Lucian led them both out of enemy territory, thankfully without encountering any further obstacles. The silence between them was palpable, and had Anthemion not been preoccupied with his own thoughts, he might have found it unbearable.

The shock of the recent events had crept deep into his bones.

Now that the fear of imminent death had receded, and the adrenaline in his body had subsided, vivid images flashed through his mind too quickly to process properly but just slow enough for him to recognize tormented men and women, blood, and gore. Death.

He fidgeted and shivered.

Lucian, on the other hand, embodied calmness and tranquility. After they entered his apartment, a quite luxurious penthouse by the District's standards, he promptly incinerated his blood-stained clothes and took a long, hot shower.

Anthemion sat by the window, peering through the gaps at the street below, watching for any unusual signs and flinching at every small movement. He couldn't help but feel nervous. He just waited for Cargil to stomp down the door and get its rightful revenge.

In the shadow cast by a phone booth, a small, dirty dog lingered, only moving to lazily chase after some mice.

As it entered the light, Anthemion recoiled, his breath quickening. After a few moments, he steadied himself and looked out again. The dog had returned to its spot, yawning as it stretched and then settled down to sleep.

In seconds, it was peacefully lost in slumber, a privilege Anthemion envied greatly.

Lucian emerged from the shower, his neck cracking in satisfaction, clad only in a white towel wrapped around his waist, his muscled upper body exposed. A convulsing and abhorrent red line crossed his torso, still dripping with moisture and leftover shower water.

It contrasted starkly with his otherwise fine skin, a wound not yet fully healed. Steam billowed from the open door behind him, framing him in the doorway as he observed Anthemion hiding from imaginary ghosts and wraiths.

With a sigh, Lucian moved to the kitchen, which was open to the living room, and began making himself some tea. "First time seeing a battle and death?" he casually asked, as if discussing the weather or some other trivial matter, rather than the loss of countless lives - the lingering scent of death and he gruel reflections of horror within pools of blood on the ground.

Anthemion nodded, his eyes still glued outside.

"You'll grow numb to it. Savor the emptiness and hollowness you feel. You'll lose it in due time, at least if you continue to pursue this way," Lucian said, accompanied by mechanical hum as the tea leaves were pressed, warm liquid gradually filling the cup below.

"Which I imagine you will, now that you've acquired yourself a Scripture."

Anthemion crinched, his gaze snapping to Lucian, clearly wary.

The man chuckled. "Don't worry. I'm quite content with the Path I've chosen, and I have no plans to change it, now or in the foreseeable future.

You've earned your Scripture, and I won't forcibly take it from you.

Although, I'd suggest you don't flaunt it within the organization. They might not show the same restraint." His words sounded sincere. He could be lying, of course, but Anthemion had little reason to doubt him.

"What do I do now?" Anthemion mused aloud, though his question seemed directed more at himself than at Lucian.

He shrugged and took a leisurely sip of his tea, savoring the flavor. "That depends on the outcome of this night. If LUV falls, which from what I can gather is rather unlikely, you'll need to find a new way to scrape together some money.

And if it doesn't, you can carry on as before. Better yet, you can take on riskier missions and command higher pay as a hailed and sought-after Conduit." He snickered.

"If you take me as a role model, which I highly recommend as I'm rather awesome, you'll do whatever the hell you want."

Anthemion considered Lucian's words, a mix of uncertainty and determination in his eyes. This night had changed him, and he knew there was no going back.

With a fluid, almost imperceptible movement, too swift for Anthemion to track, Lucian was beside him, and the curtains slid open with a flick of his hand.

He stared into the night, his gaze a blend of steel-hard judgment, a cruel sadistic gleam, and a sparkle of mischievous amusement, like a judge, a criminal, and a joker rolled into one.

"Treat the District as if it's your kingdom, toss money aside like it's dirt, and fuck like an animal," Lucian proclaimed with theatrical fervor. "It's a nasty and pungent jungle beyond this window, with only one law set in stone:

the law of superiority through sheer strength.

So, grow a fucking pair, stop whining, and throw yourself into the chaos. Have some damn fun!"

Anthemion was left speechless, watching as Lucian delivered what ought to be a performance worthy of a stage, his conviction enough to quash any counterarguments or reason.

Then, the man took a slow step back, exhaled deeply, and turned to Anthemion, appearing more composed, as if he had needed to blow off some pent-up steam. Perhaps the massacre hadn't passed without any impact after all.

"For tonight, just rest," Lucian said, nodding toward the oversized couch behind him, larger than Anthemion's bed and certainly much more comfortable as well. "You can crash there. But take a shower first."

Anthemion nodded, entered the steaming bathroom and stepped into the luxurious rainfall shower. Warm water flowed over his skin, washing away sweat, and dirt, and blood, most of it belonging to others.

His mind emptied of all thoughts, and the chaos seemed to evaporate with each drop of water, as if cleansing away his pain and worries.

He closed his eyes and simply listened to his own breath, imagining the sound of every pulsating heartbeat in his ears. He stood there, suspended in the moment, for a long while.

Only when his skin had turned as wrinkled as a lizard's, he turned off the flow of water and dried himself off.

He dressed in the clothes provided by Lucian, as his own were tattered beyond recognition, and they hung loosely on his frame.

Exiting the bathroom, he found Lucian still seated on the couch, savoring his drink and lost in contemplation.

Anthemion, though physically drained and with empty energy reserves, exuded a nervous crackling energy in his every movement. He walked hastily and glanced around with unease. A clear sign that he wouldn't get much sleep on his own that night, Lucian noted.

Seeing this, he summoned spiritual energy, freezing Anthemion, and forced a sleeping pill down his throat.

He couldn't render any resistance, and within seconds, dizziness overcame him. Lucian caught him with a gentle Touch and placed him on the pillows, producing a blanket from a nearby cupboard.

Slurking into his own bedroom, he cast one last glance over his shoulder at the loudly snoring Anthemion.

"And tomorrow, we'll turn you into a damn Conduit," he thought with a grin, his expression briefly darkening with worry.

"For you may very well be my only hope." He sighed.

"Or legacy."

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

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Anthemion woke up with a splitting headache, unsure if it was a residual effect of the sleeping pill he'd been forced to ingest or the resurfacing memories from the previous day.

He mentally pushed those thoughts aside with a shove and sat up, swinging his feet over the edge of the couch.

Lucian was nowhere to be seen, giving Anthemion finally the opportunity to take a proper look at the apartment, something he had overlooked in the haste and nervousness of the previous night.

Before doing so, he quickly sent a text to his mother, explaining that he had stayed at a friend's house and would spend the day there, so there was no need to worry.

He knew she would give him a lecture regardless when he returned home, for neglecting to tell her in advance and causing her the greatest fright.

He chuckled at the thought and stood up, turning on the spot as he admired the apartment.

Above Anthemion, a second floor loomed, extending halfway over the kitchen area. It was adorned with a railing, allowing for a fine view over the living room below and the large window-front that faced the street.

The architectural design of the apartment was modern and minimalistic, with white and muted tones dominating the interior.

The decorative statue of a naked woman seemingly struck by her own beauty, holding a hand mirror, throned in one corner, and a lush, spiraling plant occupied another.

An abstract painting, a chaotic blend of black and white, hung on one wall, seemingly connected to it as if by magic.

It was breathtaking, its dimensions nearly towering over Anthemion in height.

"An unusual sight," a familiar voice remarked, "to see a boy instead of a beautiful woman admiring my home in the morning."

Lucian appeared on the second floor with a smirk, dressed in loosely fitted clothes obviously designed for maximum comfort.

With the grace of a cat taking a leisurely stroll, he jumped over the edge, gliding down gracefully and dignified like a leaf in the wind instead of hurling to the ground like a stone.

His bare feet touched the floor without a sound, and he indicated a small bow as Anthemion sarcastically applauded his entrance, having regained some of his usual wits and confidence.

"An unusual sight, indeed, that for once you didn't have to pay someone to stay with you for the night," Anthemion retorted and Lucian chuckled.

"Weren't you intimidated by me just a few days ago? Have I fallen so far for a teenage boy to mock me?" he asked, only half seriously.

"Nah, but I think I deserve some serious leeway for saving your ass," Anthemion replied with a smile. "And maybe a reward?" he added in jest.

"That, you shall receive," Zerth grinned and produced a glittering something from his pocket. A soft, almost melodic humming spread in the room.

He tossed it toward Anthemion, who caught it with surprise in the air.

It was a flawless, crystalline droplet, seemingly nestled within a delicate, transparent vessel like a raindrop frozend mid-air. It was the size of a small stone and its surface was smooth, mirroring the world around it.

It emited its own soft light, casting an enchating glow on the surroundings. Anthemion felt it quivering, as if beckoning him, as if it had been waiting for him.

He gently cupped it in his hands, a wave of cool, soothing energy washing over him. His eyes widened in awe as the Essence refracted the light into a breathtaking spectrum of colors. It felt almost alive, pulsating in his palms.

The world shivered and fractured around it, its fragile edges almost seeping away into the air.

With the Essence cradled in his hands and the surroundings bathed in its gentle, somewhat watery light, Anthemion whispered, "Is it what I think it is?" His voice quivered, as he was unable to hide his awe.

Lucian, obviosuly pleased to educate him, replied casually, dropping the bombshell like a ten-story anvil on his head, "It's an Essence. Water Essence, to be precise."

Anthemion nearly chocked as the revelation caught him utterly shocked.

"For real?" he exclaimed, desire evident in his voice like a parched traveler stumbling upon an oasis in the scorching desert.

"Yeah, man. You did me a solid there, really. I would've been a goner if it weren't for you. It's only fair that I repay your bravery," Lucian replied, placing mock emphasis on the last word.

"You'll need it for your Scripture and together with my other gifts, make you a real Conduit in maybe about a week's time."

Anthemion was convinced he had imagined those words coming from Zerth's mouth, that false hope had given birth to his imagined thought. "Me? A Conduit?" he echoed.

"Yeah, a proper supernatural being, an untouchable god to lowly men," Zerth added, a small smile curling his lips.

"I don't really know what to say," Anthemion admitted. Then he narrowed his eyes and pointed around with his fingers. "How the fuck do you have so much money? This apartment, this gift? Wait! Other gifts, you said? What else?“ He questioned, his original question already forgotten.

"I'll show you in a minute," Lucian laughed.

"How can you afford that?“ Anthemion asked, truly confused. "You're a bit higher up, of course, but we work for the same organization, right?" He questioned with a hint of weariness.

Lucian responded to Anthemion's question with a mocking grin. "I'm just really great, man."

"Fuck off," Anthemion retorted, then sighed, "Okay, keep your secrets. But give me those presents!" Lucian chuckled, "All in due time."

Anthemion's lips pursed like a child who had been denied candies. "Fine."

Then, after a contemplative pause, he started anew, "I don't really know if it's inappropriate to ask or even more inappropriate not to, but in the end, I simply don't care.

So, what's up with your hands?"

Lucian flexed his exposed bone fingers, their marble-white surface gleaming in the bright apartment light.

They moved fluidly, responding to his every command with careful finesse. His forearms gave way to the bare white, creating a stark and immediate contrast between the living tissue and the dead material.

"I sacrificed them to obtain a new level of power and create a skill of a superior realm to deal with that nasty woman," he responded more seriously, though Anthemion understood none of it.

Sighing in satisfaction, Lucian slouched into a comfortable egg-shaped chair and leaned back, enjoying the feeling as if he were sitting on pure clouds.

"But what was it with you and that woman anyway?"

Anthemion looked down for a moment, guilt and shame rising within him.

"She spared me at the beginning of the fight. Used me as a plaything, actually, and utterly dominated me the moment she revealed her spiritual nature," he explained, still uncertain about his feelings regarding his role in constructing her downfall - that he had helped the very man before him in killing her.

Lucian thoughtfully remained silent for a moment, then nodded. "I see. Let that be a lesson to you. Don't ever show mercy, don't ever hesitate. If the woman hadn't decided to spare you on a whim, she might very well be alive right now. It was her own fault for not following through."

Anthemion chuckled, but beneath the humor, a profound sadness lurked as plain as day, even if he tried to hide it.

"You sure seem really concerned about my death. Thanks." Then he hesitated, searching for words. "I've seen some messed-up things where I come from, things that keep me up at night, haunt me. But I've never witnessed so much blood and murder. How do you live with that? The guilt?"

Lucian simply shrugged and replied, "I simply don't feel guilty. Over the course of my life, I've learned one fundamental law of nature and the universe: Life is meaningless. It doesn't matter if it's an ugly rat, an old cynical man, or a young bright girl; they all hold the same amount of value. Nothing. I see no difference in their existence as living and breathing creatures, and I see none in their deaths."

Anthemion shuddered inwardly at the similarity of this philosophy to some of his own thoughts, pushed far beyond the extreme. And also acted upon.

"Why do you live then, if there's no meaning? Why not just kill yourself?"

Lucian grinned. "Pleasure. Even if there is no meaning in it, or rather, especially because there isn't, I can do whatever the fuck I want."

"But don't you miss something? A greater purpose, maybe? A feeling of belonging? These are but fleeting instances of luck and pleasure, after all," Anthemion pressed further.

Lucian appeared taken aback, momentarily lost in thought. Then he began to speak, his tone carrying an air of revelation.

"Most humans, mortals even more so, are like cattle, unaware of their own existence beyond simply existing. They haunt this planet," he mused.

Leaning forward, a shadow cast over his face, as if inviting Anthemion into a grand secret, he continued,

"But, if I'm honest, it devours me: Why can they enjoy it, why savor it? Why am I not granted this grace as well? I despise them. I hate them.

I envy their simple-mindedness, to think no further than their simple lifes, not caring about anything else, working as a small inconspicuous cog in a large machinery.

I envy their stupidity.

I envy their faith, their evasion of the hopelessness looming over us. I envy them, and I despise them, both in the same breath.

They are already dead, empty shells without consciousness, without sophistication, without depth, little more than animals.

Yet despite the obviousness of this senselessness that camouflages itself under the protective cloak of the term 'life,' I seem to be one of the few who see through it.

I live and die, and find myself confronted with both in the same breath. It haunts me like my shadow, never quite disappearing from my thoughts, never leaving me alone."

His words hung heavy in the air, revealing to Anthemion some of the inner turmoil and existential questioning that simmered beneath Lucian's confident exterior.

"I am a god among the unworthy," he concluded, his voice carrying a mix of bitterness, resentment, and a hint of longing.