The Fallen One

Lucius was already at the training grounds by the time Sia arrived. The modest patch of open earth behind her home wasn't much of a battlefield—more garden than arena—but it was all they needed. He stood in the middle, posture loose, but his eyes betrayed a silent urgency. As soon as her shadow stretched toward him, his voice cut through the morning stillness.

"Can you tell me more about him?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity and something heavier—hope, perhaps. "Anything about his abilities? His affinity? Where did he come from?" Sia didn't slow her pace. Her expression remained unreadable, gaze cool and even. "We're here to train, not to tell stories."

But Lucius didn't back down. His voice came again, gentler but persistent. "Even just his battle style? That could help me. I want to wield a sword, like him… like you. Like Lord Ragnar."

She paused mid-step, exhaling softly through her nose. Again. Again, he spoke of something he had no right to remember. Information no child, let alone an amnesiac, should have had access to. But Sia had grown accustomed to the dissonance—the strange familiarity in his tone, the fragmented pieces of knowledge that slipped through his words like cracks in stone. His mind was a labyrinth. A puzzle missing edges. She didn't know if he'd ever recover what had been lost… and a small part of her feared what might return if he did.

Still, he was hers now. Her strange, abnormal child. And even if he couldn't remember who he once was, he still stood there, stubborn and steady, asking questions that made the past stir uncomfortably in her chest.

Lucius must have sensed her shift in thought. He didn't speak again. He simply lowered his gaze and waited in silence.

Good, she thought. Let the silence teach him something words never could.

Time passed.

Neither of them moved. The sun, once harsh, hid behind a drifting curtain of clouds, softening the light. The wind carried the scent of damp earth and freshly trimmed grass. Birds called in the distance, and somewhere nearby, a bell rang out from the city's temple district. The hours crept by.

At first, Lucius shifted often. He rubbed his fingers together. Scratched his elbow. Fidgeted. But gradually, the excess energy began to fade. His shoulders lowered. His breathing deepened. And at last, he simply stayed still, watching, present.

Sia gave him another few minutes before finally speaking.

"Congratulations, my little apprentice. You've passed the first test."

Lucius turned his head slightly, a flicker of irritation in his expression. "This was a test?"

She allowed herself a faint smile. "Patience is the foundation of every warrior, knight, and adventurer. Without it, you'll never master the sword. You'll never understand the battlefield. And you'll certainly never understand yourself."

He didn't argue—not out loud—but his jaw flexed as if the words struck a little too close to home.

Sia gestured to the shaded side of the yard. Lucius stood, brushing his pants off, and followed her to sit on the grass. They found a dry patch beneath the branches of an old tree, its wide leaves casting mottled shadows across the ground.

"Let's begin with the basics," she said. "Mana, and what makes us human."

Lucius sat upright, eyes fixed on her, his body still now in every way.

"Unlike the other species," she began, "humans are not born with functional mana cores. For nine months in the womb, our undeveloped bodies require more mana than we can generate. That mana—our lifeline—comes from our mothers. She provides it constantly, through her own core, along with energy, nutrients, and vitality. That process is exhausting. It's why, across the empire, women who've given birth are granted a full fifteen months of recovery time."

Lucius nodded slowly, absorbing each word. She noticed the flicker of a question in his eyes—about her, perhaps. About motherhood. But to his credit, he said nothing.

Sia continued.

"There are exceptions to this rest period. Knights. Soldiers. Healers. Our empire stretches far, and no matter how strong our military is, we are always outnumbered. If a threat arises—rebels, beasts, or worse—those exceptions are expected to fight. Even if they've just given birth. Even if they haven't healed."

Lucius tilted his head, brows creased. "That seems… unfair."

"It is," Sia said plainly. "But war doesn't wait for fairness." He fell quiet again, though the tension in his shoulders told her the thought unsettled him.

"Ten years ago," she said after a pause, "the empire faced its largest internal rebellion in decades. The northwest rose in revolt, calling themselves the Bloodfrost Rebels. Their army grew to nearly a million strong. Well-funded, well-armed, and absolutely merciless."

Lucius's eyes widened. "A million? That's... Nevermind."

"It took two years to destroy them," she continued. "Hundreds of thousands of lives were lost. Cities razed. Families broken. And when it finally ended, the rebel commanders—those responsible for the entire bloodshed—were captured."

A flicker of something dark passed through her voice. Lucius leaned forward slightly. "So… what happened to them?"

"They were executed," she replied. "But not by the empire or her forces."

He stared. "Then by whom…?"

"The people," she said. "The same people who had once followed them."

Lucius's brow furrowed. "Why would they turn on their own leaders after two years of loyalty?"

"Because the ones who scream for war are rarely the ones who bleed in it," Sia said quietly. "They make speeches from behind walls. They send children into battle. They count their victories in numbers while mothers bury sons and daughters. The people of the northwest learned the truth too late—but not late enough. They stormed the rebel command compound themselves. Dragged their leaders into the streets and ended it with their own hands."

Lucius didn't speak for a long time. She watched him process it. Watched the way he clenched and unclenched his fists, his inner conflicts.

"It took two years," she said, her voice low now, nearly a whisper. "Two years and tens of thousands of corpses for a truth that should have been clear from the start."

Lucius finally looked up, and in his eyes, Sia saw not fear, but clarity, a resolve, like something in him had quietly shifted. She nodded once, satisfied. Let the world tell him stories of heroes. She would show him the weight they carried.

***

Sia watched Lucius from across the training grounds, where he stood amid the soft crunch of grass and the quiet rustling of leaves. The boy's breathing had steadied, his limbs relaxed—not out of fatigue, but discipline. His body hadn't moved in minutes, yet it was alert, focused. His eyes, usually bright with curiosity, now held the simmering patience of someone who understood there were answers worth waiting for.

"This is life, Lucius," Sia said at last, her voice low and even. "It will never be fair. It is harsh. Unpredictable. And all it takes is one bad day for everything to change."

The wind stirred gently through the garden, brushing past them like a reminder of time's indifference. Lucius didn't speak, but the tension in his shoulders said enough, because he understood.

Sia gave him space to process it, and after several long minutes, Lucius spoke, his tone quiet but resolute. "I understand. I'll keep that in mind." Satisfied, she gave a nod and returned to her lesson.

"Now, back to where we left off. Once a child is born—after seven, eight, or nine months—their tiny bodies are filled with mana. These particles instinctively attract mana from their surroundings, forming a delicate balance. This is how we survive the early stages: with a premature mana core that mimics the mother's own mana circulation. Mana ensures survival, and once a child takes their first breath, Phase One begins."

Lucius's nod was subtle but sharp. His posture had grown steadier, his mind more focused. No interruptions. No questions.

"Phase One is simple, and complications are rare. During this phase, the child's body naturally draws in mana, accumulating it at the centre of the body—the 'Connecting Point.' Over time, the gathered mana solidifies. This process takes three to five years for most children before a stable core forms."

She observed his reaction as she continued. "For prodigies, the process finishes in about four years. Noble children with caretaker mages might achieve it in three and a half. Royal bloodlines? Around three years... Two and a half for this one girl I personally knew."

Lucius's brow furrowed slightly. "So bloodline really does have that much influence?"

"It always has," she answered without hesitation. "And it always will. The strongest individuals in this empire were born with natural advantages that the rest of us can only envy. They possess inherent traits—gifts that complement and empower each other. It doesn't mean they didn't train, but they began their race far ahead of us."

Lucius's voice had disappeared this time. "Are you jealous of their birth gifts?"

She gave him a long, unreadable look. Before answering, she said instead, "Fetch me a glass of water." The boy blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but did as instructed. When he returned, she gestured toward the glass. "Drink it." Though confused, he obeyed.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"That water you just drank—people have fought wars for it." Lucius stilled, the glass halfway back to the table.

"You may not have been born with noble blood," Sia said, her voice calm but sharp, "but you have something they lack. A mana core with exceptional sensory abilities, by the looks of it. A natural affinity for understanding. I've seen people with enough power to crush cities—but they couldn't think, couldn't adapt, couldn't learn. You can. Be thankful for what you do have, Lucius. Don't let envy blind you to the truth of your own gifts."

She paused, allowing the words to land before continuing.

"... Phase Two begins once the core has formed. The body begins developing mana channels, veins, nerves, and points. Mana channels link the major organs to the core—brain, heart, and limbs. Veins connect smaller organs, muscles, and senses. Mana nerves integrate mana with the cells, tissues, and nervous system. Mana points act as regulators, controlling flow and preventing overload."

"How long does that take?" Lucius asked.

"About a year. Nobles? Half that. Royals? Four to five months..."

Lucius nodded slowly. His silence this time held weight.

"Phase Three comes next—the most dangerous of all," Sia said, her tone hardening. "The core and its networks are bombarded by a surge of mana. It forces the body into stable, continuous circulation. The process is violent. The body either adapts or collapses. That's why it's closely supervised, no matter one's background."

Lucius tilted his head. "So, you're saying that the Empero- I mean, does the Empire really care for everyone? Not just nobles?"

Sia met his gaze with a calm, proud nod. "Our Emperor, Emperor Ashoka, has always ensured fairness for all. That is why the nobles and even his fellow royals despise him. They preferred the old days, when status mattered more than merit. The Bloodfrost Rebellion happened because nobles were denied special treatment."

"What about the royal families you mentioned? Are they more powerful than nobles?" he asked.

Her patience thinned, though she kept her tone even. "That's for another time. Focus, Lucius. What comes next is something I will not repeat."

Lucius's back straightened. His focus sharpened again.

"Phase Three ends the story for most," Sia said. "But there exists a fourth. A phase only the rarest will ever encounter—Phase Alpha. Or simply, Phase Four: the Elemental Infusion Phase."

Lucius didn't speak, but the look in his eyes said everything. He already knew he wasn't part of it. Sia didn't sugarcoat it.

"It's believed that we are either born with an elemental affinity—or not. And you, Lucius, were born with none. That's a fact."

"All you can do now is train. Relentlessly. Those with elemental affinities go through a transformation. Their mana core merges with the element tied to their soul. Their mana and mana core itself become elemental, unlike yours." Her voice cooled, though it never softened.

"Do you know why almost none of us non-elementals can ever reach the Saint Stage...?" Lucius didn't answer. His eyes stayed locked on hers. She answered for him.

"Because once we break the seventh and last layer of our mana core, we hit a wall. Without elemental infusion, the core can collapse. The body can't withstand the pressure beyond that without an anchor, an elemental affinity. The Saint Stage demands more than strength. It requires evolution. And that… is something not granted to all." The silence that followed was not heavy, but neither was it gentle.

Lucius nodded. No protests. No complaints, just quiet, accepting resolve, which Sia wasn't sure if it came from wisdom, or pain.

***

Lucius took slow, measured steps beside his mentor, though his mind was far from the crowded streets of Varis. The weight of Sia's words still pressed heavily on him. There is nowhere left to go.

The lesson lingered—not just in his thoughts, but in the way his gaze drifted toward the ground, in the furrow between his brows that hadn't quite relaxed. Even the vibrant city around him, with its bustling market roads and swirling scents of grilled meats and spiced drinks, couldn't pull him fully from the spiral of quiet resentment growing inside.

Sia said nothing. She let the walk serve its purpose.

The street stretched wide, carved from black basalt, smooth underfoot despite the steady clatter of boots, carts, and hooves. Shops and stalls lined either side, packed tightly in a crooked rhythm that matched the city's natural chaos. Loud, colourful banners fluttered overhead as vendors shouted for attention, trying to outdo their neighbours. Children darted between adults, laughter ringing in bursts, while mages in long coats and adventurers clad in mismatched armour haggled over potions and enchanted trinkets.

Sia held Lucius's hand—not gently, but firmly, like an anchor. She occasionally pointed things out with a curt nod or a glance. He answered with faint gestures, half-present.

They stopped near a white marble fountain, its crystalline waters catching the sunlight. At its centre stood a statue of a man holding a tattered flag—its pose halfway between triumph and mourning. The base was inscribed with weather-worn gold: "To the fallen, for the fallen. May Glory guide them to an eternal rest." Sia read it aloud, voice neutral. Lucius didn't respond; he only stared.

Sia squeezed his hand once before continuing forward. She had changed into a more formal brown dress that morning, its trim simple but elegant. A soft white scarf wound around her neck, her scarlet-tipped hair tied back neatly to reveal a hint of fatigue beneath her eyes. Her right arm remained close to her body, stiff and healing, though she walked as if she had never known weakness.

They passed by a potion stall, its shelves lined with bright vials and herbs sealed in wax paper. Barely a soul stood before it. "Too expensive for most," Sia commented offhandedly. "Even a basic enhancing draught costs several silver eons." Lucius nodded once.

He remembered the Ghost Bear. Remembered how not even potions had come into play during that brutal encounter. Ragnar hadn't used traps either. Perhaps there had simply been no time.

The market road curved slightly as they went deeper into its heart, and the crowd thickened. Mana hummed all around him—wild, subtle, sometimes barely perceptible—but always there. Some wielders flaunted it, like adventurers fresh from a hunt. Others hid it like secrets beneath robes and blank expressions.

Knights patrolled the flow of people. When they saw Sia, a few bowed in passing. Lucius caught their glances at him—half-respectful, half-curious—but quickly dismissed them. Then everything shifted.

The atmosphere tightened, like invisible cords pulling taut through the crowd. Conversation dulled, steps slowed, and space opened as if by instinct. Even those bursting with raw power stepped aside, forcing Lucius to look ahead.

A formation of knights strode down the street, not like the others. Sleek, sharp armour of navy blue and dark silver gleamed under the sun. Each had a matching cloak that rippled behind them, and headgear moulded with feathered wings curving near the ears. They walked with the grace of wolves and the silence of a blade unsheathed.

The Aerial Knights.

Sia pulled Lucius to the edge of the path, though she did not bow. Around them, others lowered their heads or stepped aside entirely. Lucius followed suit, unsure why the air felt heavier. "These ones patrol the skies," Sia said under her breath. "Fewer in number. Far deadlier. Each one could bring down a battalion on their own. They're built for flight, for manoeuvring at impossible speeds, for surveillance and survival in the open skies of Verdun."

Lucius's gaze stayed locked on them.

They passed quickly, efficiently and silently. One or two gave Sia a respectful nod, then noticed Lucius standing beside her. Their expressions shifted—curious, assessing. One even offered a faint smile before slipping back into that impenetrable mask of discipline. Lucius blinked, and a small, reluctant grin twitched at the corner of his mouth.

"They always smile and nod when they see you," he muttered. Sia smirked. "Perhaps they're just relieved I'm not here to supervise their drills."

She let go of his arm at last, guiding him to a wide row of food stalls.

"I've business with the potion master," she said. "Thirty minutes, no more. Try not to wander too far. Pick something you'll actually eat."

He nodded, eyes already scanning the stalls ahead. She hesitated—just briefly—before turning to leave.

Lucius watched her ascend the sloped road alone, the crowd parting around her like a tide split by her presence alone. He exhaled before turning back toward the stretch of stalls that lay ahead, each one more chaotic and inviting than the last. Thirty minutes wouldn't be enough, but it would have to do.

Lucius's eyes lit up as he made his decision. "This one for sure," he muttered, finally settling on a food stall after nearly ten minutes of wandering the bustling market road. The place was modest, not the biggest around, but the steady stream of satisfied customers hinted at its quality.

As he stepped forward, a teenage girl at the counter didn't waste a second. "One or two?" she asked bluntly. "And no, we don't cut it in half and serve it for half price." Lucius blinked. Did she just assume that based on his size and face? That was insulting.

"…Excuse me. One, please. How much?" he asked, ignoring the jab and trying to keep his voice polite. The girl scoffed. "Are you blind, or just incapable of reading the massive board above my head?"

Sure enough, right there it said: 1 for 10 eons.

She could've just said that instead of hurling an insult, Lucius thought, biting back a sigh. Still, he handed her the coins without complaint. "One, please. Thank you, elder sister." That last part earned a flicker of surprise from her—and possibly a flash of irritation—but Lucius allowed himself a quiet grin. Score one for polite sarcasm.

The vendor quickly set to work. Mashed potatoes mixed with fresh coriander and small green peas were rolled into balls and dipped into a thin batter, then dropped into a vat of boiling oil. After a few sizzling minutes, they emerged golden and crisp, stuffed neatly between two slices of bread—the top, browned; the bottom, plain white. Two vibrant chutneys, one red and one green, were smeared across the bread.

They called it a "Potato Bun," and it looked glorious.

Lucius devoured it in under two minutes, which he felt was impressive considering how hot it still was. But now, something cool felt necessary. His eyes scanned the street and locked onto another vendor, this one handing out large glasses of what looked like chilled, white liquid.

Perfect. This time, though, before ordering, he actually read the board. "One large glass of buttermilk, please. Thank you," he said, offering the vendor fifteen eons.

The man, dressed in faded cotton robes, nodded and grabbed a glass large enough that Lucius had to use both hands to hold it. "Pay after," the vendor said casually. Lucius blinked in surprise but didn't argue.

The drink was heavenly—creamy, chilled, with the perfect balance of sweetness and tang, finished with bursts of unexpected spice and herb. The perfect follow-up to the fried snack. He took another long sip, already hooked.

Smart move, he thought, glancing back at the previous food stall. They probably had a deal going. One made you crave a drink, the other quenched it. 'Cheeky bastards,' he mused while enjoying. "I haven't seen you around before," the vendor said, settling into a low stool behind the stall. "You new here?"

Lucius nodded. "Yes, sir. I just moved in yesterday. I'm here with my mentor." The vendor smiled, his tone light and casual. "Enjoying your first real taste of Varis?" Lucius lifted the half-empty cup. "More like I'm loving it."

The man chuckled, clearly pleased. "You'll be back tomorrow for another glass, won't you?"

"Probably," Lucius said honestly. He already felt like he would. "Then pay me tomorrow. Today's drink is on me. Go on, now. See you again, little man."

Lucius paused, frowning slightly. "Are you sure? I'd feel bad not paying."

"As long as I've got a new fan," the vendor winked playfully, a gesture that didn't quite match his age but carried its charm nonetheless.

Lucius smiled, nodding. "Alright then. Thank you, sir." He turned to leave but was stopped by one last question. "Your mentor—what's their name?"

"Lady Sia Machangel."

The man's expression changed instantly. Eyes widened, brows lifted—something between surprise and recognition flashing across his face. But Lucius didn't linger on it. Maybe it was the heat. Or the crowd. Whatever it was, it wasn't his concern...

***

"You're late." Lucius winced slightly at the sound of Sia's voice. He was supposed to meet her ten minutes ago.

"Sorry about that," he said, lowering his gaze respectfully, much like those knights had earlier in the day. "Did you eat anything?" He nodded, telling her about the potato buns and buttermilk. Sia exhaled softly. "Those are snacks, Lucius. Not a real meal. They lack the nutrients your body needs. Though… they are delicious. Which chutney did you like—red or green?"

Lucius shrugged. "Red. The green one was a bit too spicy." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "That's what everyone says at first. You'll come around."

"Are we heading home?" he asked as they resumed walking. "Not yet. We have to visit the guild first."

Lucius groaned inwardly. "Right now? In this heat? Can't we go in the evening instead?" Sia didn't answer immediately. Her steps didn't slow, but the tone in her voice sharpened. "Unfortunately, this matter can't wait. Let's move—we're already late."