=== Overlooking the attack on Cobblers Street ===

“{I’ve delivered the card unto him- as our Lord once requested. What- did you anticipate coming- from letting this happen?}”

“Growth, dear emissary.” Thomas had a serious, stern expression. “To prevent the failures of his predecessors, Lumière needs conviction. To become a Beacon of Lord Sinner, and utilise the Sinner’s pathway, he needs to grasp onto his own motives.”

“{Still, don’t you- think it was too much?}”

“Time will tell, dear emissary. This is all we can do. Even if we were to help him out, what would he have done when ‘that’ organisation attacked once more? They sent a lowly amalgamation of those Cursed Domains of magic to destroy the monastery, but what if their goals had failed? They would have sent someone even stronger, and perhaps our little magician would have been killed in the process.”

“{So, they were- a necessary sacrifice?}”

“Our goals supercede the lives of wretches and nuns. Maybe epochs ago, we would have tried to save them. But after so many failures, we have to look at Lumière Croft’s life as paramount importance. If he can become the Beacon, then all the deaths that occur in his wake cease to matter.”

“{Paltry.}”

Thomas smirked, looking over towards the eye. “Do the deaths of mortals truly upset you, emissary? Someone as highly-revered as you? Your true form- it’s larger than this world. How can you afford empathy for something so insignificant in scale?”

“{The human heart- it’s terrifying. Understanding it- may help.”}

“Hah, perhaps.” Thomas scoffed. “I’ve abandoned mine many epochs ago. Being human, who can afford to remember that?”

Looking over the massacre from above, Thomas sighed. “Let’s go prepare for our little magician’s arrival in the Sinner’s Labyrinth.”

“{Has he- been given- the invitation?}”

“I made sure of it.”

——

=== Several days later ===

He had a still and blank expression as he stared out the window at the emerging spring morning. The bouts of crystal rainfall had finished their morning performance, and bright rays of warm red sunshine began seeping into his hospital room. Suddenly, there was a knock on his door, and his gaze quickly swept over the figure that emerged from the hall.

She had an emerald-coloured skirt that swept up against her black boots and wore an ornate white cowl over a black shirt. She had a sun-bitten complexion and bright blue eyes like sapphires. Her midnight-black hair had been tied up neatly in a bun, and with a light blush on her cheeks, she had a mature and wealthy atmosphere that seemed to follow her around. It was Artis Faulkner, the daughter of the Faulkner Nobility family, who often spent time at the Fencer’s Association Building. After nodding to her attendant, who had a massive body, she had him wait outside and close the door behind her.

“Hello, Mr. Croft,” Artis spoke with a soft, pitying smile.

Lumière looked at her blankly, parting his lips as if to speak, but subsequently closed them without saying a word. Seeing this, Artis couldn’t help but feel some empathetic pain in her heart, so she walked over and sat in the chair beside his bed, staring at him with a soft gaze before speaking once more.

“Was it hard?”

He looked over towards Artis with a shocked expression, and his blank eyes began to shiver with an inconsolable sadness.

“Yes.”

Lumière felt as if, at least slightly, that 'smiling' mask he wore on his face had cracked. Pieces of it began to fall on the ground before shattering, unable to be fit back onto his expression. Without hesitating, the maskless man leaned forward and fell against Artis's chest. It didn't matter to him in that moment who she was, or what had been said between them in the past. Artis ruffled his hair with her hand and pulled him in close with a soft, gentle smile.

"What did you mean when you said 'it wouldn't matter for long', in the sense of me loving her...?" He asked of her.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

She continued to play with his hair for a moment, rubbing her hand along the back of his head as she gathered her thoughts.

"You're a magnet for tragedy.”

This confused Lumière in such a way that he couldn't quite think of a response.

"What do you know of it?"

"I know all of you." She spoke assuredly. "After all, all I can do is remember... but that doesn't really matter right now. Just forget it all, and feel alright in my arms. Right now, thinking endlessly about things won't do you any good. You're sad, so just let yourself be sad."

He ignored the meaning behind her words. To him, it did not truly matter. It was similar to what the boy Etta had said, and it was strange. But it did not matter. Lumière had no mind to think of strange occurrences.

For a time, Lumière cried in her arms. Nearly a week had passed in the hospital, and the minor burns and lacerations Lumière had suffered had already healed. Supposedly, Constantine had carried him to the Church's hospital and left him with Father Benedict before adjourning quickly, as the church had no mind to treat him with lenience as a criminal. Now, Lumière had the mind to release himself as a ward of the church's hospital, so Artis helped him walk out of the front door and into the light rainfall that pattered against the stone roads of Leiden’s middle borough, her attendant following close behind her.

"I want to visit them. I need to go back to the monastery now." Lumière spoke hoarsely.

"I hope you don't mean that you'll walk that far in your condition," Artis responded frankly, holding Lumière's arm around her shoulder as they took another step. "I'll call for a carriage, so just wait here a moment."

Lumière watched as Artis stepped into the street, calling for a passing carriage in the meanwhile. Her attendant stood beside Lumière, who had sat down against the wall of the building as he let out a sigh.

Later, a carriage pulled up beside them, and Artis helped Lumière up into its interior.

He had some sort of latent hope that when he returned to the monastery, there would still be dozens of Dwindlers gathered on the hillside trying to shelter themselves from the rain and talking jovially with one another. He had a hope that when he entered the monastery it would be lit bright with oil lamps and had many worshippers of the Goddess of Thorns praying piously under the watch of her statue. He hoped he could see the two children cleaning, Carlisle performing magic, and Caladan running around with his dog. He had hoped he could walk into the dining hall and a warm meal would have been prepared. After eating he would have been able to go up the flight of stairs off to the side and walk down the hall before entering Sister Alinde's room. She would have been sitting on her bed staring out the window, or sitting in a chair painting another fantastical piece out of the paints and dyes she would painstakingly gather.

But there was none of that. When Lumière stepped out of the carriage and bid farewell and thanks to Artis Faulkner, he was only greeted by an eerie silence. He was sure the Father was inside the monastery, attending to business, but on the outside, there was not a single person in sight. When they had heard the screams of the women and children, Lumière was sure that all of the male Dwindlers sleeping outside would have rushed to their aid, only to face the otherworldly force of the intruder, and so there was no one left at all to gather around the firepits and laugh. There was no one there at all.

Lumière walked to the edge of the hilltop towards the monastery's garden. It was filled with various herbs and flowers used for medicinal purposes and rituals held for the Goddess. The trees surrounding it in the spring would sprout various fruits, and so those bright satchels of flavour littered the leafy canopies above. It was fitting in Lumière's eyes, that the one who rested underneath them would have enjoyed such a thing- not for the flavour of the fruit, but for the colour that could have been wrought from their juices.

Underneath the civil twilight, the golden beams shone onto the emerald hilltops. The golden rays of sunshine shot through the canopy and the bushels of herbs, bathing the garden in a soft orange glow. Against a grey headstone in the centre of the garden, bright sunflowers had been brought in from the Cathedral of Thorns in the Middle borough. On the headstone, the name 'Elise Alinde' had been scrawled, and etched carefully was an epitaph - 'Step softly, and seek not to cast her rest in shade, for she loved the sun.'.

Lumière reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a silverish object that gleamed brightly under the setting red sun. It was the pocket watch that had been gifted to him by Elise's hands. The glass was cracked, and the interior had filled with soot, but it was still as beautiful as when he had first received it. Slowly, he knelt on the ground, wincing as his body still ached, and set it down beside the headstone.

He felt something fall out of his pocket as he grabbed the pocket watch, and he reached down to pick it up. It was rectangular and had a dim silvery gleam around its edges. As he turned it over, countless thoughts raced through his mind, and his heart sank. It was the one of spades that he had previously picked up after his fight against the intruder.

'This useless thing? Rather... isn't this the last thing I can seem to remember from that night?'

Lumière quickly brushed it from his mind and threw the card into the grass before turning back to the headstone. It wasn't a time for him to think about such things. He let out a quiet sigh and stared longingly at the name engraved onto the stone. After so much crying, he didn't know if he could bear to do it anymore, so he just knelt in silence as if spending time with her.

'The tragic tales never emphasise how traumatic saying goodbye is.'

So, Lumière didn't say goodbye.

"I'll be back, Elise." Lumière smiled softly before standing up.

His blank expression which had been filled with a distraught sense was now full of vigor and life, as if just being beside her was enough to have kept him going. As Lumière turned away, his coat fluttering in the evening, one thought had been seared into the forefront of his mind.

'I can’t let myself be distraught over this. She would surely yell at me for that. I have to change the world, but I cannot let it change me.'