The priest led the way with a rhythmic, gliding pace, his golden-trimmed robes catching the dim light of the village corridors. The fact that he had called Lucien by name hadn't escaped the boy’s notice; it was a calculated move, meant to establish who held the upper hand.

  “The fact that you know my name must mean you did your research,” Lucien said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “I must say, I never knew Solennea had such amazing espionage capabilities. To track a student across the border so quickly is impressive.”

  The Lightbearer slowed, casting a small, amused smile over his shoulder. “Not at all,” he responded smoothly. “I know you because of the great rumor currently sweeping through the Empire. Lightbearers always go to recruit those capable, and our brothers heard some quite delicious gossip during their stay there.”

  Lucien raised an eyebrow, his gut prickling with a sudden, sinking feeling. “Oh?”

  “Indeed,” the priest continued, his eyes twinkling with a mirth that felt far too human for a man of the cloth. “It was said that a boy with white-blond hair and storm-grey eyes publicly confessed his undying love to a Duke’s daughter, even though she is already engaged. A grand, tragic spectacle in front of the entire student body.”

  Lucien’s mouth fell wide open. The cold, calculating strategist of the future was momentarily paralyzed by a very present, very stinging sense of humiliation. Beside him, Sebas made a sound like a kettle starting to boil as he desperately stifled a laugh.

  “What do you mean by that?!” Lucien roared, his face flushing a deep, uncharacteristic red.

  The Lightbearer looked at him with genuine surprise. “What do you mean? Our reports were quite specific. They said a young man confessed his love in front of everybody, declaring his heart was no longer his own.”

  “I DID NO SUCH THING!” Lucien snapped, his voice cracking with indignation.

  That was the breaking point. Sebas finally lost his battle with decorum and let out a roaring laughter that echoed through the quiet halls.

  “Oh, Young Master,” Sebas wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. “It seems your ‘political maneuver’ has been translated into the most scandalous romance of the decade!”

  Lucien blushed furiously, his jaw tightening as he tried to regain some shred of dignity. “I would never confess to a child!” he barked.

  The Lightbearer looked at him in surprise again, his head tilted curiously. “You are a child. What’s wrong with young love? It is the purest form of devotion, after all.”

  Steam was practically coming out of Lucien’s ears. The irony was suffocating; he was a man with the soul of a hardened survivor trapped in the body of a twelve-year-old, being lectured on "purity" by a priest who thought he was a lovestruck brat.

  Lucien then snapped at Father Julius, “The window for joining the clergy closed three months ago, so why were lightbearers there?”

  Father Julius chuckled, the sound grating against the heavy silence of the courtyard. "It is closed for those applying, young Lucien. Not for those being recruited."

  He stepped closer, his white robes catching the dim, ashen light. "If you wish to join, I can recruit you here and now. But be warned..." He leaned in, his eyes glinting with a knowing, sharp intelligence. "It will get in the way of your love."

  “Can we move on?” Lucien hissed through gritted teeth, his face still glowing like a hot coal. “We have a curse to discuss, or did you bring me here just to critique my social life?”

  The priest’s amusement vanished instantly, his expression flattening into a mask of professional serenity. “Very well. Let us speak of the curse, then.”

  The priest led them into a humble cottage. The interior was sparse but functional, dominated by a heavy oak desk and a few high-backed chairs. This was clearly his base of operations, far removed from the gilded cathedrals of the capital.

  They all sat down, and the priest leaned forward, his hands folded. But before he could utter a single syllable of his interrogation, Lucien cut through the silence.

  "First, tell me your name," Lucien said, leaning back and crossing his arms. The lingering heat of his embarrassment was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating gaze of a seasoned negotiator. "You might know who I am, but I don't know who you are. I can’t exactly keep calling you 'Priest.'"

  The man chuckled softly, the light hitting the silver embroidery on his sleeve. "Fair enough. My name is Father Julian. I am the Lightbearer assigned to Hariat village."

  Julian’s smile didn't reach his eyes this time. He looked at Lucien with a sudden, piercing seriousness that seemed to weigh the boy's very soul.

  "Now, my turn," Julian said. "First, tell me: how did you wake that boy up? I have seen High Priests exhaust their entire energy pools trying to rouse a sleeper for even a second, and they failed. You did it with a touch."

  Lucien didn't hesitate. His blush had completely vanished, replaced by a mask of effortless confidence. The first thing he said was a blatant lie.

  "I am an expert on curses," Lucien stated flatly.

  "Is that so?" Julian raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of a twelve-year-old claiming expertise in one of the most dangerous fields of magic.

  "In my younger days, a mysterious master showed up in my hometown and said that I have talents for dispelling curses," Lucien lied with no hesitation.

  Father Julian couldn’t help but be amused by the phrase. A twelve-year-old boy speaking of his "younger days" was a comical sight, yet there was something in Lucien's eyes—a depth of experience that didn't match his soft features—that kept the priest from laughing.

  "In the Academy, I heard travelers talk about this curse," Lucien continued, weaving his lie with enough truth to make it believable. "To them, it was just a fun story, but for me, an expert in the field, I knew it wasn't something that simple. So I convinced the Headmaster that I must leave to investigate, and he graciously obliged."

  Lucien leaned forward, the shadows of the cottage stretching across the desk as his storm-grey eyes narrowed. "Most people try to break the curse by force, like trying to smash a lock. I didn't break it. I simply provided a counter-resonance. I pushed back against the weight of the lullaby for just a moment to create a pocket of clarity."

  "But," Lucien added, his voice dropping a register, "that wasn't a permanent fix. I only managed to buy the boy some more time. However, I got some new, important information from him during those few seconds of wakefulness."

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Oh?" Father Julian said with genuine interest, his quill hovering over a fresh sheet of parchment.

  "The boy mentioned a 'man' singing a lullaby," Lucien stated. "That wasn't part of the legend. The myth speaks of a Weeping Mother, but the boy's ears didn't lie. There is a masculine presence in the resonance."

  Julian’s expression shifted as he wrote that down, his jaw tightening. "A man... that is a grave deviation from the legends."

  "And I also know that someone is pushing the curse," Lucien added, his gaze piercing.

  Father Julian looked at him with serious, guarded eyes. "What makes you say that?"

  "The fact that some noble's slave was arrested digging up bodies just to steal the corpses," Lucien said, his voice laced with disgust. "It means they already know that the salt in their heads is a potent drug. Those degenerates will do anything to get their hands on it, but they can't have a market without a steady supply. Someone is intentionally spreading this 'Lullaby' to harvest the byproduct. This isn't a natural disaster, Father. It's man-made."

  The room went silent, save for the distant, haunting whistle of the wind against the stone walls. Julian looked at the boy, finally realizing that whether his "mysterious master" was real or not, the mind sitting across from him was more dangerous than any curse.

  Father Julian sighed, the weight of his office finally bowing his shoulders. “It is just as you said. There is a mastermind behind this.”

  Lucien blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He had expected the man to be tight-lipped, a loyal dog of the Church protecting its image. To have a Lightbearer admit to a conspiracy so readily was a rare crack in the wall.

  “What are you doing about it?” Lucien asked, leaning back.

  “We are currently investigating,” Julian said, though his voice lacked conviction. “But there is not much we have come up with. In fact... we have nothing.”

  Lucien nodded slowly, his mind already mapping the village’s layout. “Have you tried checking the wells?”

  “We have,” Julian replied. “But we found nothing down there. Just water, stone, and silence.”

  “Of course,” Lucien said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “But have you tried to really look under there? If the wailing can be heard in different villages, it means there is a massive network connecting them.”

  Father Julian nodded in agreement. “We have found some passages, yes. But they are short. Every time we send a team down, they meet a dead end within a hundred paces.”

  “Have you mapped out what you’ve found?”

  Father Julian looked at him with a bewildered expression. “Mapped?” he asked, as if the word itself were foreign.

  Lucien felt a headache forming. He was baffled. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been mapping out what you explored,” he said, his voice flat.

  Father Julian nodded slowly, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. “We have only found small and incomplete passages. We didn't see the point in drawing lines that lead nowhere.”

  Lucien shook his head in pure disappointment. No wonder the source hadn't been located in either life. “No wonder. What if the perpetrators are closing off the passages behind them so they aren't caught? Or using illusions to hide the continuation?”

  It was as if lightning had struck Father Julian. He sat frozen, his mouth slightly agape as the sheer simplicity of the oversight hit him. He had been looking for open doors, while the enemy was building walls. He looked down at his desk, suddenly ashamed that a twelve-year-old had to explain basic counter-insurgency to a Lightbearer.

  “We... we assumed the tunnels were just collapsed passages,” Julian whispered.

  “Assumptions are the first thing that will ruin you,” Lucien said, standing up and looking toward the door. “Sebas, get the parchment and charcoal. Since the Church can't draw, we’ll have to do the cartography ourselves. We’re going down, and this time, we aren't stopping at the first wall we see.”

  Father Julian stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. “Do not insult the Church,” he said, his voice regaining some of its defensive edge. “This was just a simple oversight. I will report this immediately and have the previous expedition teams map out exactly what they found.”

  “That doesn't change what we have to do right now,” Lucien countered, his tone unshakable. “I need you to form teams and this time, search every inch. Even if they are dead ends, start digging. Ensure every 'wall' is actually solid rock and not a facade.”

  Father Julian nodded, the shame from before replaced by a grim determination. “In the meantime, Sebas and I will start here,” Lucien continued. “We can't have this curse getting out of hand while we wait for your bureaucracy to catch up.”

  “I will report all of this to the Church,” Julian agreed, moving toward the door. “Including your... expertise.”

  Lucien gave a sharp nod. “Well, take it from an expert, then,” he said, his expression becoming hauntingly serious. “We might need a Paladin to intervene.”

  Father Julian lost some of the color in his face at that suggestion. In the Holy Realm, calling for a Paladin was the equivalent of declaring a national emergency. It meant the situation was no longer a local disturbance; it was a threat to the soul of the Empire itself. He nodded slowly, the weight of Lucien’s warning sinking in, and hurried out of the cottage to begin the mobilization.

  Once the door clicked shut, Sebas stepped out of the shadows. “A Paladin, Young Master? Didn't they fall because of the curse?”

  “Yes, and I’m expecting the worst, Sebas,” Lucien said, his eyes turning toward the floorboards where the faint wailing still vibrated. “If someone is conducting this lullaby, they aren't just a random nobody. They are someone who knows how to play with the same fire that consumed the Warrior of Light.”

  Lucien walked to the center of the room and knelt, placing his palm flat against the cold stone.

  “We will be spending our days mapping dead ends,” Lucien muttered as they stepped back out into the cool air. “We don’t have that kind of time, but we don’t have a choice. The Church hasn't made nearly as much progress as I had hoped.”

  They walked straight to the village general store. Without a word, Lucien began piling sticks of charcoal and every coil of rope the shop had onto the counter. The shopkeeper was baffled, staring at the mountain of hemp cord, but he didn't utter a single complaint. Word of the boy who had thrown a blacksmith and woken a sleeper had already traveled through the small village. To the shopkeeper, Lucien was either a saint or a demon, and he wasn't about to argue with either.

  Equipped and ready, they made their way to the center of the town. A small crowd had gathered around the ancient stone well, whispering and watching with wide, curious eyes. Lucien ignored them, tying one end of the rope securely around his waist and handing the coil to his butler.

  “It’s time to go well-diving, Sebas,” Lucien said, his eyes reflecting the dark circle of the abyss.

  Sebas nodded, his grip on the rope firm. “I’ll be right behind you, Young Master.”

  Lucien jumped. He plummeted into the darkness, the air whistling past his ears until—splash—the frigid water of the well swallowed him whole. He didn't panic. He stayed submerged, beckoning the tilt of his Equilibrium toward his eyes.

  The murky, lightless water suddenly became clear. His sight was supercharged, piercing through the silt to reveal the submerged masonry. Near the bottom, he spotted a strange, unnatural rock formation that didn't match the rest of the well’s construction. He swam toward it, bracing his feet against the wall and heaving. The stones groaned and shifted, revealing a narrow, water-filled passage.

  Lucien swam through the gap, eventually surfacing in a dry, winding tunnel that smelled of salt and stagnant air. He traveled deep into the earth, his footsteps echoing, until he hit a solid wall of rock. A dead end.

  “I don’t believe it,” he whispered.

  He activated his Equilibrium again, this time shifting the weight of his senses toward his hearing. He pressed his ear against the cold stone and delivered a sharp, calculated smack to the surface with his palm.

  Thump.

  The sound didn't flatline; it vibrated. There was a hollow space on the other side.

  Lucien smirked. He tilted the balance of his power entirely toward his right arm, concentrating his density and force into a single point. With a grunt of effort, he began to dig at full strength, his fingers tearing through the stone as if it were dry clay. Pieces of rock crumbled and fell away until, with a final surge, he popped through to the other side.

  The passage continued, stretching even deeper into the black. Lucien stood amidst the rubble, his eyes glowing with triumph.

  “I was right,” he said, looking back as Sebas emerged from the hole behind him. “Looks like we have a lot of work to do.