes, revealing the fear she tried so hard to hide.