The Forsaken Sigil: The Child That Shouldn't Be

The chapel wasn't empty.

Lucian saw the flickering afterimage of a man, Darius Vale, standing at the altar, his face pale, his eyes wide with something between terror and understanding.

Another figure stood before him, their shape blurred, wrong, unreadable. The air around them shivered, as if reality itself refused to recognize them.

Lucian had seen echoes before. But he had never seen one try to hide itself.

Darius spoke, though the words were fractured, broken by time.

"You—understand—she—"

The shadow moved. Not stepping forward. Not walking. Just shifting, appearing closer, a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of wrong.

Darius's breath hitched. His hands twitched in the shape of a spell, but he never got the chance to cast it. Lucian saw it. The moment he died. Not by blade. Not by fire.

Just stopped. One second, he was alive. The next? Gone. Not a drop of blood. Not a body hitting the ground. Just—absence. As if something had reached inside him and simply erased him.

The vision shattered, and Lucian staggered back, breath sharp. The air in the ruined chapel was wrong. The past was too close here, like a thing that had never truly died.

He steadied himself, exhaling through his teeth. His fingers twitched toward the dagger at his belt, though he knew a weapon wouldn't help him against something like this.

Darius Vale had died here. That much was certain. And yet—He still existed. Why Darius Vale Still Existed?

Viktor's words from earlier pressed into his skull like a nail driven too deep. "They didn't send you to kill him, Lucian." "They sent you to erase whatever he's become."

Darius had not survived. He had been rewritten. Not a ghost. Not alive. Something in between. And Lucian was not sure what.

Lucian turned his head slightly, scanning the ruins. His Remnant Sight was still humming, still unsettled. The past was usually fragmented, faded, like watching reflections in broken glass.

But here? It was bleeding through. Darius wasn't just an echo. He was a wound in reality. Something had unmade him—And yet, somehow, he had come back.

Lucian inhaled slowly, pushing down the unease curling under his skin. The Dominion wanted him to finish the job. But how do you kill a man who isn't supposed to exist?

Lucian didn't know yet. Not until he sensed another presence. Something that has concealed itself ah well, so carefully that Lucian hasn't noticed it yet.

Lucian's Remnant Sight stirred, uneasy. He had tracked countless marks before, seen their last moments burned into the air like ghosts that refused to fade. But this? This was different.

A presence. Not his. Not Darius. Something alive. A breath. Soft. Controlled. Holding still, listening. Lucian's hand hovered near his dagger as he turned toward the altar.

And then—movement. A figure half-hidden behind the ruins of an old prayer bench. Not an assassin. Too small. Too light on her feet.

Lucian took a slow step forward. And the girl stepped into the dim light. She couldn't have been older than seven or eight.

Thin, dressed in a tattered coat far too large for her, sleeves frayed from time and use. Beneath it, a simple gray tunic and leggings, stained with dirt and dust from too many nights spent in places no child should be.

But it was her eyes that stopped him.

Silver. Too bright, too knowing for a child her age. The same unnatural gleam as the magic that had erased Darius Vale from existence. And her hair—white as bone, untouched by age.

She watched him. Not afraid. Not running.

Lucian felt something cold settle in his chest. Darius Vale was gone.But he had left something behind. And the Dominion had sent Lucian to erase it.

Lucian stared at the child. And she stared back.

No fear. No confusion. Just watching.

She stood with a quiet stillness that didn't belong to children. Her too-thin frame was swallowed by a ragged coat, the sleeves hanging past her fingers. Strands of white hair clung to her face, damp from the leaking rain. But it was her eyes that held him in place—silver, gleaming in the dim light, too sharp, too knowing.

Darius Vale was gone. But this girl? She had been left behind.

He exhaled, slow and steady, shifting his weight slightly—not enough to startle, but enough to test the air.

Nothing. No reaction. No step back, no flicker of fear.

She was waiting.

Lucian tilted his head. "What's your name?"

A pause. The girl blinked, as if the question surprised her. Then, finally—

"Selene."

Her voice was quiet but clear, deliberate. No trembling, no hesitation.

Lucian's fingers twitched slightly. That name… it meant something. But before he could place it, she spoke again.

"You're here to kill me."

Lucian didn't flinch.

He had been in this world long enough to know that children sometimes saw things others couldn't. That some people were born knowing how their stories would end.

Still, it wasn't a question. It wasn't even fear. It was a statement.

Lucian let the silence sit for a moment, then exhaled. "Who told you that?"

Selene didn't answer. She just tilted her head slightly, studying him.

"Are you?"

Lucian held her gaze. Silver. Unblinking. Waiting. He should say yes. That was what the Dominion had sent him for. But the words didn't come.

Lucian had never hesitated before. The people he hunted were criminals, fugitives, threats. This was different. This wasn't a job. It was a test. Or at least he felt it to be one.

Selene's small fingers curled around the edge of her coat, waiting. She had been alone for too long. He could see it in the way she stood—not afraid, not desperate, just… used to it. Used to being left behind.

Lucian inhaled deeply, adjusting his stance, rolling his shoulders slightly. This changed things. Because if the Dominion wanted him to erase her? That meant they were afraid of her. And Lucian had learned long ago, when the powerful feared something, it was worth understanding.

His grip loosened from his dagger.

"Not yet," he said.

Selene didn't smile. But something in her eased.