Lucian’s Dorm Rooftop

The rooftop was cold.

Lucian didn’t mind. Cold kept you awake. Kept your thoughts sharp. And tonight, his thoughts were anything but sharp.

He sat on the edge of the dormitory roof, legs hanging over the side, the city spread out below him like a map of lights. Ashford’s campus was quiet at this hour. Most students were asleep. Those who weren’t were either studying too hard or drinking too much. Neither category interested him.

He pulled up his system screen.

It floated there in the darkness, gold text on black, familiar and alien at the same time. He’d looked at it a thousand times since waking up in that hospital bed. A thousand times, and it still didn’t make sense.

HOST: LUCIAN

LEVEL: 99

CLASS: [REDACTED] - LEVEL 99

RACE: HALF HUMAN / HALF ???

SKILLS: ALL LEVEL 99

ABILITIES: ALL LEVEL 99

PROFESSIONS: ALL LEVEL 99

NIGHT MARK: LOCKED

TRUE NAME: [REDACTED]

Half human. Half question mark.

That was the part that gnawed at him.

He could accept the skills. The abilities. The absurd, impossible maxed-out everything. The system had given him those, and the system didn’t seem to care about fairness or logic. It just was.

But the race entry bothered him.

Not because it was redacted. Because someone had chosen to redact it. The system knew what he was. It just wasn’t telling him.

Why?

He thought about Voss’s words in the cave. "What the hell are you?" She’d asked it like she was afraid of the answer. Like she’d seen something she couldn’t explain and her mind was scrambling to fit it into a box that didn’t exist.

He thought about Cora’s question earlier. "I need to know what you are."

He didn’t have an answer for her. Didn’t have an answer for himself.

He was strong. Stronger than any rookie should be. Stronger than most veterans, probably. He’d felt it in the cave when he’d stopped holding back. The Glimmertongue had crumbled. The rogues had frozen. Even Voss, with all her years of experience, had looked at him like he was something out of a nightmare.

But strength wasn’t an identity.

He looked up at the sky. The stars were faint here, washed out by the city lights. But a few still shone through, distant and indifferent.

Who was his father?

Margaret never talked about him. Not really. When Lucian asked, she changed the subject or gave vague answers that raised more questions than they solved. He was special. He was different. He had to leave.

Leave where? Why? And why did his absence leave a hole in Lucian’s heritage that the system filled with question marks?

He thought about the possibility of others like him. A whole race of beings who weren’t human, who had powers beyond comprehension, who looked at the world the way humans looked at ants. Were they out there somewhere? Watching? Waiting?

And if they were, why hadn’t they come for him?

He was one of them. Half of one, anyway. Didn’t that count for something? Didn’t he deserve to know where he came from, what he was, why he could do things that made veteran hunters stare in silence?

The questions circled, and circled, and found no answers.

Lucian closed the system screen and stared at the city.

Somewhere out there, Valentine was plotting. Somewhere out there, demons were gathering. Somewhere out there, the Ashen Guard was preparing for a war that hadn’t started but felt inevitable.

And here he was, sitting on a rooftop, trying to figure out who he was.

He laughed. Quiet. Bitter.

"Ridiculous," he muttered.

The wind picked up. Cold. Sharp.

He didn’t move.

---

Across the street, on the roof of the adjacent building, a figure stood in the shadow of a ventilation unit.

They were tall, wrapped in dark clothing that blended with the night. Their face was hidden beneath a hood, but their eyes—pale, almost luminous—were fixed on Lucian.

They watched him sit there, alone, staring at nothing.

They watched him close his eyes and breathe slow.

They watched him struggle with questions that had no answers.

"The young master," the figure murmured, their voice low and smooth, like stones rubbing together, "really has a lot of questions."

The wind shifted. Carried the scent of rain.

"But I can’t interfere right now." The figure’s eyes narrowed. "He’s still too weak."

Lucian shifted on the edge of the roof. He didn’t look up. Didn’t sense them. His enhanced perception, his supernatural awareness, all the gifts the system had given him—none of them reached across the street to the shadowed figure.

Not yet.

The figure turned. Their footsteps made no sound on the gravel roof. They walked to the edge of the building, paused, and looked back one last time.

"Grow fast, young master," they whispered. "The world won’t wait for you to be ready."

Then they stepped off the roof.

There was no sound of impact. No cry of surprise. Just silence, and the empty street, and the distant hum of the city.

Lucian opened his eyes.

He looked across the street, at the dark building opposite his dorm.

For a moment, he thought he saw something. A shape. A shadow where no shadow should be.

Then it was gone.

He shook his head. Tired. Imagining things.

He stood up, stretched, and walked back toward the rooftop door.

Behind him, the night was quiet.

But somewhere in the darkness, eyes were watching.

And somewhere in the city, a clock was ticking.

A/N

Thanks for reading this far, it has been a pleasure to me.

I will be locking the Chapters from here on out, and I will really appreciate if you continue with me, I have a big world planned out already but it is your support and encouragement that would make me bring it to fruition.

Thank you once again.