CHAPTER 53: FRAGMENTS OF THE FUTURE

There was no sound in the dark, no air, no body, no shape.

Only Darius.

He drifted, weightless and empty, his thoughts disjointed, unanchored. Time didn’t move here. Neither did he.

Did I die?

The question circled endlessly, like a whisper caught in a void. He couldn’t remember what pain felt like anymore, only the echo of it, the punch of Lucien’s mana tearing through his own, the tremble in the earth, the roar of the crowd as he fell.

I trained. I prepared. I learned everything I could.

So why wasn’t it enough?

The silence was heavy. Pressing in from all directions. He didn’t float anymore, he was sinking. He hadn’t realized it at first, but now his descent was clear. The void seemed to stretch downward, bottomless, hungry.

Shadowy strands, like ink spilled in water, began slithering up around him. Not fast, not harsh, gentle in the cruelest way. A mockery of comfort. They brushed along his limbs, his throat, his chest.

Darius reached for his magic out of instinct. But there was nothing. No warmth, no pulse, not even a flicker. His mana was gone, or too far buried to reach.

He felt it then.

The weight of failure.

The sting of helplessness.

"I’m not ready," he breathed.

No one answered.

"I’m not ready!" he screamed.

The void didn’t care.

"I haven’t done enough!"

And then—

Light.

A jagged seam tore through the black, slicing the dark like shattered glass. And through it, something spilled out. A vision. No, it was too real, too vivid to be imagination. It wasn’t a memory. It hadn’t happened yet.

It was the future.

He saw a city he didn’t recognize. Or maybe he did. It was hard to tell, so much of it had been broken. Streets split wide like open wounds. Spires had collapsed, casting sharp shadows over cracked marble. The sky was no longer blue. It was bleeding.

Violet energy rippled through clouds torn apart. Magic circles hung in the air, half-formed, fractured like broken sigils that never finished casting.

And in the center of it all stood Lucien.

Older. Taller. Sharper. His coat darker, tattered from some war Darius couldn’t imagine. And his eye—

It wasn’t red anymore.

It glowed violet. Deeper than blood. Deeper than rage.

Lucien’s expression was still calm, but there was a coldness there. An absence of something essential. Like mercy had been carved out of him and replaced with precision.

Across from him stood another figure. Cloaked in swirling starlight.

Ren.

Darius’s heart seized. His brother’s face was bruised, blood smeared across his cheek. One arm hung stiff, injured or broken. But his stance was defiant, solid.

The two didn’t speak at first. The city seemed to wait for them.

Then:

"I’m going to fucking kill you," Ren said.

Lucien didn’t blink. He tilted his head, his violet eye glowing like a sun behind glass.

"Try it," he replied.

The moment hung like a blade in the air—

—and then shattered.

The vision broke apart violently, shards of light scattering in every direction. Darius gasped, lungs dragging in a rush of air that tasted like iron and smoke.

He was falling again.

Faster now. The void howled around him. The city, the fight, Ren, Lucien, it all twisted away into nothingness.

And then—everything stopped.

His eyes shot open.

Light—real light—filtered through high, arched windows. The golden hue of morning draped across white infirmary walls. A breeze wafted in through half-drawn curtains, cool and fragrant with grass and stone.

Darius blinked against the sting in his eyes. He was lying in a soft bed, sheets tucked neatly around him. Bandages wound around his ribs and shoulders. Every muscle ached—some screamed—but the pain meant one thing.

He was alive.

He swallowed. His mouth was dry as sand. His chest rose and fell with difficulty. But his heart beat. His fingers twitched.

Slowly, he turned his head to the side.

And saw him.

Ren.

Slumped in a wooden chair beside his bed, arms crossed, chin tucked into his chest. His coat was scuffed and wrinkled. A faint bruise marked the edge of his jaw, but he was breathing, chest rising steadily.

Darius stared. A quiet wave of warmth rippled through the ache in his body. A dozen questions rushed to the surface, tangled and wild—but none made it to his lips.

He let his eyes rest on Ren for a moment longer before he rasped, "You sleep ugly."

Ren stirred, blinking himself awake. He squinted blearily, and for a second, confusion flickered. Then recognition struck—and relief exploded on his face like sunlight breaking clouds.

"You—!" Ren stood so fast he nearly toppled the chair. "You’re awake!"

Darius tried to smirk. Failed halfway. "Barely."

Ren laughed, almost shaking with it, and sat back down beside the bed. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Wasn’t trying to," Darius muttered. "How long...?"

"A solid few hours," Ren said. "Almost a day. You’ve been out since your match ended."

The words landed heavily. Darius stared at the ceiling. "I lost."

Ren’s gaze softened. "You fought. And everyone in that arena knows your name now. Win or lose? That fight was legendary."

Darius didn’t answer.

He glanced down—his fingers were twitching, his body aching, but what lingered was the weight of that vision. The Eye. The city.

Lucien.

"Where is he?" Darius asked quietly.

Ren tilted his head. "Lucien?"

Darius nodded. "Who won the tournament?"

Ren’s expression darkened like a sun going behind storm clouds. "He did. That bastard."

Darius let the words sit for a moment. He wasn’t surprised. If Lucien had managed to win, it was because the fight had turned on its head, but not in a way that was unexpected. Lucien was always calculating—always waiting for the perfect moment. His victory didn’t feel like an accomplishment, more like a strategy executed flawlessly.

"I figured," Darius muttered, the bitter taste of it all still lingering. "It’s the way he is, after all."

Ren frowned. "Yeah, but it wasn’t just that. You saw him during the fight. It’s like he wasn’t even trying. He froze you Darius. You know, without any ice magic. And it wasn’t like his mana was anything special either."

He bit back a sigh. "Maybe it’s just a new trick, or an advanced form of magic. I don’t know."

Ren tilted his head, his brow furrowed in suspicion. "Really? I don’t know... There’s something off about him. I mean, the way the guy’s been winning every match without breaking a sweat? He’s not just good. It feels like there’s something else about him. Like he’s got some sort of— I don’t know—a special ability?"

Darius stiffened at the mention of it. Ren wasn’t entirely wrong. Lucien had always had that presence, that aura. It was unsettling, in a way, how effortlessly Lucien seemed to control everything around him. But it wasn’t something Darius could explain easily, nor did he really want to. There were too many questions, too many things that were better left unspoken. He didn’t want Ren diving deeper into it, not when they both had so many more immediate concerns.

"Special ability?" Darius muttered, keeping his voice light. "You’re imagining things. He’s just... good."

"Good doesn’t freeze you up Darius," Ren replied, his voice sharper now, almost probing. "And his fights? They’re—well, they’re strange. He’s never doing the same thing twice. It’s like he’s got a whole arsenal of stuff we haven’t seen."

Darius let out a quiet breath, staring at the ceiling. He could feel the pressure building between them—the weight of Ren’s curiosity, his doubts, and the gnawing need for Darius to protect the truth. But how could he? There wasn’t much to hide. Nothing specific, anyway.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Darius finally said, pushing the words out in a calm, even tone. "I mean, he’s Lucien, right? Of course he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve."

Ren watched him for a long moment. His gaze was sharp, calculating. Darius could feel it, the weight of his brother’s suspicion, like a stone pressing against his chest.

"Really?" Ren asked, his voice low. "You don’t know anything about it?"

Darius froze. His eyes flickered over to his brother, catching the sharpness in his gaze. Damn. Ren wasn’t buying it. But the thing was—Darius couldn’t lie outright. He couldn’t. Not to Ren. Not like this. Not when he could feel his brother’s gaze slicing through the words, seeing right through the half-truths.

"I—" Darius stopped, clearing his throat, then tried again, his voice steady. "I told you, Ren. I don’t know anything about it. Whatever he does, it’s his thing. We’re not exactly the same. And I’m not..."

Ren’s gaze deepened, narrowing. There was a quiet tension in the air now, an unspoken understanding between them. He didn’t need to ask any more.

"You’re lying," Ren said quietly, almost softly. His eyes never left Darius’s face. "I don’t know what it is about him, but I know you’ve seen it. Felt it. Whatever that thing is inside him that makes his magic... different. You don’t have to tell me what it is, Darius. But don’t lie to me."

Darius felt the weight of Ren’s words. He could see it in his brother’s eyes—the need to understand, the need to know. But there was something in him, too—a warning. A silent plea not to dig any deeper. Not into this. Not into Lucien.

"I told you," Darius repeated, his voice firmer now, more deliberate. "It doesn’t matter what it is."

Ren stared at him for a beat longer, like he was trying to find the cracks in Darius’s words, trying to see if there was any hint of the truth. But then his expression softened, and he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He seemed to let it go, for the moment.

"Alright," Ren said, with a resigned shrug. "I’m not gonna push you on it. But something’s off with him. And you know it too."

Darius didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His mind was somewhere else. Somewhere darker.

Ren’s eyes softened as he leaned back in his chair. His expression grew quieter, more somber. "I’m sorry, Darius. I just... I want to know you’re okay. I don’t want to see you get hurt."

Darius swallowed. The sting of the earlier pain flared up again, like an old wound reopening. "I’ll be fine," he muttered. "I’ll be fine, Ren."

A silence fell between them, heavy and thick. Darius couldn’t shake the vision that still lingered in the back of his mind—the ruins, Lucien’s violet eye, Ren standing before him. It was hard to forget, even with Ren here, even with his reassurance.

But as Ren shifted to stand up, stretching his tired limbs, Darius was brought back to the present. There was still something left to say.

"You should probably get going," Darius said, his voice a little softer now. "You’ve got your duties. I’ll be alright."

Ren paused, his brow furrowing as he met Darius’s gaze. "I told you, I’m not leaving until I know you’re good."

"I’m good, I promise." Darius gave him a small, genuine smile. "Besides, you have a lot more to worry about. You’ve got to pick someone to apprentice with, right?"

Ren’s expression darkened at the mention of that. "Yeah, well... someone else made their move first. His lips quirked into a wry smile. "Guess I’ll have to settle for someone else."

"Don’t settle," Darius replied. "Pick someone who’ll make you work for it. Harder than I ever did."

Ren nodded, then gave him a rueful grin. "Yeah, well, you’re one hell of a motivator."

He reached out a hand, pulling the star emblem out from his pocket with a flick of his fingers. It hovered between them, glinting coldly in the light of the infirmary. "This is yours," Ren said. "Sorry for messing with your match."

Darius’s fingers brushed against the emblem, feeling its cool surface once more. For a moment, he simply stared at it. His mind flashed to the vision again. But he let that thought go. He couldn’t afford to dwell.

"Thanks," Darius said quietly.

Ren nodded and then gestured toward the small stack of letters on the nearby table. "Those are for you, too. The offers. Look them over. Don’t rush. Choose wisely."

Darius looked over at the letters, the weight of them pressing on his chest. "I will."

Ren gave him one last long look before turning to leave. He paused at the door and glanced back at Darius with a small, almost secretive smile.

"Take care of yourself, alright?"

Darius met his gaze. "You too. And... I’ll see you around."

As Ren closed the door behind him, the quiet of the infirmary settled in again. Darius let the silence wash over him, his thoughts drifting like smoke. There was no escaping the weight of everything. Not yet. But for now, he had one thing left to do.

Choose wisely.

And hope the future wasn’t already written in stone.