(After walking Sera back to Lois' room in the West Wing)

Lucien groaned as he cradled his head in his hands, crouched by the side of the training grounds. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself.

Sweat dripped down his forehead, made his training clothes stick to his body.

Knights littered the ground of the packed earth, their squires splashing water on their faces, which they drank in big, gulping mouthfuls. Lucien had just sparred non-stop with every member of the Knight's Order, including Icaros. And he'd won.

Every. Single. One.

It would take too much time to duel each man one on one, so he had them come rush him in groups.

The exercise helped to distract him from the roiling anger, insecurity, hurt and confusion that always simmered below the surface. Fear was laced through like a mourning widows lace amongst all these negative emotions, heavy and unyielding.

If only she hadn't left. If only he'd been able to convince her to stay. Repeating the words of love wasn't enough then. Were his words enough now to keep her after she'd come back?

There was still the fact that Sera didn't know that he'd turned into an actual beast after she left. He'd forbidden them all from speaking of it to her.

——————————————————————-
5 years ago, after Sera's departure

The news of her departure hit him like the sky fell down on him.

To keep himself from going after the Elder who'd sent her home, he'd gone out riding on his own, his hawk crying out above him. If he rode fast enough, maybe he could go to where Sera was.

He never forgot about any of the stories Sera told him about her home world. Maybe if he could make one of these things, to take him to her. Lights that lit up with a touch. Thousands of tomes in one bottomless container. Steel boxes that flew through the sky, defying gravity. These were things no magician could ever achieve. No magic spell was sophisticated enough, no magician had enough magic to power these spells. To even attempt these things required a precious cost.

Like human sacrifice.

Which was why great magic like these were forbidden. That wasn't an option for him.

Somehow the people of Sera's world had achieved these things without using magic. She'd told him about inter dimensional travel between worlds, a idea Sera saw in what sounded to him like a moving book. He couldn't wrap his mind around it.

If he could go fast enough, like the trains she mentioned that whizzed from one place to another, maybe he could get the 'science' to work, join her in her own world.

Take me with you, he wanted to beg. Don't leave me alone.

Somehow, in his unhinged stated of mind, he'd unknowingly crossed into Azark territory, his longing for Sera blinding him from seeing clearly.

He had no sword, no weapon, only his fists. But that was enough, when the first wave of Azarks spotted him. He'd run at them howling. His emotions broke the limits he didn't even know he had. He ran faster than a horse, punched harder than 3 men combined, and knew no fear.

For a man with nothing to lose had no fear.

As he plowed deeper and deeper into the Azark ranks, a squadron of Thornmere men, soldiers of the army, had shown up to join him in the fight, whooping and hollering. They joined with confidence, because they saw the slaughter taking place, how Lucien completely had the upper hand over the Azarks. They were proud to join their King in defending their country, Thornmere, against the invaders.

Flesh twisted under his fists, and blood sprayed over him. Metal creaked and bones snapped. He utterly destroyed them all with only his bare hands.

His blue eyes glowed with an inhuman light. Like orbs, they shined on the next obstacle before him, the next enemy. It was the last thing his enemies saw before they were destroyed.

When the last Azark fell, the men fighting with him cheered.

"We've won, sire!!"

Lucien kept growling, though there were no enemies in sight. The air was thick with the scent of blood that makes his head spin. His fingers blindingly fast, he grips the throat of the squadron commander before him. He could no longer recognize who was friend or foe. Anyone in front of him was asking to be killed.

The man claws at his throat "M—y Ki—ngggg"

He raises the man up hire, watching his breaths become shorter and shorter.

The soldiers behind him yell at him to stop, to release their commander.

One man shouts at Lucien.

"My Lord, the Queen would disapprove!"

Lucien eyes clear for the smallest moment, the glow fading, and he releases his hold, the commander falling to the ground coughing.

Seeing the scene before them, the men step back, horrified he might turn the murderous gaze in them.

He raspily throws out the words "....Get out of here"

Luckily, the men are quick to respond, gathering their commander, and mount their horses, galloping as fast as they can back to safety.

It was a close call. He'd almost killed one of his own men. Lucien couldn't control himself anymore. The bodies of the Azarks strewn about him testified to this.

If it was a child who he'd gripped by the throat, they would be dead by now. Lucien throws up over and over, the cloyingly sweet smell of blood making him sick.

Icaros finds him a week later, covered in blood and muck. He'd wanted to stay in the borderlands, where he wouldn't hurt anyone. It took a lot of begging and arguing until Icaros was able forcibly drag him back to the castle, where he locked himself in his room.

The Red King was the name he'd earned when Icaros finally convinced him to return. He walked back home, escorted by Icaros, horse plodding behind him. He was covered from head to toe in blood. After that, every skirmish and battle with the Azarks saw him return to Thornmere, covered in blood.

This was where the potions Lois created came in. They numbed his nerves. Made him forget, kept him focused on the things in front of him.

This medication wasn't originally meant to be used as a pain-killer. It was a poison that dulled the senses, made the user's mind dim.

His hands would shake with withdrawal symptoms if he didn't drink it in time now.

Every morning and night, he drank the vials, sometimes mixing it with the wine to bear the bitter flowery taste.

He could feel the darkness spreading in his mind.

It was why he'd moved his son away from the castle, never saw him. He was scared of what the beast that came over him might do.

This was another burden he bore. Fear clicked into place right next to the guilt that was there from before.

As a Prince who fought in the Great War, he bore the weight of every man's death in his force on himself. It was with his strategies and ideas that some of them had lost their lives. It comforted him to comfort Sera. They were two broken souls scarred by the horrors of war. With her, he forgot the ghosts that haunted him. He, in return, could comfort her too. Sera's gentle presence used to hold back the voices of these ghosts, the ones he felt responsible for. They'd died in the Great War because of his lacking.

After she'd left, the voices grew louder, along with the violent impluses that brought him back from every skirmish, wounded, but victorious.

This brings him back to the present. Now, he trained to push past the fear that he could slip at any moment, go feral. He would be the master of his own body.

Over the years as he trained, the dead soldiers' voices would ask him why he didn't give up chasing after Sera. She was the one who'd unleashed the beast inside of him.

He silently drank more vials to silence them. Sera was his everything. If he could get her back, he didn't mind being crazy.

He ignored his fear. He ignored the voices that asked him what would happen if he stopped drinking those vials.

Lucien focused on other questions.

Now that he has her back, could he be gentle with Sera? Could he keep his mind enough not to hurt a child?

.......How would he tell her that he'd turned into a monster?