“Let the soulbinding begin.”

The voice echoed through a chamber of stone and velvet.

Torchlight flickered, casting sharp shadows across the summoning circle etched in blood-red ink. Noble banners fluttered in the stale air—House Varnel’s phoenix sigil now dulled by time and scandal.

The heir, Elysia Varnel, stood proud and stiff, sweat trailing down her temple. Her gloved hand held firm over the incantation scroll, her voice steady despite the judgmental glares from the circle of elders watching from above.

“By flame unbroken, by name unshamed,

I summon thee—not beast, not kin,

But loyal servant bound in sin.”

The circle glowed.

The ground rumbled faintly. Arcane wind surged inward, pulling papers, cloaks, and breath toward the center.

And then—

A soundless implosion.

A figure stood in the summoning circle.

He wore black.

Tall, composed, dusting soot from his gloved hands. A silver-haired man in a formal butler’s uniform, eyes closed, posture dignified—completely calm.

No monstrous beast. No magical knight.

Just… a man.

“Wh—what is this?” one of the nobles sputtered.

Elysia’s brows knit. “Why is he dressed like—”

The man opened his eyes.

Crimson irises.



[ Moments Later ]

He stood at attention, head bowed.

“Lucien Caelum,” he said softly. “At your service, Lady Varnel.”

His voice was smooth—precise. Every movement measured. He even adjusted the cravat at his neck with practiced grace.

The room was silent.

Then came the laughter.

“She summoned a butler?”

“Not even a soldier?!”

“Does her family’s shame know no depth?”

Elysia stepped forward, cheeks flushed. “I followed the rite exactly! The circle chose him!”

Lucien turned slightly. “You seem… disappointed, my lady.”

“Y-You’re supposed to be my pact servant. My familiar.”

“Of course.” He placed a hand to his chest and bowed. “I am. I simply lack fur or scales.”

“Do you have… any combat ability?”

Lucien blinked. “I was rather proficient with sharp objects, once. Especially when directed at traitors.”

The nobles scoffed. One threw down his wine cup.

“Cancel the pact. Try again. The Varnel line clearly has no flame left.”

Elysia’s hands clenched into fists. But she said nothing.

Lucien turned to her. “Do you wish to cancel me, Lady Varnel?”

She hesitated. He watched her—not with judgment, but with something… unreadable.

“No,” she said quietly. “No… I don’t.”

Their eyes locked.

And in that moment—something stirred.

Far beneath the summoning circle… a chain groaned.



[ That Night – Varnel Estate Dungeons ]

Lucien sat alone in his designated servant cell. No bed. Just stone, rust, and the faint drip of water.

He didn’t mind.

He sat cross-legged in the center, pocketwatch ticking gently beside him. He held it open, watching the reversed motion of the hands.

Tick… tick… tick…

He blinked.

A summoning. Another world. But this magic… feels familiar.

A voice echoed in his mind. Not one spoken aloud—one remembered.

“You shall not rise again, Hollow Monarch.”

“We erased your name. Your throne. Your soul.”

Lucien’s hand tightened.

Then slowly… he smiled.

“Erased? No. Forgotten, perhaps. Buried beneath ash and time…”

He stood.

From the shadows behind him, something rose—a gaunt shape, fur trailing into mist, glowing hollow eyes watching from the dark.

Thorne.

The spectral wolf stepped forward silently, pressing its head into Lucien’s palm.

Lucien whispered, “It seems… I was not uninvited after all.”

He looked up toward the ceiling—toward the palace above. Toward the noble families who scoffed. Toward the girl who summoned him in desperation.

And then, eyes gleaming faint red, Lucien whispered the words he hadn’t uttered in lifetimes:

“The court is gathered. The game begins.”