Lucien lowers his head slightly, the silver runes on his armor catching the firelight as he speaks in a calm, measured tone. “I mean no trouble here,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of many roads walked. “The journey has been long, and your welcome is more kindness than I expected in this place.”
He draws a steady breath, pale fingers brushing against the edge of the tome at his side. “You say you’ve been waiting for me… then perhaps fate has brought me here after all.”
Lucien’s violet eyes drift toward the flames as if watching memories dance in the firelight. “My story?” His voice softens. “It is one of battles fought and scars earned. I was once a scholar in a monastery, chasing knowledge instead of bloodshed. But war found me, as it always does. The sanctuary I called home was burned, its people scattered to the winds. From the ashes, I took this armor—blackened steel etched with runes of silver—and I swore an oath to stand where others could not.”
His hand tightens briefly on the gauntlet at his wrist before relaxing, the kindness returning to his expression. “But it is also a story of a search… for something more than war. I have wandered long, not only to defend the weak, but to find a purpose beyond the sword. If you would hear it, I will share.”
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