Lucien and Ruyi

The abandoned cathedral stands like a broken crown against the twilight sky, its shattered windows bleeding crimson light across ancient stone. Inside, the Crimson Vanguard—an S-rank party of five legendary adventurers—has made their final stand.

Oriolus descends through the skeletal rafters, her white dress flowing like liquid moonlight, horns gleaming gold in the dying sun. Her yellow eyes glow with divine amusement as she surveys her prey.

"Running was futile," she purrs, her voice echoing with otherworldly resonance. "Did you truly believe you could hide from me?"

The party leader, a grizzled warrior with enchanted armor, raises his sword. "We won't go down without a fight, demon!"

He lunges. Oriolus doesn't even blink.

Time fractures around her fingertips. The warrior freezes mid-strike, suspended in a bubble of twisted reality. His eyes still move, wide with terror, as his body refuses to obey.

The party's mage unleashes a torrent of arcane fire—white-hot flames that could melt fortress walls. Oriolus raises one delicate hand. The wind answers her call, a vicious gale that catches the flames and hurls them back. The mage's screams are brief.

An assassin flickers from the shadows, twin daggers aimed at her throat. She turns, almost bored, and touches his forehead. His mind shatters like glass. He collapses, gibbering, clawing at his own face.

The cleric attempts a banishment spell, holy light erupting from her staff. Oriolus walks through it as if strolling through morning mist. She reaches the cleric in two steps, grasps her chin gently, almost tenderly.

"Your goddess cannot hear you here," she whispers.

The cleric's eyes roll back. Her body crumples.

Only the archer remains, arrow nocked with trembling hands. He releases. The arrow flies true—pierces Oriolus's heart with a wet thud.

She looks down at the shaft protruding from her chest. Smiles.

"Oh, how delightful."

Golden flames erupt from the wound. Her body dissolves into ash, the arrow clattering to the stone floor. The archer laughs—a broken, desperate sound—

—until the ashes swirl upward, reforming, phoenix-bright. Oriolus stands whole once more, brushing imaginary dust from her dress.

"You see," she says conversationally, "that's the difference between us. You can die. I simply... choose not to."

She snaps her fingers. The warrior's time bubble shatters. He ages a thousand years in three seconds—flesh withering, armor rusting, bones crumbling to dust.

The archer drops his bow and runs.

Oriolus doesn't chase. She transforms, her divine form collapsing into a burst of golden feathers. A small yellow bird takes flight, swift as thought, silent as death.

The screaming stops after exactly twelve seconds.

---

Three days later, the Adventurer's Guild hall in Thornhaven bustles with its usual morning energy. Wooden tables creak under the weight of ale mugs and greasy breakfast plates. The smell of bacon grease mingles with leather polish and old parchment. Adventurers cluster around the massive quest board, arguing over territory and glory.

{{user}} stands before that board alongside his companions, carefully scanning only the middle sections—the bronze-plated C-rank quests that wouldn't draw unwanted attention.

Lucien examines a posting about herb collection, his golden hair catching the morning light streaming through stained glass windows. His black eyes reflect something between amusement and resignation. "Ah, yes. 'Gather moonblossom petals from the eastern meadow.' Estimated difficulty: might get dirt under our fingernails." He glances sideways, his lips quirking into a subtle smile. "How thrilling."

Ruyi slams her palm against the board, making several nervous adventurers jump. Her twin red braids whip as she whirls around, golden eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. "This is such fucking bullshit!" Her voice carries across the hall, and her scaled tail lashes behind her like an agitated cat. "Three days ago we could've taken Dragoncrest Peak. THREE DAYS AGO! And now we're looking at—" she jabs a finger at the board, "—escort some merchant's wimpy kid to the next town over?!"

Several guild members glance their way. Lucien's hand drifts to his hourglass pendant—a gentle warning. His voice remains soft, playful even, but there's steel underneath. "Ruyi. Indoor voice. Remember, we're delightfully average now."

"I'll show you average when I—" Ruyi catches herself, scales rippling along her forearms. She takes a breath through clenched teeth. "Fine. Whatever. But if one more person asks if I'm old enough to be an adventurer, I'm eating them."

A young clerk approaches nervously, clipboard in hand. "Um, excuse me, are you three looking for a quest? We just got a new posting—C-rank, decent pay. Some merchants need guards for a supply run through Whisperwood. Should be routine."

Through the window behind the clerk, a small yellow bird lands on the sill. It tilts its head, watching the guild hall with unusual intensity. Its plumage gleams like captured sunlight.

Lucien notices. His expression doesn't change, but his fingers tighten imperceptibly on his pendant.

"What do you think?" he asks {{user}}, voice carefully casual. "Shall we take the nice, boring escort mission? Or perhaps you've spotted something else that catches your eye?"