The wind carried the stench of unwashed bodies and blood across the barren ridge.
The night sky was dark, illuminated only by countless stars and the clouds that faintly smothered their light.
A circle of people stood around a single figure. Their clothes hung loose over starving frames. Most of them looked young, barely past their teens — but their eyes carried the exhaustion of someone who had endured more pain than life should allow.
Amidst that circle stood a man untouched by the decay.
He seemed to be in his late twenties, his waist-length dark hair rippling in the breeze with an impossible elegance. It rustled like expensive silk, catching the starlight like a halo — one that blinded them to their own starvation.
His face was flawless, his body carrying the quiet strength of someone who had never experienced hunger. He looked as if he had stepped out of another world entirely.
His lips curled into a smile.
It was warm and gentle. The kind one offers to a tired friend. But his eyes remained empty — cold — as if the expression on his lips had never reached whatever lay behind them.
A woman stepped forward from the circle. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. She stared at him for a long moment, her hands trembling at her sides.
"Ever since we followed you…" her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.
"Everything just… kept getting worse."
Another voice rose from somewhere in the group, hoarse and shaking.
"You said it would be better. You said we'd be free."
"You made us leave everything behind," someone else muttered. "And then you made us keep walking. Even when people started dying."
The woman's eyes glistened, but no tears fell.
"You… you are smiling?" she said softly. "Even when you told us to leave the sick ones behind. Even when you took the last of the food for yourself."
She hesitated, then stepped closer.
"You are not human, Lucien." Her voice finally broke. "You never were."
For a few seconds, only the wind answered.
Lucien tilted his head slightly, still wearing the same warm smile. Then — without a word — he raised one hand and gently brushed a strand of hair from the woman's face.
She finally broke into tears.
He ruffled her short brown hair gently as she crashed into him, arms wrapped around him in a desperate hug. No one spoke. They only watched with hollow eyes.
"Mira my dear, don't worry." His voice was warm, almost tender. "My good friend is waiting for us at the peak of this mountain."
Mira's grip softened — before she collapsed fully into his embrace, clinging to him with what little strength she had left.
The rest of the group stood around him. A faint trace of hope still flickered in their eyes — because he was the only one left worth believing in. Even now. Even after everything.
A boy of around nineteen stood apart from the others, his expression grim, lips bitten until they bled. His gaze kept drifting — unfocused, then sharp — always returning to Lucien.
Lucien gently laid Mira down against the harsh stony ground.
"As pained as I am to say this…" His voice carried genuine remorse. "Mira has to be left behind. She no longer has the strength to walk."
The act of heartlessness had become almost ordinary within the group. They had seen it too many times to count.
Ten?
Twenty?
Forty?
They had stopped counting. When they first came here they numbered nearly two hundred. Now barely forty remained.
Lucien looked toward the peak, his expression slightly distant — and then, abruptly, he laughed. Softly. To himself. As if something about all of this quietly amused him.
Nobody asked why.
The group began to move. Lucien lingered, glancing back.
Only two remained — Mira, motionless on the ground but still breathing, and the boy, whose grim stare had never left him.
Lucien smiled warmly. "You look fine, Richard. I'm wondering why you're so still."
Richard was pale as paper, his face hollowed to something skeletal. He kept his gaze on Lucien as the man stepped closer and closer — and saw those eyes, cold as ice beneath the warmth.
Richard tried to scream. But Lucien had already covered his mouth, and in his state Richard had nothing left to resist with.
"If you scream," Lucien said softly, the smile gone — only cold killing intent remaining as he stared directly into Richard's soul, "I'll snap your head."
Cold sweat dripped down Richard's face. He didn't dare move — and felt Lucien's grip around his mouth slowly retreat.
"I'm well aware, Richard. You saw me, didn't you?" Lucien's voice was soft and elegant, yet the meaning behind his words only made Richard feel more horrified.
Lucien smiled as he stepped in front of him, his gaze sharp — scanning him like prey.
"Have you told anyone else?" His tone was dangerously calm. "About my little secret?"
"Y-You monster!" Richard's voice finally broke through, shaking. "You said you needed more of it — so you could hunt."
His gaze drifted slowly from Lucien's boots to the exhausted body of Mira.
"But… all this time."
He swallowed.
"You were making us eat each other.", Richard said in a weak voice.
Richard said in a weak voice.
Lucien only stared at him — that same indifferent gaze, that same saintly smile. For a moment Richard felt almost guilty for saying it to such a flawless face.
"Isn't it just necessary, Richard? For us to move forward." His voice was unnaturally calm. "Most already know. And most prefer not to speak of it."
Richard looked at him for a long moment, then wiped his eyes and turned his gaze toward the peak.
"Lucien…" he asked, still shaking, doing his best not to let it show. "Will there be bread and wine at the peak?"
Lucien smiled brightly and nodded.
Richard looked toward the summit with something like hope in his eyes — and rejoined the group, who in their weakness had only made it twenty steps ahead.
Lucien remained where he stood, still smiling, before turning and lowering himself beside Mira, studying her delicate face in silence.
She was in her early twenties, with short brown hair and skin pale from the absence of sunlight. She was beautiful — but she resembled a wilting flower.
Lucien brushed the dried blood from her lips, then a strand of hair from her eyes. Her cheeks were faintly warm. She stared up at him with tearful eyes.
"Mira," he said in a warm tone. "You are almost my age when I started all of this madness. And honestly… you are the one who has always been by my side. You know exactly what I've become." He paused. "You know exactly what fate awaits you. And I swear — I'll make this end before you even realise it."
Mira jolted upright.
She pounced onto Lucien's chest, pinning him down as she held an obsidian dagger centimetres from his throat.
She panted heavily. Lucien lay perfectly still as moonlight grazed his pale skin, his hazel eyes looking directly up at Mira — who pressed the blade close enough to warn him.
He knew. One wrong move and his throat would be slashed.
Mira's tears fell on his face, as a little bit of blood ozzed from the area the she's held the dagger.
"You wish to kill me oh dear!?",Lucien said with a the same saintly smile.
For a spec of moment her grip became weak, but she gradually held it firmly around Lucien's neck.