The Fallen One

'Left Dominated.' Sia could almost see the words flashing behind Lucius's eyes like a revelation waiting to take shape. 'Was it a skill? An ability? A Class?' The way Lucius's expression lit up with unfiltered curiosity made her suppress a sigh. He clearly thought it sounded mysterious—maybe even powerful. And from the way she was looking at him, he probably assumed it was something good.

"Are you listening?" she asked flatly, knowing full well he wasn't. His eyes blinked rapidly, trying to recall the last few seconds of conversation. "Huh? What?" he stammered. "Yeah, yeah, fuck yeah! I mean—of course... What were you saying?" Sia didn't react, though internally, she winced at his chaotic attempt to recover. He always did this when caught off guard, trying to patch the moment with charm or humour, or sometimes both. But this wasn't the time for zoning out. She was about to drop something that could very well shift the foundation of his understanding about himself.

Crossing her arms, she eyed him with her usual unreadable expression, then announced plainly, "Ahem, as I was saying, you're a Left Dominator." Lucius blinked again. Ten minutes ago, she had said she thought he might be one. Now, she sounded completely certain. That shift in tone didn't go unnoticed. Squinting at her suspiciously, he asked, "Wait, hold up. What the hell is a Left Dominator?" He did at least try to sound polite, which amused her mildly.

Sia exhaled, her tone shifting into a rhythm that indicated a proper lecture was about to begin. "In simple terms, you're left-handed. In complex terms, you're entirely left-oriented. You don't just favour your left hand—you favor your entire left side. Every attack, every defence, every movement in our fight revolved around your left limb, your left leg, even your left shoulder. Even when you used mana push to accelerate, your instinct was to lead with your left foot. That's not normal, Lucius. That's why you're a Left Dominator."

Lucius blinked a few times rapidly, processing the words in silence. Sia leaned forward slightly, her voice lower but clear. "Now that I think about it, it explains why you've grown so much stronger in such a short time. Your complete reliance on one side has given you an incredible level of control over it. It's like putting all your stats into one attribute instead of spreading them out. The efficiency is insane." Lucius nodded along, though she could tell he was still trying to make full sense of it. "Okay," he said after a moment, "but how are you so sure now? Ten minutes ago, you weren't."

Sia smirked, an edge of satisfaction in her expression. "Because after our match ended, while you were lying there asking me all sorts of questions—about your performance, your strategies, your shortcomings—you kept gesturing exclusively with your left hand. Your right arm, which isn't even fatigued from the fight, never moved once. Not even subconsciously." Lucius realised this as he flexed his left hand fingers, thoughtful now, tracing back through his own actions while Sia watched him carefully. He was remembering. Even when he scratched his head or shifted positions, it had always been his left.

She raised an eyebrow and said, "Now you see it." Lucius exhaled and shook his thoughts away. "Alright," he asked, settling in, "so is this a good thing? That I'm a Left Dominator?" Sia tilted her head, considering his question with measured honesty. "Yes and no. But in your case… mostly yes."

"... Alright. How is it mostly a good thing?" Lucius lightly inquired.

Sia leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. "The reason Left Dominators aren't common is because it's not seen as an advantage. In most martial arts and combat systems, balance is crucial. A warrior should be able to react and attack from either side. You? You'll never have full synergy between your left and right. No matter how much you train, your right side will always lag behind. And in life-or-death situations, that predictability could cost you. Your enemies will figure it out, and they'll exploit it."

The seriousness in her tone hit home. Lucius's mouth tightened slightly, but before he could spiral into overthinking, she continued. "But in your case, the benefits far outweigh the drawbacks. And I'm not saying that to cheer you up, Lucius. That's your job. Regularly." That earned a small huff of a laugh from him, but his mind was clearly spinning with thoughts and worries.

She tapped her finger against the table. "You want to know why I'm so sure this is a good thing? Because you're smart." Lucius blinked, confused. "That's it?" he asked, clearly hoping for something more profound. She didn't flinch. "No, listen. I've said this a hundred times, and I'll say it again—you are exceptionally intelligent. You observe, adapt, and learn faster than most. That's why being a Left Dominator will work in your favour."

Lifting her hand, she began listing the reasons, ticking them off one by one. "One, your single-sided mastery means your reaction speed and muscle memory on that side will develop at an absurd rate. Your left hand will be faster, stronger, and more precise than anyone else's. Two, because you only have to refine one side instead of two, your growth speed is accelerated. You're already closing the gap between yourself and those non-noble-born brats. The ones without money and resources, but with natural talent. And if you keep improving at this pace? You won't just match them. You'll surpass them. They'll never see it coming."

She leaned in slightly, her voice softer but more intense. "And three. That massive weakness I just mentioned? The one about predictability? The thing that could get you killed in a real fight?" Lucius nodded slowly, bracing himself. Sia's voice didn't waver. "I believe that you will figure out a way to minimise it. At the very least." Her words weren't dramatic, nor did they carry any inflated praise. She spoke as if stating a simple truth—inevitable, matter-of-fact.

Lucius was quiet for a long moment, his throat tightening slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before. "...Is that how much you believe in me?" She didn't respond immediately, just held his gaze. Then, with the faintest of smiles, she gave a single nod.

***

Since the day Sia had named him a Left Dominator, Lucius trained with relentless focus. The realisation that his left-sided dominance could serve as both a weapon and a liability fueled a new obsession—refinement. Every motion, every breath, every clash of wood and mana was scrutinised. He no longer trained for progress. He trained for transformation.

In the beginning, his movements were crude, driven by instinct more than purpose. But as the days passed, he found himself studying Sia's combat form with unwavering intent. The way she flowed between aggression and restraint, her ability to control the duel with precision—it was more than technique. It was language. A warrior's tongue is spoken through posture and timing. He didn't just want to mimic it; he wanted to translate it into something his own.

Yet, their differences were glaring. Sia fought like a balanced predator, her style built on versatility—her body a weapon from all angles. She shifted weight seamlessly, struck from either side, and anticipated counters as if choreographed. Lucius couldn't afford such luxury. His path lay in leaning into his one-sided dominance until it ceased being a weakness and became a feint—until predictability bred misdirection.

This pursuit of mastery also forced him to reconsider what he wanted. The notion of becoming a knight had tempted him once. Knights had structure, authority, and resources—all things he lacked. But the more he trained, the more the image faded. Control was what he truly craved. Freedom. Knights served oaths and crowns. Lucius wanted to serve no one but himself, and perhaps someone or something meaningful, in his eyes.

So, he chose the adventurer's path.

When he told Sia, her reaction surprised him. She didn't scold him or question the decision. She smiled—softly, perhaps even proudly—but there was a flicker of something else behind her eyes. Concern. Not for his choice, but for what it meant. The adventurer's life was not one of honour. It was not noble. It was not safe. And yet, she supported him. Because she understood him.

His routine solidified into discipline. Eight to nine hours of sleep. One to two hours of academic study. The rest of his time was consumed by training—sharpening his body, expanding his mana core, dissecting his weaknesses. For three unbroken weeks, he buried himself in this loop. He hadn't gone to the market with Sia. He hadn't visited the city's great spots. He hadn't indulged in a single distraction. Everything he did, every breath he took, was aimed at one thing: improvement.

And now, finally, that discipline was paying off. Sia had been delaying one crucial lesson. The truth behind elemental mana. For weeks, she had dodged the topic, clearly waiting until he was ready. She even set a condition: survive four minutes against her in combat, and she would reveal it. Tonight, he had lasted seven. She could no longer avoid it.

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...

Dinner had just ended. The scent of fried roots and charred meat still lingered in the air as Sia cleaned the dishes, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, her focus elsewhere. The water from the sink was freezing, yet she moved through the task without flinching. Lucius wiped down the table, though his hands moved on instinct—his mind was spinning.

For the first time in weeks, he thought of the Ghost Bear. He hadn't spoken about it since. Sia had brought its corpse home, but they had never discussed what happened afterwards. The beast had nearly killed them. It had taken Sia's comrades. And yet, silence had cloaked its aftermath.

"You stored the Ghost Bear's remains in your ring, right?" he asked casually, eyes still on the damp cloth in his hand. Sia glanced over her shoulder, arching a brow. "Depends. Its claws, mana core, sharp canines, and a portion of its mane are still inside. The rest? Sold at auction. Got us a good amount of eons." She smirked, then added, "Why? You want a share of the profit?"

"Haha, very funny. No."

Her laughter was light as she turned back to the dishes. "I know. But you'll be happy to hear this—I've decided to use its remains to craft you a weapon and armour."

Lucius stilled, his fingers tightening around the cloth. "For me?" She nodded, still focused on her task. "A sword and armour from its claws and bones. Its canines will reinforce the edges of both my weapon and yours. Since you can't freely wield Crimson Ultima—which, by the way, is still under my protection—you'll need something durable."

He stared at her, unsure of what to feel. Grateful, certainly. But there was something else—guilt, perhaps. Undeserving. "Are you sure? I haven't done anything to—"

"You haven't done anything to prove yourself yet," she cut in, her tone cold and blunt. "You're not worthy of rare weapons, much less of a special grade weapon, Lucius. Not yet." The words stung, but they were honest. Sia never coddled him.

"But," she added, her voice gentler now, "you haven't been given the chance to prove yourself either. And I know you. I know you'll get there. That's why I'm equipping you now. Because when the time comes, and you step beyond the Lunar Walls… I won't be there to protect you."

Her words settled deep in his chest, heavier than any blow she'd landed in their spars. This wasn't just about armour or weapons. Sia was preparing him for a world where she wouldn't stand between him and death.

A few nights ago, he had asked her if she ever planned to take on another hunt, to continue as an adventurer, and her answer had been unwavering.

"Never again."

The Ghost Bear had been an exception, not a return. She had joined that hunt out of boredom, not need. Now, she had him to focus on. There was no longer a reason to put herself at risk. "Now," Sia said, breaking through his thoughts, "on to what was promised."

Lucius straightened, brushing the thoughts aside. "Still dead-set on avoiding this topic, huh?" She sighed, wiping her hands dry on a cloth. "A promise is a promise. But before I explain, tell me how much you already know."

He nodded, organising his thoughts. "Like humans, the natural world influences mana. The skies compress and reshape it into wind, the oceans saturate it into water, volcanoes ignite it into fire, and the mountains forge it into earth. These forces have existed for thousands of years, refining mana's nature over time. As a result, elemental affinities are determined not only by bloodlines but by exposure to these mana sources."

Sia's expression sharpened. "How did you learn all this?"

"From the libraries," he said simply. "Whenever you went shopping, I took the time to read." She exhaled, long and slow. "And you understood these concepts?"

"I tried. They're complex, but they make sense."

She studied him for a moment longer before offering a slow nod. "...The reason humans and beasts develop elemental affinities is precisely because of this atmospheric mana. But inheritance is… inconsistent. Bloodlines influence affinity, but they don't guarantee it. Even noble families—ones with generations of powerful mages—sometimes produce children with no affinity at all."

His stomach tightened a bit, the truth stung in a place he rarely let himself look. That's why his parents—why they might have—

No. He cut off the thought before it could grow teeth. His expression flattened, his eyes calm. Sia was watching too closely.

"Now," he said, keeping his voice steady, "what about rarer elements?" She hesitated. The pause was small, but he noticed it. Then, with a slow breath, she answered. "There are uncommon, rare, special… and legendary affinities. These are the ones we know of...."

***

Lucius was lying in bed, his body sinking into the mattress, still warm from the meal they had eaten an hour ago. The lingering taste of roasted meat and seasoned vegetables clung faintly to his tongue, but his mind had already wandered elsewhere, looping through fragments of the evening's conversation with Sia. Every inch of him ached. The training had been brutal—more than usual. His muscles protested each shift in position, a dull burn stretching from his shoulders down to his calves. Proof of progress, Sia would have said. Evidence that he was pushing past his limits. Yet, knowing that did little to lessen the pain.

Lately, he had fallen into a strange rhythm—one he wouldn't have imagined himself following just months ago. Beyond training, he had developed routines that felt oddly grounding: cleaning his own room, washing dishes, even maintaining the small lawn outside. These mundane chores, once dismissed as pointless, brought with them a surprising sense of satisfaction. Something was stabilising about them, something that made him feel like he belonged—like he had earned a small space in a life that finally felt real.

For once, he had a place to call his own. A rhythm. A purpose.

Since his arrival in Varis, Lucius had begun piecing together the inner structure of the world around him. The city was governed by the House of Walkins, a noble lineage responsible for upholding regional order. Yet, even they weren't the highest authority. Above them sat the Dukedom of Dredagon, and beyond that, the Imperial Family itself. Walkins served merely as stewards—guardians of the empire's interests in the East. It was a world layered in power, a hierarchy where each level held sway over the one beneath it. At first, the empire's educational structure had baffled him, but the more he observed, the more it revealed its brutal efficiency.

Children weren't admitted into official institutions until the age of seventeen. Until then, they trained privately, guided by instructors or family members, and eventually tested through something called the Phasing Test. It was not a system designed for scholars. It was a system designed for survivors. This wasn't a society that valued theory over action. Here, knowledge was something earned through pain, repetition, and scars.

The logic of it began to make sense the longer he thought about it. Children adapted faster. A younger mage's body and mana developed in tandem. Early training meant quicker mastery. And before these children ever learned to question authority, they were already taught discipline, hierarchy, and restraint. This world wasn't shaped for thinkers—it was built for warriors. Literacy and arithmetic were secondary. What mattered was whether a child could survive a fight—and win it.

At sixteen, they would finally be permitted to challenge the entrance exams of the nation's elite institutions—brutal gauntlets of mind and body designed to weed out the weak. Sia's voice echoed in his thoughts, cool and unflinching: "Children your age are miles ahead of you."

The memory ignited something within him. His mana core pulsed sharply, an uneven surge of energy that briefly coursed through his body. His breath caught in his throat. Was that frustration bleeding into his rotation? Maybe. But in that moment, he didn't care. He still had time. He just had to train harder, longer, and more. That thought anchored him as sleep finally claimed his aching body...

'Goodnight, Sia...' His final thought for the night...

On the other side, Sia sat on the edge of her bed, thoughts swirling in silence. The room was bathed in faint moonlight, the soft glow slipping through half-drawn curtains. Normally, she preferred the shadows—absolute, complete. But not tonight. Tonight, she had left the window open, the light unblocked, the room gently illuminated by the pale silver above. Her eyes remained fixed on the small, handcrafted table beside her. She wasn't looking at it, not really. Her mind was too far gone, drifting between memories, worries, and unspoken questions.

Most of her thoughts centred on Lucius. The rest hovered around her husband—absent, distant, but never forgotten. Will he accept him? She told herself he would. That he had to. But doubt was persistent. It crept into the quiet corners of her mind, waiting to be acknowledged.

She had never meant to keep Lucius this long. Originally, she planned for him to stay at the orphanage, just two weeks. Enough time to settle, recover, and adjust. But when that moment came, when it was time to gently push him away for his own good, she couldn't say the words. Not to him. That boy had already endured the sting of abandonment once. Asking him to endure it again—even temporarily—felt cruel. Unnecessary. And so, without ever saying it aloud, she had taken him in again.

Her husband was a good man. She had fought beside him, bled beside him, watched him defend those weaker than himself with unwavering conviction. His values were rooted in tradition—unyielding, almost immovable. But he was not without compassion. If he came to know Lucius's story—truly know it—then yes, he would accept him. He must. Yet, Sia knew the truth: she had acted without asking. She had made this decision alone. Twice now, she had taken responsibility for the boy. And now, she expected her husband to do the same.

Was it fair? No. But fairness didn't factor into survival. What mattered now was Lucius. And she would never, never abandon him.

A cold gust stirred through the open window, brushing past her skin and lifting the curtains in a gentle dance. She welcomed the chill. The worst of the past was behind them. The wars. The missions. The comrades lost. She had earned this peace. She had earned the right to feel… safe.

And she deserved a drink. Not alcohol—she had no taste for it. The bitterness had always felt like penance. But tucked away in the back of her cabinet were rare bottles of soda and cola, salvaged from some forgotten trader's stash. With a soft clink, she twisted open a bottle, the familiar hiss of carbonation breaking the silence.

Lifting it slightly, she whispered under her breath—words half-ritual, half-prayer. "To love and unity," and then, she drank.