Chapter Text
Whenever Lucian looked to the night sky, all he was reminded of was his lost love, and the blessing-turned-curse placed on him a millennia ago. He was reminded of that fateful day, when members of the Dragonguard had come to his door, asking that he testify in favor of Aaravos, although they spoke in quite a biased manner. Lucian could never forget the day in which he saw his beloved trapped in the mirror, with both fear and hatred in his eyes, and he was sure that his own expression held the same emotions as well.
Every time Lucian saw the stars, he was filled with an inexplicable rage and sorrow inside of him, so he made a vow to himself to never walk out during the nights when the moon was high and shone down upon the earth.
He could never get it out of his mind.
The pain.
The arguing.
The tears.
The agony and helplessness.
The ire.
For years he had traversed Xadia from all ends, whether in secret or in broad daylight. He hadn't known where he was going, he just wanted something to do. It started as a way to shake the dragons off of his back; no doubt they had tried to imprison him as well. He had to go into hiding, so that not even Reneva could find him, and they were the best tracker in all the kingdoms. After 10 or so years had passed, Lucian realized that no one was after his skin anymore, and secluded himself in the depths of the Earthblood forests. He never traveled at night, only if it was absolutely necessary.
The dragons were arrogant as all hell, that was certain. So sure that they were doing the world a favor, holding their heads up high and claiming that they were the saviors while an entire civilization cried and pleaded for their help. Disgusting, vile creatures, he heard them say. To a starving city? The wretched citizens only wanted to be saved; they had reached out for help and Aaravos had given it to them, at the expense of his own divinity. But even then, his humbleness would go unnoticed. Gods, how he hated the royals. And now, they had twisted the story to really show that they were right. History is written by the victors: this was the clearest example.
But what good was it to dwell on the past? The past was then, and this is now. He had a job to do, and that was to free Aaravos.