Chapter Text
It was night in Dock Town, a shadowed stretch of Minrathous where the corruption pressed down like a storm cloud, suffocating those who lived in these depths. The air was ripe with stale beer and brine, intermingling with something far more putrid - rotting fish, oil-slicked water and the acrid sweat of a thousand men who had long since given up on hope. In the alleyways, the poor huddled beneath flickering magical orbs, their gaunt faces hidden in the gloom, eyes darting quicker than the rats that scurried between barrels. The rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide, however, was somewhat comforting to Lucanis. Though the rest of the city suffocated beneath the past events of the last few months, the tide was always certain.
He stood on a rooftop overlooking the ships, his midnight cloak blending into the city’s shadows. It was evident, even to those without a keen eye that the city had been completely devastated in the wake of Elgarnan’s grand plan. Whilst it was true that Dock Town had never been a particularly beautiful part of Minrathous, it had also never seen this much destruction and death. At least not in recent years. Whilst it was far past midnight, Lucanis could still see people on the streets below working tirelessly to remove rubble and uncover their loved ones, neighbours, even those they had never really cared for.
An itch prickled at the top of his nose, and he fought to ignore it, keeping his composure.
She’s the same as this city- broken, selfish, too proud to admit she’s drowning.
He wouldn’t dignify the response. Spite, the demon that still inhabited his consciousness, had never been a fan of Neve Gallus, Lucanis's ex-girlfriend. The two had started a dalliance, when they were both part of The Veilguard. And whilst, strictly speaking, it was not something he regretted, he did regret how it had ended between them. Part of him still felt guilt for ending it, he reasoned that that was in large, why he and Caia were doing this job for her. A desperate redemption arc for him, for his selfishness that followed after, when someone else had been there to comfort him and pick up the pieces.
Rook doesn’t close doors, remember, she opens them. Ooooh, you should have seen it when she walked into that crypt you call a home. Like she lit all the candles. The smell of burning, vanilla and honey.
The top of his lip sneered, ever so slightly. Whilst Spite on occasion provided a certain usefulness in terms of the scope of his power, the human experience was somewhat lost upon him. His emotions and reactions were base, gutteral, animalistic. How could Lucanis ever explain the complexities of human relationships to something so fundamentally alien? It was true, to a certain extent, that Neve and he had come to an impasse in their relationship, once The Veilguard was no more. Neither had been willing to make the leap, commit to a city that wasn’t their own. But selfish, proud? He wasn’t certain those were words he would ever impress upon her.
As for Rook, or Caia as she was lesser known by in more intimate circles, Spite had always carried a torch for her- quite literally, given the way he liked to spin his metaphors. Since he had first locked eyes with her at The Ossuary, it was fair to say that the demon had been intrigued, possibly even infatuated. Lucanis could only guess what kind of fire burned behind that strange affection. Caia was undeniably formidable, and upon reflection, Lucanis was not surprised. You didn’t survive as a “failed Crow” unless you had something worth keeping. Especially when your mentor was none other than the Master of Poisoning himself, Viago De Riva.
There had always been a vibrancy to her, an unyielding strength that he had shut off after working alongside her on that impossible mission to kill the gods. It had been too much- the mission, the betrayal, the scars that still lingered beneath his skin. Over a year in a prison - both of his own making and by others, left him emerging as something less than human. And then there was Caia, someone who had quietly reminded him every day of his failings as a Crow, someone who mirrored the path he would have to walk if he ever returned to House Dellamorte. The weight of that future, of what he might become, had driven him away. He had fled, seeking solace in arms that offered no expectations, comfort far removed from the suffocating future he feared. But now, even in the distance, her memory burned through him, as sharp and inevitable as the tide.
He was First Talon now, a title bestowed upon him by his grandmother in front of all the other Talons, a title he had never sought, never imagined would be his. For years, he had assumed Illario would inherit the position, his older cousin’s charisma, ambition and skill making him the natural choice. But the power grab Illario had orchestrated, though perfectly executed with the cunning only a Crow could truly appreciate, had torn their house to pieces. Illario’s scheme had been flawless in its ruthlessness, but it had shattered the delicate balance of their family, leaving nothing but fractures and bitter dust. And now, Lucanis wore the mantle of First Talon, not by choice but by the collapse of everything that had once seemed certain.
But nothing ever stayed certain, Lucanis had learned that lesson far more times than a man should. Relationships, the ebb and flow of life, it was all subject to the whims of forces beyond his control, to the aftermath of bad decisions and fleeting moments. After his painful breakup with Neve, he’d fallen into a familiar escape: a bottle of wine and the arms of the person he’d been running from for months. The kisses were desperate, fueled by lust and a gnawing need, but his mind was empty, numbed by the ache of the split and the self-loathing that followed. The dalliance with Caia had stretched on, an unspoken thing, a line neither of them dared to fully cross. He still wasn’t sure what it was- what it had become -between them. Was it merely the heat of the moment? A distraction? She wasn’t about to share her feelings, of that he was certain. He could still feel the walls she kept firmly in place around herself, and he suspected they were as much a product of Viago's influence as they were of her own personal defense mechanisms. Caia had been through too much, seen too much, to let anyone truly close. And yet, there were moments when those walls would crack, fleeting cracks in the armor that made him wonder if there was more to this—if, despite the chaos, there could ever be something more. But he wasn’t naïve enough to think she'd let herself be vulnerable again, not with everything she'd endured, least of all from him.
Not with him.
***
Caia perched on a crate, her eyes narrowing in concentration as she sharpened one of her daggers, the one she always kept tucked into the top of her boot, just within reach. The rhythmic scrape of stone against steel was oddly soothing, the sound a comforting, almost meditative constant in the quiet of the room. Lucanis had excused himself some time ago, slipping off to scout from a higher vantage point, and given how uncharacteristically silent and absorbed he'd become, she hadn’t felt the need to interrupt. The repetitive sound of her work was calming, but she’d have to stop soon; she couldn’t afford to dull the blade any further.
Truth be told, she hadn’t wanted to come tonight. The whole mess had Viago’s fingerprints all over it, his paranoia making everything feel a hundred times worse. As usual, he was convinced the world was on the brink of collapse, and with the supposed end of days practically on his doorstep, his anxieties had reached new, ridiculous heights.
The soft creak of a window broke her thoughts. She glanced up just as Lucanis swung himself inside with his usual fluid grace, the faint rustle of his cape brushing against the wood of the frame. She grinned, sliding the dagger back into its sheath with a quiet snap before speaking.
"You’re quieter than usual," she remarked with a teasing glint in her eyes. "Did Spite decide to take the night off?"
Lucanis gave a low hum, almost a growl, as he stood straighter, his sharp eyes narrowing in amusement. "He's been reminding me of all my mistakes."
Caia cocked an eyebrow and let a smirk play at the corner of her lips. "That’ll be why you took so long, then?" she quipped, standing up quickly. Her small, agile frame unfolded effortlessly, her lean legs flexing as she rose. "Hopefully, time well spent. You’ve got the mark, then?"
Lucanis blinked at her, his expression one of mock disbelief. A slow, teasing grin spread across his face, the kind that made her heart skip a beat despite herself. "You had doubts, mi amiga?" he drawled, his tone thick with amusement.
She stiffened slightly, eyes narrowing, but she didn't back down. Her posture straightened, a familiar defensive energy creeping in. She’d never quite understood why that damn word always got under her skin. She gave him a look, feigning a delicate affront as her hand went up to her chest, over-exaggerating the motion. "Surely not me, boss," she said, her voice an almost saccharine mockery.
Lucanis let out a laugh, rich, warm, and entirely unbothered, his eyes rolling in amusement as he closed them for a moment. “Lead on, then,” he murmured, the hint of a smirk still playing at the edges of his lips.
Caia’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam, and she nodded towards the door. “This time,” she chirped, her tone almost innocent, “I think we can use the door like civilised folk, don’t you?”
His grin widened at her challenge, but there was something unspoken between them, something both electric and frustratingly awkward. They both felt that.
He shook off Spite’s sharp mental prodding and moved towards the doorway, determination in every step. But just as he reached the threshold, Caia spun around in one fluid motion, her presence a sudden blur in front of him. He barely stopped himself in time, nearly crashing into her.
“Oh, forgot,” she said, as though the thought had only just occurred to her. "Neve thought you might want this." She handed him a small piece of the finest silk, soaked through with blood.
Lucanis’s face contorted in disgust as he eyed the soiled scrap. "Neve thought I would want a bloody scrap?" His voice dripped with incredulity, his usual restraint slipping just a little.
Caia’s gaze shifted above his shoulder, her eyes narrowing as though she could see Spite standing there. She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the way he’d reacted. “Well, she thought our friend might be able to help.”
Lucanis’s exhale was heavy, tinged with exasperation. He didn’t need to be reminded. “He’s not there," he muttered, his tone sharp. "And he’s not a mabari." He took a step closer, his eyes locking onto hers with that rare, intense focus he reserved for the moments when he was certain. “I already know where we’re headed, why else do you think I was scoping the city?”
There was a silence between them then, thick with tension. His declaration was resolute, as if he had no room for doubt. But somewhere in the space between them, something else lingered, unspoken, just beneath the surface. Something he wasn’t ready to face. Caia’s lips twitched, as though she were about to say something, but for once, she kept quiet.
Was there.