Legacy Unbound

2

Luc

The ride to the 5th arrondissement was quiet, as it always was. The driver, loyal and silent, maneuvered the car through the labyrinth of Parisian streets, the rhythm of the city pulsing in the background. I didn't need to look out the window; I'd seen Paris a thousand times, and it hadn't changed.

It was still full of distractions—expensive boutiques, gleaming café terraces, and people pretending to be something they weren't. The perfect stage for the kind of petty games people like me could manipulate. The kind of games I preferred to avoid.

My mind wandered back to my father's words: Build alliances. Trust people. A quiet order, given with the weight of an expectation I didn't care to meet. Trust. It was a foreign concept to me. I didn't trust anyone, especially not in a city where everyone was trying to pull something. If anything, I would use trust to my advantage.

But then, there was the matter of him—my father. The man whose coldness had shaped me into who I was today. He used to say, with that same detached authority, Build something lasting, Luc. Something that matters. But I learned long ago that his idea of what mattered never included me. Not after her. Not after what happened to my mother.

I still remember the way his face hardened every time I asked about her. It wasn't grief that made him distant—it was something darker, something that left me with unanswered questions. Every attempt I made to bring her up, to get some semblance of an answer, was met with his stony silence. Or worse—the cruel, dismissive line: She was a weakness you'll never understand, Luc. Those words echoed in my mind, but I never got the chance to ask him why. I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

I hated how he saw her, as if she was some footnote in his life—a flaw to erase. But it wasn't just about her. It was about the fact that he had never seen me as anything more than a tool, a means to an end. The way he would never look me in the eye unless he wanted something. And I hated him for it. The resentment I had buried deep inside me had long since turned cold, just like everything else about him. And still, I was expected to play the game his way.

The car stopped, and I stepped out onto a quiet side street in the 5th arrondissement. A small café sat nestled between buildings, its unremarkable exterior hiding a more intimate, low-key atmosphere inside. It wasn't a place for grand gestures—it was where you went when you needed information or to make subtle moves. Exactly why I was here.

I crossed the threshold and scanned the room. It was nearly empty, save for a few scattered figures, mostly people trying to disappear in plain sight. Then, I saw him—a figure sitting in the back corner, his face half-shadowed but unmistakable.

Lucien Dufresne. A seer. Not a man you crossed lightly, though not one who mattered unless you understood his value. He had a reputation for seeing things—things most people couldn't.

I didn't bother with pleasantries as I walked toward him. He didn't look up until I was standing in front of him, his lips curling into a smile that wasn't exactly welcoming, but it wasn't hostile either. It was the smile of someone who saw everything you didn't want him to see.

"Luc," he greeted me, his voice smooth but detached, like we were old friends—something I wasn't sure we were. "I've been expecting you."

I didn't take the chair across from him. Instead, I stood there, arms crossed, waiting.

"What do you know?" I cut to the chase.

He took a slow sip from his glass before answering, his gaze lingering on me as if studying me for something that wasn't there. "I know a lot of things, Luc. But I think you're here for something specific."

I didn't react, but I wasn't interested in games. The sooner he told me what I needed to know, the sooner I could leave and go back to what mattered.

He leaned back in his chair, unbothered by my silence. "There's a girl. Her name's Delphine."

I didn't flinch at the name. I didn't even blink.

"Delphine?" I repeated, more out of politeness than genuine curiosity. Her name didn't stir anything in me. People threw names around all the time, especially when they thought someone else was worth mentioning.

Dufresne nodded, his gaze hardening slightly. "She's a new player in Paris. No legacy. No powerful allies. But something about her. She's... different. She's got people talking."

I stayed silent, letting him continue. There were always people talking. Always new faces in the crowd. It didn't matter unless they could deliver something useful.

"And what does this have to do with me?" I asked, my tone flat.

He leaned forward then, as though he'd finally found something in me worth his attention. "I'm not saying she's a threat—at least not yet. But she could be. And if you're smart, you'll keep an eye on her. Power in Paris doesn't come from who you know—it comes from who you can control, who you can turn to your advantage. She could be useful to you."

I took in the information. Delphine. A girl with no connections, no power. The kind of person I'd usually write off as insignificant. It wasn't uncommon for the city to churn out faceless newcomers who thought they had a chance.

"I don't care about her," I said, bluntly. "If she's not a threat, then she's nothing to me."

Dufresne smirked, a small, knowing thing that didn't quite touch his eyes. He'd said what he needed to, and he was done. "You'll see. Sometimes, the people who seem the least important are the ones who end up mattering most."

I didn't respond. If Delphine was someone I needed to worry about, I'd handle it when the time came. For now, she was just another name—just another piece of the city's endless rotation of faces.

I turned and walked out of the café without a second glance. The cold night air hit me as I stepped back onto the street, but it wasn't the chill that bothered me. It was the weight of his words. Sometimes, the ones who seem the least important are the ones who matter most.

It wasn't a threat. It was a warning.

I left the café without a second glance, the door swinging shut behind me with a soft chime. The cold Parisian air cut through the lingering warmth of the café like a dull knife. It was a feeling I was becoming used to—the hum of life happening around me while I moved through it, unbothered.

I didn't look up at the sky or the buildings; they were just part of the scenery. Same as always. There were bigger things to think about.

Next week would be my last year at Vauquelin. Not that it mattered. It was just a stepping stone, a necessary task before the real game began. I had a plan. A simple one. One that would move me from student to something more. Something that mattered. Something that didn't involve aimlessly floating through life like everyone else.

I wasn't interested in whatever petty dramas or power games people like Dufresne were playing. The mention of Delphine barely registered. Another name, another face in the crowd. She wasn't on my radar. She wouldn't be, unless she crossed my path in a way that forced me to pay attention.

I turned down a side street, the familiar cobblestones crunching underfoot. It was almost too easy, moving through Paris like this—calm, collected, indifferent to the chaos around me.

The world would keep turning. People would keep talking, keep plotting, keep trying to climb to the top. But I wasn't in a hurry. I didn't need to be. I had time. Time to execute the plan I'd already set into motion.

In a week, Vauquelin would be behind me. Then, it would be time for the next step.

The weight of the transition didn't feel like pressure. It wasn't excitement, either. Just a slight, detached sense of anticipation.

I reached the car, the driver already waiting in the front seat. He didn't need to say anything—he knew the routine. I climbed in, the leather seat cool against my skin. The car rolled smoothly into motion, and I leaned back, eyes half-closed, letting the world pass by.

It wasn't far. The city shifted outside the windows—luxury shops and street cafés blurring by, but I wasn't paying attention. I didn't need to. The house was just a place, a necessary stop along the way, a place to sleep and recharge before the next phase.

The car slowed as we neared the gates of my property. They opened with a soft hum, the kind of sound that implied security, not welcome. The house itself loomed ahead—a modern structure built with old-world luxury and new-world precision. Expensive, but cold. The way I liked it.

The car pulled up the drive, and I stepped out, the gravel crunching underfoot as I walked toward the door. Inside, it was as quiet as it always was—opulent but empty. A space to exist in, but nothing more.

I passed through the hall and up the stairs, not sparing a glance at the expensive furniture or the artwork hanging on the walls. It was all decoration. Nothing to get attached to.

In my room, I tossed my bag onto the bed and shrugged off my coat. The light from the window had begun to fade, casting long shadows across the room. The desk was cluttered—books, notes, papers strewn across the surface. But none of it mattered.

I wasn't stressed. I wasn't particularly excited. I was just moving forward. The next phase of my life was already mapped out. I had a plan. And I wasn't going to let anything get in the way of it.

Delphine? She could be whoever she wanted to be. But until she had something useful to offer, she was irrelevant. I wasn't interested in distractions. Not now.