The Last Night of Lucien Vale

The road stretched endlessly beneath the caravan wheels, a soft melody of creaks and the distant whispers of the wind flowing through the open plains. Beneath the twilight sky, a young boy no older than six walked beside his sisters, his small hand tightly wrapped around the fabric of his eldest sister's sleeve. Lucien Vale was his name, and this was the happiest he had ever been.

His sisters, Elara and Sylva, laughed as they shared stories from the books they read at the last town. Their voices were his comfort, the only warmth he had ever known.

"We'll reach the capital soon," Elara said, tucking a strand of silver hair behind her ear. "They say the city is full of towering castles, and—"

Before she could finish, the world erupted into chaos.

A warhorn howled in the distance. The soft hum of the caravan turned into screams. The first arrows fell like a sudden rainstorm, piercing horses and men alike. Bandits.

Their uncle, Alric, was the first to react. "Get down!" he shouted, unsheathing his blade. The guards rushed to the front, but they were outnumbered ten to one.

Lucien's world shattered in seconds.

The merchants were cut down like wheat, their cries drowned in the merciless symphony of steel. His sisters pulled him behind a fallen wagon, shielding him with their bodies.

His heart pounded. He could hear the heavy boots of a bandit drawing closer. A massive man, face covered in grime, stepped forward, sword raised high. His voice was a growl.

"Easy kill."

Sylva moved before Lucien could react. She stood between him and the blade, hands trembling but firm.

"No! Please!" she cried. "He's just a boy—"

The sword fell.

Blood splattered onto Lucien's face. Sylva collapsed, eyes wide, mouth slightly open as if trying to speak one last time.

"No!" Elara screamed.

Lucien could barely breathe, his tiny hands clutching at his sister's tunic, trying to wake her.

"Lucien," Elara whispered, cupping his face. Tears filled her eyes, but she forced a brave smile. "Whatever happens, you must live. Promise me. No matter what—"

The sword swung again.

Lucien saw red. His sister's body hit the dirt, and something inside him snapped. He grabbed a small knife from the ground. If this was his end, he would die fighting.

The bandit sneered. "Pathetic." He stepped forward to strike—

A blur of steel and fury crashed into him.

A new voice, deep and commanding, rang through the battlefield.

"Stand down, filth."

The bandit had no chance to react before his body was cleaved apart in a single, brutal strike.

Lucien's world exploded into fire and steel.

Warriors in silver and deep crimson cloaks stormed the battlefield, cutting through the bandits like a tempest. The enemies who had once seemed invincible were now fleeing in terror.

Lucien fell to his knees, unable to process what had just happened. He looked up at his savior.

A towering man stood before him, dressed in battle-worn armor, his silver breastplate reflecting the moonlight. His dark eyes surveyed the battlefield with the experience of a man who had seen a thousand wars. His sword dripped with blood.

The man knelt. "You're alive," he muttered, almost in relief.

Lucien blinked. "Who... are you?"

The warrior wiped his blade clean, standing tall once more. "Septimus Valerian," he said.

A rider approached, breathless. "General, the enemy advance force is moving toward the capital. We must ride."

Septimus turned to leave, but paused. His gaze lingered on Lucien, the broken boy clutching a bloodied knife.

"Be strong, boy," he said. "Survive. If we meet again, it will be fate."

And with that, he was gone.

A New Name

The battle ended, the victors departed, but Lucien remained.

For two days, he wandered the ruins of the caravan. He buried the bodies, his hands raw and blistered from digging graves in the cold earth. He placed two makeshift markers where his sisters lay.

"I wish I had some flowers for them," he whispered.

A familiar voice broke the silence.

"You honor your dead by burying them," Septimus said, stepping forward. "We honor ours by burning them."

Lucien turned, startled. The man had returned.

Septimus knelt, closing his eyes in silent prayer for the fallen. When he stood, he studied the boy carefully.

"Do you have anywhere to go?"

Lucien shook his head. "No. I have no family."

A long pause.

Septimus sighed. "War doesn't just take the lives of men. It takes everything from those left behind." He looked out over the field, then back at Lucien. "You lost everything today, but that does not have to be the end."

Lucien frowned, unsure what he meant.

"If you had a chance to start over... to begin anew, would you take it?"

Lucien hesitated. His sisters were gone. His uncle was dead. There was nothing left for him.

"...Can I?" he asked softly.

Septimus's expression remained unreadable for a moment. Then, he knelt beside him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

"That choice is yours. But if you come with me, you won't be alone. You'll have a future."

Lucien looked down at his small, dirt-covered hands. If he stayed, he would fade away in the wilderness like a forgotten shadow. But if he left...

For the first time since the massacre, there was a glimmer of something in his chest. A spark. A chance.

Septimus studied him carefully. "What is your name?"

"...Lucien."

Septimus crossed his arms. "That's a boy's name."

Lucien frowned, confused.

Then, the warrior placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"From now on, you shall be Kael Solaris." His voice was absolute. "Come with me."

And so, Lucien Vale died on that battlefield.

And Kael Solaris was born.

To be continued...