The Fallen One

Amidst the aftermath of battle, as mana faded and silence returned to the glade, one phrase echoed in Raga's mind:

"Death with no consequences, huh?"

It lingered like a shadow in the quiet, a final reflection on the night's bloody gamble. The mission had gone well, better than expected. The Wendigo was dead, its mana core intact, still pulsing faintly with residual energy.

A prize. A fortune.

They could sell it for eons—currency enough to ease the strain crushing their squad. It had been far too long since their last successful hunt under Goddess Luna's pale gaze.

Raga's eyes lifted to the moon. It hung suspended over the clearing, painting the world in silver-blue. Serene. Still. The goddess watched, perhaps indifferent, perhaps pleased. But Raga knew better than to count on divine blessings. What had saved them tonight wasn't mercy—it was precision. Discipline. A little luck, and her, Lady Sia.

Their newest member stood apart from the rest, near the edge of the battlefield where dawn's first light would touch the trees. Her crimson eyes were unreadable.

Her presence among them had been controversial. Rey and June had argued against her recruitment, understandably. A former battleknight joining an adventuring squad? It was unheard of. Risky. But Raga had made the call. Strength meant survival. And someone of her calibre—whether she bled them dry financially or not—was insurance.

That had been the plan.

In execution? She hadn't lifted her weapon once.

And Rey had noticed.

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

His voice cut through, sharp and bitter. He stepped forward, fists clenched, posture tight with restrained fury.

"I thought you were our guardian. Our shield. Instead, you stood by that damn tree while Dawn nearly burned herself out! Care to explain that, Lady Sia Machangel?"

The title dripped with venom.

June, kneeling beside Dawn's still form, didn't look up. Her hands glowed with pale healing light, sealing the last of the burns.

"Calm down, Rey-Rey," she sighed, the nickname tired, habitual. "That was the captain's instruction. Remember? She was only to intervene if things spiralled."

A pause. Then, softer, "Which they didn't."

Her eyes met Raga's. She knew what he was thinking—what they'd all felt. The battle had pushed them to the edge. One misstep and they would've lost someone. Dawn had collapsed, maintaining the barrier, and Rey had barely avoided a fatal strike. Sia's absence in the fight, though agreed upon, had felt wrong.

But it had been Raga's order.

Sia remained still, arms folded, silent as ever. She hadn't moved once since the battle ended. June continued working, her mana soothing and slow. Dawn's breathing steadied beneath her care.

Rey, however, wasn't done.

"Don't play the silent knight with me. When that wendigo cast that sacrificial spell—you just watched!"

He stepped closer, his voice rising. "What the hell is that title of yours even worth?!"

The insult landed hard. The weight behind it wasn't just about this fight—it was deeper. Rey's anger wasn't just directed at Sia. It was at Raga too, for trusting her. For keeping her out of it.

The air shifted.

Subtly.

Sia turned.

No aggression in her stance. No hand to her blade. But the atmosphere changed.

It was instinctual—an invisible line crossed. A warning that didn't need to be spoken. Something only seasoned fighters and ones with sane minds would feel.

June looked up. Raga's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword without thinking.

Rey didn't notice. His fury drowned everything else.

But Sia's eyes were calm.

And that look was enough for Raga to step in.

"Rey. That's enough."

The words weren't loud. But they cut clean through the rising tension.

Rey flinched. His glare bounced from Sia to Raga, but after a beat, he stepped back. Not because he accepted it, but because he respected the order.

Silence fell again.

The team stood fractured. The beast was slain, but not all battles end with blood, and Raga knew this wouldn't be the last time mutual trust or his word would be tested.

"... You misunderstand the role of a guardian," Sia said at last. Her voice was calm, cool as polished steel. "A guardian doesn't charge into every battle. A guardian ensures their charge never needs them in the first place."

The words hung in the air—not loud, not sharp—but final. And beneath them pulsed something else.

Something absolute.

Something that reminded everyone exactly who she was.

Raga exhaled slowly, stepping forward. This had gone on long enough.

"That's enough, Rey," he said, his tone firm. "She followed my orders."

Rey didn't answer. His jaw clenched, rage still simmering behind his eyes, and his steps were ready.

Raga reached out, hand landing on Rey's shoulder before he could take another step, before he made a mistake he couldn't take back. One more word, one more step toward Sia, and the consequences wouldn't be words.

"Watch your tone—" he began, but Sia spoke first.

"I'm not as fast as you, you know?"

Her voice was smooth and measured. It wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. Her gaze locked on Rey, her expression unreadable.

"You're right," she said, and that alone stopped Rey mid-step. "I could have joined the fight. I could have stepped in when Dawn faltered. But you had the advantage, didn't you?"

There was no edge to her tone. No accusation. Just fact, delivered like silk-wrapped steel.

Rey's breath caught, the first flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

Sia stepped forward once, her presence filling the space without force, without even moving her hand.

"But your friend nearly died because of your inexperience."

The words struck harder than any blade. No anger. No cruelty. Just the truth.

"One mistake," she continued. "One reckless strike toward Lord Ragnar—and suddenly the beast sensed weakness. One misstep from your vanguard, and the advantage was gone."

Rey's face twisted—guilt replacing fury.

Sia's eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest tilt of her head giving her words weight. "Do not deflect your shortcomings onto my restraint, young man."

The shift came then.

Subtle. Immediate.

The air thickened—not with mana, not with power, but with her. An unshakable presence. The kind of authority that didn't need to be explained. It simply was.

June looked up from her work. Raga instinctively adjusted his stance. They both felt it.

But Rey—blinded by his pride—resisted.

Sia's voice remained even.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"I will pardon your disrespect this once," she said, eyes narrowing. "Because your captain is a wise man I've known for years. Otherwise, the consequences of a mere C-rank questioning my judgment…"

She didn't finish.

She didn't have to.

The silence was louder than any threat.

Rey's knees buckled. He dropped, breathing unevenly, sweat dotting his brow as the sheer pressure of her presence bore down on him. There was no spell, no show of force—just the weight of reality asserting itself.

Raga watched in silence. This was a lesson, not a punishment.

'Actions have consequences, Rey,' he thought grimly. 'And your pride will break you long before any beast ever does.'

But Sia was already moving past.

She stepped behind June, who was still working tirelessly over Dawn. Her fingers brushed the healer's back—gentle, steady. A soft glow spread between them. Mana sharing. Sia's reserves poured into June, whose hands had begun to tremble.

June gave a faint nod, grateful, but didn't speak. Her exhaustion was evident in every motion.

Raga hadn't realised how close she was to collapse. She had already spent most of her energy healing him, then turned immediately to Dawn without rest. If Sia hadn't stepped in, June might've broken herself finishing the job.

'She didn't just put Rey in his place,' Raga noted. 'She saved our healer from collapse.'

He turned back to Rey, who still knelt, fists clenched in the dirt, eyes wide with bitter recognition.

"She's right," Raga said, his voice quieter now. "We made mistakes tonight."

Rey didn't move, but a tremor ran through his arms. The war between shame and defiance raged behind his silence.

"Those mistakes could've cost us everything," Raga continued. "We were lucky. That's all."

The clearing fell still again.

Then, a sound, barely audible.

Dawn.

Her eyes fluttered open, clouded with exhaustion, her body barely responsive.

June didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, wrapping Dawn in a protective embrace, as if shielding her from the weight of the world.

Dawn blinked slowly. Her gaze found Raga's, and in that brief moment, no words passed between them—but none were needed.

Rey, still kneeling, let out a shaky breath. Then, he bowed his head low before her.

"I'm sorry."

The words came thick with regret—stripped of pride, raw and unguarded.

Dawn, ever the older sister of their ragtag family, sighed. Her body was frail, but her voice held the same familiar warmth.

"Rey…" she murmured. "You always make things harder for yourself, don't you?"

Her hand, trembling but steady, reached out to rest atop his head.

"We'll learn. We'll grow. Together."

And just like that, the bonds of their squad—fractured, strained, but never broken—held firm once more.

But Dawn, as always, was brutally honest.

"You failed to anticipate the sacrificial spell because you were too focused on overpowering a wounded beast," she said plainly. "You got reckless. Still... you're young. I can't expect a certain level of battle IQ from you just yet…"

Her brown eyes shifted to Raga, glinting with mischief.

"…Unlike a certain someone."

Raga sighed. He deserved that.

Rey was still young. This had only been his fourth hunt. The Wendigo had been something else entirely—vicious, intelligent, unrelenting. And in the heat of battle, exhilarated by the clash, Rey had forgotten the bigger picture.

And Dawn had nearly paid the price.

A cold knot twisted in Raga's chest. It wasn't just Rey's mistake—it was his too.

He'd focused too much on strategy, too much on ending the fight quickly, and had underestimated the Wendigo's instincts. If it had chosen to attack instead of flee…

Dawn might not have survived.

The thought gnawed at him, the fear and guilt folding into something heavier than any wound.

And then—warmth.

Dawn's hand, calloused from years of swordplay, despite being a mage, yet impossibly gentle, slipped into his.

He looked at her.

Even weakened, even scarred by the night, she still carried that quiet, unwavering strength.

No words were exchanged.

She simply pulled him closer, her fingers tightening around his. Their foreheads nearly touched.

And then—a kiss.

Soft. Fleeting. Yet heavier than a vow.

'I will protect you with all my might,' Raga swore silently.

***

"I apologise for wasting your time, Lady Sia," Raga said, his voice a mix of regret and relief. "But the hunt's over. Let's move."

Sia gave a short nod. She didn't offer any parting words, and oddly enough, her silence was more reassuring than anything she might've said.

June rose slowly, her legs unsteady beneath her. The exhaustion in her limbs mirrored the toll etched across the others' faces. Dawn and Rey were no better—worn out, sluggish, clearly pushing past their limits.

Raga's tone left no room for debate. "R2 formation."

It was their standard defensive travel pattern. They didn't strictly need it—not now—but it was habit. In lands like these, caution wasn't just smart. It was survival.

Lady Sia stepped to the front, and the others instinctively fell in behind her. The fight with the Wendigo had been brief but loud—too loud. If nearby beasts had been drawn in, they would've struck already. Their kind didn't wait.

Humans were another story.

They planned. They watched. And they struck when exhaustion turned into vulnerability.

And right now, that vulnerability was real.

Lady Sia seemed to sense it as well.

"Dawn has only recovered a fraction of her mana," she said. "That leaves our rear exposed. It's a risk. I'll shift to the centre for coverage. Lord Ragnar, take the front."

Raga nodded. It was a sound adjustment. With Sia anchoring the middle, no attacker would reach the core without hesitation. And if he was up front, they'd at least spot danger before it landed.

"Understood," he said simply.

They began moving again, heading west through the deep sprawl of the Outer Rim—one of the most dangerous wilderness zones in the empire.

Most of the eastern part of the continent wasn't humans land. Roughly 60 to 75 per cent was ruled by mana beasts and untamed wilderness. Civilisation existed in pockets. The Outer Rim was only the beginning. Beyond it lay the Middle Rim, then the Inner Rim, and finally, the Central Rim.

They'd gone further than planned. The Wendigo had lured them too deep, too close to territory better left alone.

Now, they moved undisturbed.

No growls. No shadows. No signs of movement.

Too quiet.

Raga's senses sharpened. The forest wasn't just calm—it was wrong. No wind. No distant howls. Not even birds.

He scanned the treeline, his jaw tightening.

Something was off.

It wasn't that something was watching them.

It was that nothing was.

No predators are circling the scent of blood. No scavengers were drawn to the Wendigo's corpse. No wind through the branches. The silence wasn't natural. It felt like the land itself was holding its breath.

His instincts tensed.

This isn't normal.

He glanced toward Lady Sia. Her expression was unreadable, composed as always. But something told him she felt it too.

She just didn't show it.

And that unsettled him more than anything.

Then—a sharp sound.

A branch snapping cleanly under weight. Not the wind. Not natural.

Raga stopped cold. So did the others.

No one spoke.

Every eye locked onto the forest.

Every breath held.

And the silence broke.

Lady Sia reacted first. In one seamless motion, her hand found her weapon, and her aura flared outward—quiet, restrained, but unmistakably dominant. Her jet-black armour responded instantly, expanding and moulding to her form. Onyx plating shimmered beneath the moonlight like a silent threat.

Raga moved a heartbeat later. Crimson Ultima ignited in his hand, casting sharp red lines across the forest floor. Its weight was familiar. Reassuring.

The rest followed without needing a word. Rey summoned his twin daggers, their edges gleaming like teeth. June's palms lit up as she began shaping a wide-area healing spell, her body tense, focused. Dawn braced herself, mana pulsing faintly around her.

Formation shifted. Weapons drawn. Eyes forward.

To an outsider, it might've seemed like an overreaction to a broken branch. But they knew better.

In this world, every living thing had mana. It flowed through the body like blood, and left a 'mana signature' behind—something seasoned hunters could detect. There were techniques to suppress it, yes, but also counter-techniques like Mana Sense to reveal even hidden presences.

And yet… nothing.

Raga scanned the trees where the sound had come from.

No mana. No presence. No signature at all.

Which left two possibilities:
They were in danger. Or they were already too late.

The R2 formation was gone. A tighter battle formation replaced it. Sia moved to the front, her stance sharpened like a blade. Dawn and June positioned just behind her. Rey flanked their right. Raga took the left, eyes scanning for movement.

They didn't know how many enemies waited.

Only that something was out there.

Sia's voice broke the silence. Calm. Cold. Controlled.

"Show yourself. First and final warning."

Her battle mask slid into place, sealing her face behind black steel. Her mana surged outward—a force without need for words.

Then—movement.

Leaves shifted. Twigs snapped under the weight.

And from the underbrush, a figure stepped out.

Small. Frail.

A child.

"What the fu—" June started, but the words caught in her throat.

"A fucking kid?" Rey muttered, lowering his daggers for half a second, then quickly raising them again.

He couldn't have been older than seven. Messy black hair clung to his face. Pale skin. Tattered cloak. Bare feet. Each shallow breath is visible in the cold.

His eyes—wide and dark—darted from one of them to the next, full of raw fear.

He looked lost. Exhausted. Fragile.

But what truly froze Raga was the absence.

No mana. Not even a flicker. No mana signature. No presence.

Just a void.

A thing that should not exist.

Raga's heartbeat pounded in his ears. 'He's alive! I can see him!? I can hear him!! He's breathing?!"

But nothing registered.

Not to him.
Not to Sia.
Not to anyone.

Even Sia stood still, her gaze fixed on the boy. Her body was coiled, just slightly. Breath drawn tighter than usual. No emotion showed on her mask, but Raga noticed the tension.

Rey and Dawn stood frozen. June lowered her hands slowly. None of them had seen anything like this.

A child.

Alive.

And completely invisible to the world's most basic law.

The silence was shattered by the soft crunch of his foot on the leaves. He took a single step forward.

Instinct kicked in.

Mana surged across the squad—battle reflex, pure and immediate.

And then… nothing.

No attack. No transformation. No trap.

The boy simply stood there.

Watching them.

Terrified.

Silent.

And still… impossibly empty.

Their combined aura should have crushed him.

Even a seasoned warrior would have staggered under the sheer weight of it—flinched, faltered, reacted. The technique, 'Mana force,' wasn't just power; it was pressure, presence, intent. No living being could ignore that.

But the boy stood completely still.

Not resisting.
Not enduring.
Just… untouched.

As if their mana didn't reach him at all.
As if he existed in a space just outside reality.

It wasn't that he was shielding himself.
It was as if nothing about him could be affected in the first place.

'What is this child?!'
'Is he even human?!'

The thought echoed unspoken across every mind in the clearing.

Lady Sia broke the silence, her voice sharpened with mana-infused authority.

"Do not take another step."

The command struck the air like iron, and the boy obeyed instantly.

No hesitation. No fear. Just stillness.

Then, slowly—deliberately—Sia began to walk.

Each step she took echoed across the forest floor, her armoured boots striking with measured finality. The air seemed to grow heavier with every movement, her imposing frame cutting through the tension like a blade. As she drew closer, her presence loomed over the boy's much smaller figure, casting a long, foreboding shadow.

The boy looked up.

His eyes, dark and unreadable, met hers. There was no recognition, no challenge. Just quiet.

Behind them, Rey shifted subtly, sliding into a guarded stance beside Dawn and June. Every instinct told him to stay ready. Every fibre of his body screamed caution.

None of them knew what this child was.

But one thing had become clear.

This boy, this impossible, mana-less anomaly, had just stepped into their lives.

And the world as they knew it would never be the same.