The Fallen One

"Welcome to the family, little one," Sia said, her voice soft with warmth, arms extended as she waited for the boy to step into her embrace.

Lucius should have felt relief. He should have felt overjoyed. But his body had nothing left to give. Each step toward her felt heavier than the last, as though unseen chains were dragging him down. His breath came in slow, uneven waves. The weight of everything—of having to prove himself, of the uncertainty surrounding his future, of the sheer relief that he hadn't been cast out—pressed down on him like an avalanche.

And yet, he moved.

When he finally reached her, he collapsed into her arms. The moment she wrapped him in her embrace, the tension in his chest unwound. His racing heart slowed. His vision blurred. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the hollow ache of being unwanted, of being utterly alone, began to fade. In her arms, he felt safe. The world dulled around him, his limbs went slack, and his consciousness slipped away—and he didn't resist. The nightmares wouldn't reach him here.

Sia sighed quietly and adjusted her grip on the unconscious child. "He passed out. Poor child." Carrying him gently, she made her way inside. Rartar still sat by the garden entrance, lounging with his drink in hand. His face remained unreadable, but she caught it—the subtle shift in his gaze, the quiet acknowledgement that Lucius was, in some way, now theirs to protect. Not that she had given him much choice in the matter. Even if Rartar had refused, she would have taken Lucius in without hesitation.

Once Lucius was settled and resting, Sia returned to the garden and sat beside her husband. Their conversation meandered for a time, touching on irrelevant matters, until Rartar brought it back to the one thing truly on his mind.

"Tell me more about him," he said. "From the beginning. How did you find him?" Sia leaned back, arms crossed, already anticipating the direction this would go. Rartar had always been cautious. Methodical. Never one to act without examining every angle. His interest wasn't born from mere curiosity—he was calculating, thinking ahead, trying to understand what Lucius' arrival could mean in the long term.

She sighed, then nodded, deciding to share what she could—almost everything, though not quite. The truth about Lucius' mana nature, she would keep to herself. At least for now. "Lucius was abandoned in the Outer Rim, that much is clear," she began, watching Rartar nod in acknowledgement. "But here's where it gets strange," she continued, her tone lowering slightly, catching his full attention. "He doesn't remember anything—not a single thing from before I found him. It's as if someone didn't just abandon him… they erased him."

Rartar's eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt. Sia pressed on. "I also suspect someone tried to sabotage his mana core. Not just stunted—sabotaged. There are too many signs. The damage is subtle but deliberate." That earned a slight shift in Rartar's posture. Not a surprise—concern.

"But here's what truly bothers me," she added, leaning forward. "Lucius wasn't abandoned the way most unwanted children are. He wasn't filthy or scarred. He was exhausted, yes. Hungry. Thirsty. But not malnourished. His clothes, though dirty from travel, were tailored. His hair was messy but groomed. His skin was clean, without bruises or whip marks. No broken bones. No callouses. His hands were untouched by labour."

Rartar frowned. "What are you implying?"

"He didn't live like an orphan. He lived like someone sheltered, cared for. And yet, no memory, no name, no one searching for him. That doesn't happen by accident." Sia paused to let that settle before continuing.

"He learns too quickly. Absorbs information like a sponge. His instincts are razor-sharp. His grasp on tactics, awareness, even abstract thinking—it's all too advanced for a child his age." She shook her head. "And his swordplay? You've seen it. Would you believe me if I told you he's only trained for three weeks?" Rartar stared at her, then gave the slightest shake of his head. "No."

"Neither would I, if I hadn't watched it with my own eyes." They sat in silence for a long moment. Then Sia spoke her final thought, the one that had been burning in her mind since the day she found him. "He wasn't left behind. He was hidden."

Rartar's attention sharpened, his drink untouched in his hand. "Someone wiped his memories. Someone sealed his mana. Someone placed him far from civilisation and ensured he wouldn't be found easily. That's not abandonment. That's protection. They were hiding him from something. Or someone."

She hesitated, but only for a second. "I don't know who. I don't know why. But what I do know is this: that boy is special. And I intend to find out how—and why." Rartar exhaled slowly. He didn't argue. He didn't question her judgment. Because deep down, he knew she was right. He trusted her instincts more than most trust facts. "So," he asked after a beat, "what's your plan?"

Sia's expression hardened. "For now? I focus on Lucius. He's my one and only student—and starting today, he is my only priority. After what happened last month, I'm done protecting nobles, envoys, and diplomats who only see me as a weapon they can point."

She crossed her arms. "The only one I will protect now is him."

"I'll train him to the best of my ability. I'll make him strong enough to survive on his own, to walk his own path, no matter what comes."

Rartar watched her quietly. No doubt. No hesitation. Only resolve. And strangely, he felt relieved. For years, he had watched her shoulder burdens she no longer wished to carry. For years, she endured out of duty, not purpose. But now? She had something—something to fight for again. And he saw it in her eyes: she wasn't doing this to fill a void. She was doing it because, for the first time in a long time, she wanted to.

Still, his expression shifted. "My dear," he said gently, though his tone was edged with something heavier, "there's something I need to tell you." Sia turned to him immediately, sensing the gravity in his voice. Her hand slipped into his instinctively, offering silent support.

He looked at her, his voice low. "The number of corrupted beasts is rising—and fast. Three days ago, the outer walls of Vagsheer were nearly overrun by a horde." She froze. Vagsheer. One of the Seven Sisters. One of the largest cities in the Verdun Empire. If they had reached that far inland… "They're multiplying unnaturally. If we don't intervene soon, they'll consume entire ecosystems. And the Empire knows it."

He gave her hand a light squeeze, his eyes never leaving hers. "They're forming an alliance. The Eastern Front's Guild Association is joining forces with the military. They're planning a large-scale invasion into the Beast Territories."

Sia's stomach twisted as the weight of his words sank in. War—real, long, and inevitable—was coming. And if Rartar was telling her this now, it could only mean one thing. "You're going," she said quietly. He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The silence between them spoke volumes. Her fingers curled tightly around his, as if by holding on, she could keep him from being swept away.

The world was changing, accelerating toward something neither of them could outrun. Rartar wouldn't just be participating—he would be leading, commanding, becoming the face of the Empire's might. A Saint of Varis, bound not by choice, but by duty. Still, despite knowing this, Sia refused to yield to inevitability. "You could say no," she murmured, voice low. He glanced at her, but she didn't give him the chance to deflect. "You could refuse. Step down. Retire—just like I did." Her voice wasn't angry, not yet. It was desperate, searching, pleading with him to choose a different path.

"We have more than enough wealth. We don't need to serve anyone anymore. And now, with Lucius…" Sia's fists clenched. "With Lucius, we finally have something real to care for—something that matters more than politics and battlefields." Rartar exhaled through his nose, setting down his drink.

"Sia—"

"Don't 'Sia' me," she cut in sharply. "Just listen." She stepped closer, her gaze sharp and unflinching. "We've given everything to this world already. We've fought. We've bled. We've killed for nobles and royals who don't even know our names. Haven't we done enough?" Her hand reached for his sleeve, gripping it tightly. "Please," she whispered, but Rartar's face remained unchanged. "My duty is not just to myself—"

"Oh, spare me." Her hand dropped, her patience fraying.

"Your duty? To whom, Rartar? To strangers who don't give a damn about you? To a city that will replace you the moment you fall?" She took a breath, steadying herself. "You've done enough," she said more softly this time. "Let someone else take up the fight." Still, Rartar shook his head slowly, "I can't."

Sia's heart sank. She knew him too well. His mind was already made up. Rartar wasn't just strong—he was one of the strongest. A man who had seen war, led armies, and survived what would have broken most. And that was exactly why he couldn't say no. Because he knew what would happen if he did. "Sia," he said, voice gentler now, "if I refuse, someone weaker, someone unprepared, will take my place. And thousands will die because of it."

She turned away, pressing her palm against her forehead. "Then let them die," she muttered bitterly. It was a lie—one she didn't believe. But she wanted to. Because the alternative meant watching her husband walk into another battlefield. Meant to be left behind again. And she was so damn tired of being left behind. "You know I can't do that," he said. Sia laughed bitterly. "Of course you can't. You never could."

Rartar leaned back into his chair, rubbing his temples. "This is my duty, Sia. First, I ensure the safety of those around me. Then, I serve my nation. I swore an oath—"

"To whom?" she snapped again, repeating the same words. Rartar looked up, eyes hard. "To everyone." That was the moment she broke.

"Everyone? That's the problem with you, Rartar. You think everyone matters. You put this city, this empire, above your own damn family. I just told you—we don't need them anymore. And you're still choosing them over us." Her voice cracked. "Over me."

The silence that followed was thick. Sia's hands trembled at her sides, curling into fists. "You never cared about me," she whispered. Rartar's jaw tightened. "You know that's not true."

She looked at him then—truly looked at him—and what she saw made her chest ache. Because he did care. Just… not in the way she needed. Rartar was a man of duty, of responsibility. And no matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he wanted to stay, he wouldn't. Because he couldn't.

"All you care about is your damn status," she said. The words were harsh. Unfair. But not entirely false. Rartar didn't argue. He just sat there, silent, letting her anger burn itself out. And that—somehow—made it worse. Sia shook her head and stepped back. Her throat tightened, her chest burning with emotions she wasn't ready to unravel. "I can't do this right now," she muttered, then turned and stormed off, not looking back.

Rartar let her go, because he knew she needed space... Because deep down, he believed that eventually… she'd understand.

***

Lucius stood alone in the training yard, his eyes closed, his breathing steady. Mana pulsed quietly beneath his skin, an invisible current winding its way through his limbs, responding to the rhythm of his focused meditation. Mastering mana sensing demanded stillness—of mind and of heart—but that was far easier in theory than in practice... Especially with Rartar watching.

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He sensed the older man's presence before the first word was spoken. It pressed against him like a quiet stormfront—powerful, familiar, and impossible to ignore. "Good morning, Lord Rartar," Lucius said without opening his eyes. A soft chuckle came from the side. "You can call me Uncle Lucius. That's what the children at the orphanage call me."

Lucius opened one eye, offered a small nod, and returned to his meditation. Still, the weight of Rartar's gaze lingered, hovering like a silent judgment. Lucius could feel it—watching, measuring, evaluating. That silent scrutiny made it difficult to maintain focus. After a few more minutes, he gave up with a quiet exhale, opening his eyes fully and rising to greet him properly.

Rartar was seated comfortably at a low table, a plate of sliced fruit and dried meat in front of him. He gestured without looking up. "Come. Eat."

Lucius hesitated only briefly. He wasn't one to turn down a meal, especially not when offered by a man as formidable as Rartar, a Saint of Varis whose presence radiated restrained might. He approached the table, sat, and began eating in quiet bites, all the while aware of Rartar's unblinking gaze, studying him with that inscrutable expression. When the plate was cleared, Lucius stood, intending to return to training, but froze when Rartar raised a hand to stop him.

"Sit." Lucius blinked but obeyed, lowering himself into the same seated position as before with a near-perfect mimicry. A low chuckle rumbled from the Saint's chest. "You're precise to a fault, boy." Lucius tilted his head slightly, puzzled by the remark, but didn't respond. After a pause, Rartar spoke again.

"Lucius… do you remember your promise?" The boy's thoughts scrambled. Promise? Which one? He'd promised many things—some to Sia, some to Mercy, and a few to Rartar himself. But in this moment, none came to mind. Still, he gave a cautious nod. Rartar arched a brow. "You have no idea which promise I'm talking about, do you?"

Lucius instinctively reached up to fix his hair, trying to mask the embarrassment that threatened to creep across his face. The Saint sighed in exaggerated resignation before ruffling Lucius's hair with a large, calloused hand. It was heavy but surprisingly gentle.

"Haaah. Relax, child. I'm not going to hurt you." Lucius blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. His first instinct was to remain guarded—to keep distance, to be prepared.

But Rartar's presence made that difficult. Something was grounding about him. His towering figure, his weathered scars, his immovable calm—none of it felt threatening. Instead, it felt... reliable. Solid. Much like Sia. Lucius hesitated, then shifted slightly closer. Without entirely understanding why, he rested his head against Rartar's bicep, drawn by an unspoken sense of comfort.

Rartar stiffened ever so slightly in surprise when Lucius leaned in, but then—slowly, subtly—he relaxed. "You're an odd one, little one," he murmured, voice low, the kind that vibrated in the chest more than it did the air. But he didn't move. His arm remained exactly where it was, steady and grounded, like a pillar the boy could lean against. They stayed like that for a while, saying nothing. And yet, the silence between them wasn't empty or awkward—it was the kind of silence that came when words weren't needed, when the presence of another was enough.

Eventually, it was Rartar who broke it. His tone held none of the weight it often did in council chambers or war briefings—this was something quieter, something almost wistful. "I'll be leaving in a few hours," he said. Lucius's head lifted slowly, and their eyes met. "You just got back… and now you're leaving again?" The question wasn't laced with fear or even sadness. It was more subdued, disappointed and too clear for someone so young.

"My master, your wife, she misses you. A lot," the boy added, almost accusingly. Rartar exhaled through his nose. "I know," he replied almost with visible regret, both in his tone and on his face.

"Then why?" Lucius pressed again, the sharpness of his gaze digging deeper. His eyes had that intensity again, the kind Rartar had only seen in seasoned veterans—and it unnerved him, just a little. The Saint hesitated. He debated whether to offer a half-truth or skirt the issue entirely.

"Lucius, I—"

"Is this about the rise of corrupted beasts?" The boy's voice cut in clean, direct. The question fell like a blade through calm air, slicing open whatever illusion of normalcy still lingered... Before the little one realised the person he had just cut off.

Lucius immediately backtracked, guilt bubbling up in his chest. "S-Sorry! I shouldn't have interrupted you—" But to his surprise, the older man wasn't angry. He didn't shout or scold. Instead, he stared, caught off guard—not by the interruption, but by the knowledge itself. "You know about the corrupted beasts?" he asked, voice low, unreadable. Lucius shifted in place, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. "I mean, yeah? People talk, you know? I overheard some old men in the southern quarters whispering about it… said those monsters slaughtered someone's nephew. Brutally."

His fingers curled into his lap as he continued, barely above a whisper. "I've been meaning to ask, actually. Sia won't tell me anything about them. Every time I bring it up, she just gets this look and shuts down. So, what are they? Why are they so strong? Why are they such a big threat?"

Rartar sighed deeply, stepping away from the window where the light had caught in his hair, casting long shadows across the floor. "Hmm. That's… a good question." Lucius leaned forward expectantly. "And? What's the answer?" The Saint smirked. "I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you that, little one."

Lucius groaned, throwing his head back. "Oh, come on! Don't be like her! I won't tell her you told me, I swear!" What followed was a full hour of persistence that could only be described as relentless. Pleading, bartering, outright begging—Lucius didn't hold back. And while Rartar tried to resist—he truly did—he eventually gave in, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"Alright, alright! Fine. But you have to promise not to tell Sia it was me." Lucius nodded so hard it looked like his head might fall off. "Deal!" And with that, Rartar finally leaned back, folding his arms, eyes glinting with amusement.

"Alright then. First, tell me—what do you actually know about mana beasts?" Lucius took a second to think, recalling the lessons he'd absorbed through training and eavesdropping. "Uhh… they're monsters we hunt for supplies and survival, right? There are like… over a thousand species in the Beast Rims. Some live in packs, others alone. Some have elemental abilities, some don't. Some are adorable, and some look like nightmares. Like… real nightmares."

Rartar snorted, clearly amused. "Not bad. But still pretty shallow. You're still ignorant." Lucius frowned, offended. "Hey! I'm eight! What do you expect?!"

The Saint laughed—a deep, genuine sound that reverberated off the garden walls. "Fair enough." But then his expression shifted, turning more solemn. "Mana beasts aren't just creatures to fight. They're vital to the world's mana circulation. Without them, the natural flow of energy would get disrupted—maybe even collapse in some regions. Think of them like… regulators. Anchors. The living veins of this continent." Lucius blinked slowly. "…That was a horrible explanation." Rartar barked another laugh, one hand to his chest. "Yeah, yeah. I'm a Saint, not a damn professor, remember?"

Lucius's expression softened then, and his voice turned quieter. "Master was pissed, you know? When she left." Rartar's smile faded, the lines in his face settling deeper. Lucius didn't stop. "You know she won't forgive you for this… for leaving her behind again, right?" Rartar nodded once. "…I know." "Then why are you still going?" the boy asked again, quieter now, but no less intense. Rartar didn't respond immediately. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Because if I don't… someone unprepared will take my place. Someone who won't survive. And because of that, others will die."

Lucius sat in silence, letting the words settle into his chest like stones. He wasn't old enough to fully grasp the scope of war, but he understood responsibility. He understood what it meant to carry the weight of others. After a long moment, he looked up again. "Fine. Then promise me something." Rartar turned his head slightly. "Promise?" Lucius nodded firmly. "Just return safely. In one piece. As soon as you can. You have two people waiting for you now. Two people who actually care." His voice had softened to almost a whisper. "So… come back, okay?"

Rartar looked down at the boy and inhaled deeply, a slow breath that seemed to pull from something deeper than lungs. "I swear," he said quietly, "upon my rank and name, little one."

Lucius beamed, shoulders lifting ever so slightly. Then, as if remembering something too good to hold back, Rartar added, "And once this mission is over… I'm retiring too." Lucius froze. "Wait, really?!" The Saint chuckled at the boy's stunned expression, nodding once. "But don't tell Sia. I want to tell her myself when I come back." Lucius smirked, his grin growing wider. "Tell her WHAT?" Rartar laughed out loud—and for the first time that morning, Lucius truly smiled.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

A series of rapid, thunderous explosions rattled the air, loud enough to make the earth feel like it was shaking. The sound split the peaceful evening like a blade through still water, sharp and sudden. Flocks of birds burst from the treetops, screeching as they scattered into the darkening sky, startled by the noise. Lucius snapped his head in the direction of the commotion, his brows furrowing as he caught sight of multiple bursts of fire streaking across the distant skyline—bright, orange-red pulses blooming like fiery flowers against the dusk.

"Firecrackers? Now?" he muttered, more confused than concerned. As far as he knew, there were no festivals scheduled, no noble celebrations or public events. There were no banners, no music, no advance warnings. Something about the timing, the location, the energy in the air—it all felt wrong. Off. Deep in his chest, unease began to curl, tightening his gut. But before he could piece things together, Rartar moved. The Saint's posture changed in an instant—straightening, sharpening. His casual calm vanished, replaced by something focused and dangerous.

"Those aren't fireworks, little one," Rartar said flatly. His voice carried a different kind of weight now. Not comforting, not playful—just resolute. "That's an assembly call." Lucius felt his stomach sink like a stone dropped into deep water. "Wait—right now?!" he blurted out, heart skipping. His mind raced, panicked and irrational. Sia will be back any second—can't he wait? What's the harm in just a few minutes? "You don't have to go yet, right?" Lucius tried, his voice quick, desperate. "The city isn't going to fall apart if you—"

But Rartar didn't respond. He wasn't listening anymore. His gaze was already turned toward the sky, his body already shifting into motion. Lucius recognised that look—the kind of unshakable resolve that no logic or plea could bend. This wasn't just an assignment. It wasn't a mission. This was a call to war. He watched helplessly as Rartar crossed the stone path toward the garden's edge. "At least let me—" Lucius began, but was cut off. "No time, Lucius," Rartar replied without turning. Then, without ceremony, he placed a firm hand on Lucius' shoulder.

It wasn't a farewell hug. It wasn't a tearful goodbye. But the gesture was steady, grounding. A silent transfer of trust. "Take care of my wife for me," Rartar said. Lucius's throat tightened. He nodded once. "I will." And with that, it was done. Rartar turned without another word. A single breath later—BOOM! A deafening shockwave burst outward as the Saint launched skyward, the sheer force of it sending dust and dry leaves spiralling in every direction. Lucius stumbled back, arms raised instinctively to shield his face, his cloak whipping behind him like a sail.

When he finally lowered his arms and opened his eyes, Rartar was already a distant streak in the sky, vanishing toward the horizon. Lucius stared after him, the last echoes of the takeoff fading into silence. He cupped his hands to his mouth, shouting with all the strength in his lungs, "Please be safe! And don't forget your promise!!" The sky didn't respond. But a part of Lucius wanted—needed—to believe that Rartar had heard him. That he would remember. That he would return. He exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging as the wind settled around him again.

He looked up once more, squinting toward the clouds. The way Rartar had flown—the ease, the speed, the power—left an ache in Lucius' chest.

'I wish I could fly, too.' The thought arrived uninvited, but it lingered. If only he had an elemental affinity… if only he had something more... He clenched his fists at his sides, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. If he were stronger, faster, more special… maybe he'd be the one leaving someday. Not just watching others go.

The sound of soft footsteps behind him made him tense. A voice followed, soft but sharp enough to pierce through the quiet. "He's gone… I figured." Lucius turned around quickly. Sia stood behind him, just a few feet away. Her eyes were red and swollen, her lashes damp. She had been crying. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso, fingers pressing into the fabric of her sleeves. Her posture was composed, but Lucius had known her long enough to see the signs. Her jaw was clenched too tightly. Her breath wavered just slightly. She was trying too hard to appear unaffected.

"Y-Yeah," Lucius replied quietly. "There was an emergency call… He had to leave. I tried to stop him, knowing you'd be back, but…" His voice trailed off, guilt settling heavy on his shoulders. "I'm sorry." Sia didn't answer right away. Her silence stretched long enough to make Lucius nervous. But then she exhaled, a sharp, controlled breath.

"Hmm. I don't care." It was a lie. He knew it. She knew it. But neither of them acknowledged it. "I'm going to take a nap," she said, her tone detached. "Did you finish your training?" Lucius hesitated for a second.

He still had more sets to complete, but something in her voice made him lie without even thinking. "Yeah, I did."

"Good." She turned toward the kitchen without looking back. "You must be hungry. I'll cook something. Go set up the dining table." Lucius nodded, immediately picking up on the unspoken warning in her words. "Got it." He darted off, not wanting to push her further. Sia, however, didn't follow right away. Instead, she walked toward the edge of the garden where Rartar had taken off just minutes ago. Her boots barely made a sound as they passed over the grass.

She stopped at the very spot where the shockwave had torn the earth, and stood there, unmoving. Her arms were still crossed, her fingers still clutched tightly around her sleeves. Her head tilted back slightly as she gazed toward the now-empty sky. She didn't say much. Just one sentence. A whisper barely audible over the wind. "Just be safe out there… You have a family waiting for you." The breeze caught her words, carrying them upward, outward, away. She stayed there for a few lingering seconds before turning her back on the sky.

When she slid the window shut behind her, she left something behind out there in the garden—grief, maybe. Or longing. But when she stepped into the house again, she wasn't Rartar's wife. She wasn't the woman waiting, hoping, grieving. She was Lucius's mentor. His teacher. His anchor. The one who would stay. And she had work to do.