The Fallen One

Lavya was the first to return, rejoining them after spending a few minutes alone. Though he didn't say much, the others sensed the unrest simmering beneath his silence. Still, they chose not to pry. Some thoughts and realisation are best processed in solitude. Lunch passed quietly. Eventually, Sara and Lavya bid their farewells. Lucius walked them partway, their footsteps quiet along the fading edge of the market Road. At the fork, a silent nod was exchanged—no words, no promises. Then Lucius turned back.

He returned to a hushed home. Inside, he found Sia right where he'd left her—still drained, eyes now half-lidded with fatigue. As he approached, concern evident in his brow, she waved him off with a small, dismissive gesture. "I'm fine," she whispered hoarsely. "Nothing you need to worry about." Lucius frowned but didn't argue. Sia had always been stubborn about showing weaknesses.

After ensuring she'd taken her medicine, she shifted slightly and looked at him with a faint smile. "You handled Lavya well," she murmured. Her voice was low, but warm. "Your words were sharp, yes—but not without care. Cruel in delivery, perhaps… but not in intention." Lucius allowed himself a small, proud smirk. "I think I'm getting better at explaining things," he said, almost like a child showing off a gold star. "At least enough to rattle his mindset without crushing it."

Sia nodded in agreement. "You made a clever move—tying in that false-class theory with the nobles' hypocrisy. Lavya hates them. That'll push him to sharpen all aspects of his combat. Not just his arrows." Lucius tilted his head slightly, correcting her. "It's not a theory, Sia. It's the truth."

She blinked at him. "The nobles—the real ones, in the cities—they've already figured it out. Blending knight techniques with mage theory. That's standard there now. And honestly?" He shrugged. "I can't even blame them. It's not the nobles that bother me—it's the commoners. They're the ones too stupid and lazy to see it."

There was no venom in his tone. Just a cold, detached clarity. Sia didn't respond. She was fading again, her illness pulling her back under. "Time's up," Lucius said quietly. "Rest now." With practised ease, he scooped her into his arms. Sia didn't resist—she hadn't in years. Once upon a time, she would have argued about the "princess carry," but she'd long since stopped. Somewhere along the way, she'd even started to enjoy it.

Lucius laid her gently on the bed, removed her sandals, and pulled a maroon blanket over her. He tucked it around her shoulders with care, smoothing the folds like a ritual. Then, wordless, he crossed the room—shutting the windows, drawing the curtains, dimming the lamps.

At the door, he turned to look back. "I'll be gone a few hours," he said softly, "but I'll be back before you wake." Sia, barely conscious, managed a faint nod. Her lips didn't move, but her eyes fluttered. That was enough.

Lucius stepped back, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then, with a slow wave of his hand to ease her eyes shut, he slipped out the door. The afternoon was warming the city. Though winter neared, the sun still reigned over the cobbled streets, casting golden hues on vendors, children, and swaying signs alike.

Lucius walked aimlessly, hands tucked in his coat pockets. His mind looped around three names—Sia, Mercy, Lavya. Each was tied to him by a different thread. Each is pulling in its own direction. He wore a light outfit—something Sara had gifted him months ago. A beige full-sleeve coat draped over his usual black shirt. He hadn't bothered changing his pants or boots. Some habits clung like scars.

As he rounded a corner, distracted by thought, he nearly collided with a woman chasing a child through the crowd. Lucius shifted quickly, sidestepping with grace. But the woman, panicked and rushing, couldn't adjust in time. Her foot caught mid-turn. She stumbled forward, and Lucius caught her by the waist before she could fall.

"Ah—I'm so sorry!" she gasped, eyes wide. "I didn't mean to—thank you, I—!" But her words weren't just rushed. They were frightened. Lucius saw it instantly—the fear in her voice, the tremble in her hands, the way her gaze avoided his. It wasn't embarrassment. It wasn't clumsiness.

It was fear. Of him. Of a mage. A child ran up from behind. A girl, perhaps seven years old, with soft black curls and wide light-brown eyes. She looked almost identical to the woman—her mother, most likely.

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Lucius understood in a heartbeat. They weren't just poor. Or marginalised. They were mana-less. "I know," he said calmly. "Be at ease. I'm not one of those mages. But... not everyone's as kind as me. You'll want to remember that." The woman froze. It wasn't a threat. Not exactly. But the warning was clear.

Lucius turned his attention to the girl. He knelt to her level, lowering his voice, "What's your name?" "Aurora, my lord," she chirped, unafraid. Pure. Unaware as Lucius genuinely smiled. "Aurora… That's a lovely name for a little soul."

He offered her a handshake. She hesitated, then took it eagerly like the hesitation never existed in the first place. "I'm Lucius. Nice to meet you." She giggled, delighted. Lucius ruffled her hair gently. "Next time you run off like that, remember—your mother might get hurt chasing you. You don't want that, right?"

Aurora turned to her mother, whose eyes had softened just a little. She shook her head quickly. "Good girl." Lucius stood, brushing off his coat. "Now then. I'll take my leave. Goodbye, both of you."

He turned to go, but the mother hesitated. "... My lord—before you leave—thank you. And... Thank you for not calling my daughter a... a mutt."

Lucius froze. His breath halted, that word, that cursed word. He didn't look back. Didn't let his expression slip. He forced his poker face into place and nodded once, curtly. Then he stepped away, into the nearest alley, disappearing from the public eye. Inside, he was boiling; his mana was reacting as well, ready to unleash onto the surroundings.

Mutt, a word soaked in rot. A slur. Once upon a time, people like them were called "Nmanas"—neutral mana, zero capacity. Then the slang emerged. Mutt. Short, vicious. Easy to scream. Easy to write off, and worst of all? It wasn't the nobles who birthed it. It was the commoners.

The very people who'd been oppressed for generations... had turned on those even lower, coining the term to separate themselves from the "true bottom." A perfect cycle of hate. Just like humans stepping on ants. And those ants, in turn, tear into anything smaller.

Lucius clenched his fists. His memories stirred—of when Sia and Rartar first adopted him, and guests whispered behind curtains. Compared him to those... mutts. He had hated them. Still did, on most days. They were a burden. A waste. He had always avoided them—never spoke, never looked, never cared, even when they were beaten or mocked or dragged through mud by those with mana.

And yet, today? He spoke to them, helped them, and knelt before them. Why?

Lucius didn't know. And that disturbed him more than anything else. He wiped his hands on his coat as if to cleanse the moment from his skin.

"...Whatever," he muttered. "Today was that woman and her daughter's lucky day." As the words settled, he stepped out of the alley, resuming his walk towards his destination.

***

Master Lucius, how noble of you to visit my humble shop…" The woman behind the counter wore a black-and-white fitted suit that hugged her slim frame with professional grace. Her brown hair was pulled back into a sleek twist, not a strand out of place. Emerald eyes narrowed with practised focus as she watched Lucius inspect the new arrivals displayed beneath polished glass.

"No 'hi'? No 'hello'?" she said, resting her chin on her gloved hand. "You break my heart, truly." Lucius didn't even glance her way. "Sonia. Not today," he said, tone flat. "Where's Sonic?" That was all she needed to hear. Her teasing tone dropped like a blade into a sheath. "He left about an hour ago. Had business to handle." She straightened. "So. What brings you here?"

"My dagger and sword need repairs and reinforcement." He placed them on the counter, along with a bundle wrapped in leather. "Use the material I acquired—Strokedeer claws, Knightcrawler shell. No questions asked. Name your price, just make sure this doesn't leave the shop."

Sonia untied the bundle and eyed the contents with a brief flicker of surprise that quickly vanished. "Understood." She slid the coins he placed toward her—but didn't take them. "What about your armour?" she asked. "With Knightcrawler plating, I can upgrade it without compromising mobility."

Lucius shook his head. "No. I prioritise offence. Speed, strength, precision. Heavier armour slows me down. I don't want it." Sonia chuckled under her breath but didn't argue. "My brother… he's preparing for a very important discussion. Until that's settled, we're not taking any payment from you."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" She nodded firmly. "He'll be back in half an hour. You can wait, or return later." "I'll wait," Lucius replied without hesitation. "But no need for your tea. I'm not in the mood for small talk." Sonia gave a faint sigh and returned to the counter. "Suit yourself. You're just as charming as ever."

He offered a half-hearted "thanks," more reflex than sincerity. Sonia didn't respond. The air between them settled into a quiet tension—not hostile, not warm, just… professional. Lucius took a seat at the far bench. The scent of iron, oil, and scorched leather lingered in the air, a familiar perfume for anyone who spent time around forged things. He leaned back slightly, letting his gaze drift to the blades on the wall, but his mind stayed busy.

He replayed the past two days' encounters—Sia, Mercy, Lavya—but didn't allow himself to get tangled in them. He compartmentalised, as always. There were things he needed from Sonic. Answers. Guidance. Perhaps even an update on the items he'd asked to be custom-forged. One thing was certain—until he had those weapons back in hand, upgraded and silent as death—he wouldn't rest.