[Third Person’s PoV]

Hecate continued to study Lucian, her eyes scanning him up and down as he examined himself. However, the longer she observed, the deeper her frown grew.

Initially, she had been impressed—enamored, even—by his way of thinking, by how he maneuvered around the challenges he faced. But now… the smirk on his face, the glint in his eyes—she didn’t like it. Not one bit. She had seen that look before, countless times. On gods.

It was the same arrogance, the same untamed hubris that all gods exuded.

“Lucian,” Hecate called, her voice edged with concern.

“Hm?” he hummed in acknowledgment, his golden eyes half-lidded as he continued to admire his reflection in the full-body mirror.

“How are you feeling right now?” Hecate asked in a studied tone.

“What do you think?” he asked, the smirk still playing on his lips.

Hecate’s frown deepened. She had known Lucian long enough to recognize the change in his tone immediately. The usual respect in his voice—so subtle yet always present—was missing. It was a minuscule shift, but she caught it nonetheless.

“I see… This is the side effect of increasing the potency of your Legacy,” Hecate sighed. “You’ve gained the arrogance of a god.”

Lucian frowned at the mirror. “Side effect?” His tone sharpened. “Are you insinuating that I am imperfect? Because that would be an insult.”

Hecate pinched the bridge of her nose. “Change back.”

Lucian scoffed. “Change back? And why should I? Don’t you see? I am in my most optimal form.”

The more he spoke, the deeper her scowl became. Lucian was usually arrogant, but there had always been a certain charm to it. In fact, she had even found it… endearing. But this?

This was something else entirely.

“What?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Do you believe yourself to be a god now? Is that where this arrogance is coming from?”

Lucian let out a disdainful scoff. “No. I am no god.” His smirk widened. “I am something better. I stand at the threshold between demigod and god—I have the power without the limitations. I am unshackled by the restrictions that bind you all.”

His golden gaze met hers. “Tell me honestly, can you truly call yourself a god if you are bound by the chains and limitations?”

Hecate crossed her arms. “As profound as that sounded, I should warn you—you are treading dangerous ground. If any other god or goddess heard you, they would consider this blasphemy.” Her voice hardened. “You could be killed for this.”

Lucian chuckled. “Blasphemy? Is that what we’re calling the truth now?”

Hecate studied him carefully, gauging just how much of a danger he was—to himself, if nothing else. “If you are neither demigod nor god, then what are you?” she asked.

Lucian placed a hand to his mouth, chuckling softly. Then, with a charming smile, he answered, “Babe, I am an Angel. If that wasn’t obvious to you by now—”

“Do not call me that,” Hecate hissed, her magic crackling in the air. “Or I swear, I will smite you.”

Lucian, as if he hadn’t heard her, continued. “In fact, it’s what I was meant to be from the start—an Angel, beloved by the bright star above. It’s even in my name. Lucian, meaning light.”

For the first time, a frown crossed his face. “But BlackHeart… I dislike it. My heart is anything but.” Then, his expression brightened again as he held up a finger. “Then all I need to do is change it… Lucian BrightHeart. Yes. That is what I shall be called from now forth.”

Hecate sighed, exasperation creeping into her voice. “Lucian, I’m just going to say this now—this BrightHeart form of yours is going to be a problem.”

But Lucian wasn’t listening. He chuckled to himself, his golden aura flaring. “Yes… Lucian BrightHeart. The Angel beloved by the stars. The One Unshackled by Restriction. The Angel of Freedom—unbound from the gods themselves… It’s simply marvelous.”

“You can’t just give yourself titles and names like that,” Hecate muttered, face-palming.

“And who decided that?” Lucian asked, his arrogant smirk returning.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he slicked back his silver hair, tilting his head upwards. With his free hand, he lifted a single finger, gathering light and heat from the air.

A miniature sun began to form at his fingertip.

“I believe you’re failing to grasp just how powerful I am in this form…”

A golden aura blazed around him, and as he released his hair, it began to rise and flow upward, defying gravity. He raised his hand higher, the miniature sun expanding in size.

“Tell me,” Lucian mused, his voice low, dangerous. “Do you know why the sun is so often associated with the pinnacle of strength and power?”

He frowned. Something wasn’t right.

He didn’t like having to look up at Hecate. It should be the other way around. They should be looking up at him, blinded by his radiance.

As if in response to his thoughts, luminous wings of purest white unfolded behind him—crafted entirely from light itself.

Slowly, he rose from the ground.

Hecate’s gaze followed him, her head tilting back ever so slightly as she looked up at him.

Lucian’s smirk returned.

Now, this was how it was meant to be.

“No?” he asked, tilting his head. “Then let me enlighten you.”

Lucian’s form began to glow as he lazily held his finger aloft. “The answer isn’t as complex as one might think… It’s because all you can do is stare up at it and be blinded by its radiance.”

“The sun is an unapproachable star in the sky, and those who come too close perish under its unrelenting might. Stare at it for too long, and it blinds you. Bathe in its power, and it consumes you. It is an impartial force—one that both gives life and takes it away. Many have tried to reach it, to grasp it in their hands, but all have failed. History has shown us this time and again. Look no further than the fool Icarus. He was enchanted by its light and warmth, drawn by his own greed. And for that greed, he was punished. The sun deemed him unworthy and clipped his wings.”

Lucian chuckled before turning his gaze upward toward the miniature sun hovering above his fingertip. This time, his smile lacked arrogance. There was something almost… reverent in his expression.

“However, where Icarus was unworthy, I am different. Here I stand, chosen by the mighty star itself to wield its power. It selected me for a reason, did it not? I am its champion, its representative. My judgment is no different from the judgment of the sun itself. I strike down those unworthy of its light. Do you now understand the power at my disposal?”

Hecate crossed her arms, expression deadpan. “Oh, I understand something, alright.”

Lucian smirked.

“I understand just how truly irritating you are,” she continued, rolling her eyes. “By the gods, you really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you? I swear, if I had to endure one more second of that pompous monologue, my ears might’ve started bleeding.”

Lucian sighed dramatically, placing a hand near his forehead. “It seems I was unsuccessful—”

“Lucian,” Hecate interrupted coldly. “Sleep.”

“Huh? And why should I—”

Before he could finish his defiant response, his golden eyes rolled back, and the miniature sun flickered out.

Lucian collapsed, but even in unconsciousness, he fell with an eerie kind of grace. The luminous feathers of his angelic wings scattered through the air like dying embers, burning briefly before vanishing.

Hecate stepped forward, extending a hand. A single feather landed in her palm, glowing white-hot before combusting into flames and disappearing. She glanced around, noticing how the remaining feathers slowly turned orange with heat before igniting and dissolving into nothingness.

‘Hot,’ she thought, shaking her head with a sigh.

“As insufferable as that was, I can’t deny its power.” She knelt beside Lucian, examining him closely. “In that form… he really does resemble an angel.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “If only he weren’t so damn annoying.”

Hecate reached toward the glowing sun-shaped mark on his forehead, but before she could touch it, the markings shifted. The once-fiery sigils darkened, turning pitch black as they began to drip down his face like a setting sun. His silver hair darkened as well, returning to its usual midnight hue, while his skin regained its pale tone.

Spreading her divine senses, Hecate let out an amused chuckle. “I see… So he can only maintain this form while the sun is out.” She glanced at the horizon, where the sky was painted in hues of orange and violet. “And now that it’s setting, it’s doing exactly what I planned to do.”

The black sun continued its descent, absorbing the glowing runes on Lucian’s body. It passed his mouth, his neck, before settling at the center of his chest, where the last remaining sigils were drawn in. Once all traces of his transformation vanished, the black sun imprinted itself onto his skin—a dormant tattoo resting above his heart, waiting for the next sunrise so Lucian would be able to activate it again.

—

Meanwhile, in a room occupied by three beautiful women…

“WOOOOOOHOOOOOO!!!”

Atropos and Lachesis sat in deadpan silence, watching as Clotho ran in circles with her fists in the air.

“WE GOT OURSELVES A FUTURE TAN DADDY ON OUR HANDS! AND HE HAS WHITE HAIR TOO! A DOUBLE WHAMMY!!!”

“Clotho, stop,” Atropos ordered, her voice laced with exasperation.

Clotho suddenly halted mid-stride. With an exaggerated air of cold arrogance, she tilted her head up as if to look down upon Atropos. Raising a hand to her scalp, she mimicked the motion of slicking back her hair. Then, in a near-perfect imitation of Lucian’s voice, she said,

“And why should I?”

Lachesis instantly slapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders trembling as she tried to stifle her laughter.

Atropos’s lips twitched. Her eyebrows creased, her expression wavering. She was fighting—valiantly—to keep from smiling.

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