The Fallen One

Sia knelt beside the boy, her voice gentle and even. "Do you have a name?"

He barely moved. Just a small shake of the head—uncertain whether it was a refusal or inability to answer. But he wasn't resisting. That was enough for now.

The boy's small frame trembled with every shallow, uneven breath. His oversized, tattered cloak hung from narrow shoulders, doing little against the cold. In the dim moonlight, his dark brown eyes flicked between the gathered warriors, never settling for long. A lone child in the Outer Rim, with no trace of mana in his body, her instincts screamed that something was very wrong.

She continued carefully, voice low and patient. "Where are you from?"

A pause. Then the slightest shake of the head.

"How old are you?"

No response.

Sia softened her tone further. "Do you have family waiting for you?"

This time, he properly nodded sideways. But his eyes dropped to the dirt, and his body seemed to shrink inward. The answer might've been no, but the meaning behind it was far less simple.

Only then did she notice her own hands had curled into fists. The boy's gaze had caught the movement, and he took a subtle step back. Sia inhaled slowly and relaxed her grip, pushing down the frustration that had crept in.

'He's afraid of me.'

It wasn't surprising. To a child, a fully armoured warrior standing in the moonlit woods probably looked like another monster. She glanced around—her squad had the area locked down. There was no threat, no reason to keep the intimidation.

She reached up and unfastened her helm. The moment it came off, the boy's eyes widened slightly. There was no fear in them this time—just something quieter. Curiosity. His posture eased. The tension in his shoulders loosened, and though his breaths still came unevenly, they were less frantic than before.

Raga stepped in, crouching to the boy's level and offering a few supplies—dry fruits and bread, field rations they always carried. The boy hesitated, hands twitching at his sides, before he reached out and accepted the food. He ate slowly, carefully, as if half-expecting it to be taken away.

When he finished, he bowed deeply. Thin arms were folded as he bent forward in silent thanks. A simple gesture, but a meaningful one. Sia caught the flicker of something in Raga's expression—a momentary warmth, maybe even relief—before he tucked it away behind his usual stoicism.

'Too slow, big man,' she thought, a brief smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Before Sia could speak again, June stepped past them. Her approach was quiet, purposeful. No weapons, just intent. She knelt in front of the boy and gently took his hands, her mana already shimmering faintly at her fingertips. A healer's touch, steady and instinctive.

The boy flinched. Not from pain. From uncertainty. His fingers curled, hovering between resistance and stillness.

"It's alright," June murmured. "I'm just making sure you're not hurt."

But even with her reassurance, his hesitation lingered. Sia understood. To him, they must have seemed like a threat. After all, they'd surrounded him like he was something dangerous, which maybe he was.

She focused again, sharpening her mana sense and scanning him more deeply. Still nothing. No flow. No trace. Not even a hint of residual energy. She hadn't expected much—some people were born with weak cores—but to have nothing? That was impossible.

Even newborns had a faint thread of mana. The weakest creatures. Even plants. Everything in the natural world had mana. But this boy… didn't.

The realisation sent a chill down her spine.

She pushed further, testing instinctively. A sliver of her own mana rippled outward—barely detectable, nothing harmful. Just enough to brush against him.

No reaction.

No flicker in his breathing. No ripple of resistance. No natural absorption. Her mana simply passed through him like wind through smoke.

It was like he didn't exist in the realm of mana at all.

A living void.

Sia stared at him, her voice barely above a whisper as the weight of that truth settled over her.

'…What the hell are you?'

The words were on the edge of Sia's tongue, but she swallowed them, unwilling to let her unease slip into the open. The others had sensed it too—she could see it in the minute shifts of their bodies. Dawn, though still recovering, had straightened slightly, her hand inching toward the hilt of her weapon. Rey's fingers twitched beside his daggers. Even June, the softest among them, had gone quiet, watching the boy with a kind of silent curiosity that bordered on caution.

Yet if the child noticed the change in atmosphere, he gave no sign. He stood there—small, quiet, wrapped in a torn cloak—exhausted but still. The tension that surrounded him wasn't something he created consciously, but it clung to him like fog, refusing to dissipate.

Later, when the group had shifted positions and the boy was no longer flinching at every movement, June crouched beside him with a gentle smile. Her tone was warm, like the first hint of sunlight after a storm.

"Lucius, huh?" she echoed, as if tasting the name. "That's a fine name for a good boy like you, dear little Lucius."

He nodded shyly, his reaction earnest—almost endearingly so. June beamed, clearly delighted, then gestured dramatically toward the armoured woman beside her.

"My name's June," she said cheerfully. "And this lovely lady right here is Lady Sia Machangel. Isn't she beautiful?"

Lucius nodded again, this time more eagerly, and June laughed softly. The tension that had gripped the clearing seemed to ease, dissolving little by little in the warmth of that interaction.

It was an odd, almost surreal sight—this innocent exchange between a wide-eyed boy and a battle-weary healer, set against the backdrop of a cold forest and armed warriors. Lucius's eyes, though tired and wary, held a glimmer of something softer now. Something less guarded.

Sia watched him quietly, noting how he carried himself—not like a child, but like someone used to looking over his shoulder. Used to not trust what was offered.

Beside her, Raga exhaled slowly. She could feel the impatience in him, the weight of every second they spent standing still. His grip on his sword tightened unconsciously. He wanted to move. He always did.

But June was far from done.

"And that big man over there?" she continued, pointing with exaggerated flair. "That's my Captain, Lord Raga. Or…" She grinned impishly. "Mr. Thickhead, as I like to call him."

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Raga shot her a glare that could've flayed flesh. It didn't faze her in the slightest.

She giggled instead, as if daring him to try.

Once June had finished her whirlwind introductions, she gestured lazily toward Rey and Dawn. Dawn, still recovering from her earlier exertion, was too exhausted to respond properly, barely keeping herself upright. Rey stood silently behind her, his posture sharp, one hand always near his blades. His eyes scanned the forest's edge, alert to threats, visible or not.

Even without turning, Sia could sense the way his mana pulsed in quiet readiness. His instincts were reliable. If anything tried to catch them unaware, he'd be the first to act.

Under normal conditions, they would've already moved on. But with Dawn weakened and now a child in their midst, the pace had slowed. Judging by Dawn's breathing and mana flow, Sia guessed she'd be fit to travel within thirty minutes.

Until then, they waited.

June, unbothered by caution or urgency, continued talking to Lucius. Her voice remained soft, filled with warmth, drawing the boy out of his shell one word at a time. And he responded—quietly, cautiously—but without flinching.

Every so often, he glanced toward Sia. Not in fear, but in search of reassurance.

His gaze lingered a moment longer each time, as if trying to decide whether her presence was truly safe. Sia met his eyes once and gave him the smallest of nods.

It seemed to be enough.

For now.
When June finally stepped away from Lucius, a faint shimmer of residual mana trailing her fingertips, she returned to Dawn's side with a quiet nod. The timing couldn't have been better. If her remaining strength could accelerate Dawn's recovery, they might yet move before the horizon gave way to full morning.

Sia turned to Raga with a questioning glance, her brow lifted in silent inquiry—Would he prefer to take the lead now?

Raga met her gaze, but shook his head. "You'll fare better than me in this," he muttered under his breath, posture tense as he resumed his quiet watch of the treeline. Whatever lay beyond it kept him on edge.

Sia sighed inwardly. Typical.

Aside from June, her squad had never been one for open dialogue. Rey remained silent, as he had from the beginning, his distance more rooted in instinct than in disregard. Even now, his eyes flicked across the shadows with a hunter's caution, never settling on the boy for more than a second. As for Raga—ever the pragmatist—he hadn't spoken to Lucius once. Their silence wasn't cruel, but it was telling. They didn't yet trust what stood before them.

Sia stepped forward, brushing her hand gently across her cloak as she approached Lucius. The boy straightened, his posture shifting subtly—not with fear, but with… anticipation. His lips twitched upward, hesitant but unmistakable.

She returned the smile, surprised at how easily it warmed her.

"Well then, little Lucius," she said softly, crouching slightly to meet his gaze, "do you mind sharing how you found us? Were you following our trail? Or did you just happen upon us by chance?"

She already suspected the truth. There was no sign that he had tracked them deliberately. No mana signature. No trail. Just… presence. Sheer coincidence—if such a thing could exist in these lands.

And in truth, if it had been another squad, one less cautious, less human, Lucius would not have made it through the night. The Borderland forests were not kind. Not to strangers. Not to children.

Especially not to anomalies.

Sia studied him closely, her thoughts darkening.

He shouldn't be alive.

Not without mana.

Mana was life in this world—woven into breath, into blood, into everything. Even beasts and trees carried a baseline presence of it. Yet this boy had none. Not a flicker. And still, he stood here. Blinking. Breathing.

Awake.

It had been nearly an hour.

If the Empire learned of him, they would come. Take him. Dissect him. She had seen what happened to children who broke the rules of nature.

Lucius shook his head, snapping her from her thoughts. "No," he said, voice small but certain.

His brow furrowed as he sought the right words. Finally, he spoke again, slowly: "I just… had a feeling."

Sia tilted her head. "A feeling?"

Lucius nodded. "I didn't know where I was going. Just that… I had to go this way."

A chill ran down her spine.

Something in his voice—soft, honest, untouched by pretence—stilled her breath. She didn't like the implication.

Was it instinct?

Or something far older?

Before she could question him further, June's voice called out across the clearing. "Lady Dawn's awake!"

Sia turned just in time to see Dawn pushing herself upright. Her frame trembled, arms shaky with the effort, but her eyes burned with familiar determination. June supported her carefully, her hands steady against Dawn's back.

Raga caught Sia's eye and gave a tight nod. It's time.

Sia returned the gesture, preparing to issue the command—

"L-Lady Sia…?"

The voice stopped her cold.

Lucius.

His tone held none of the innocence from moments earlier. It was thin, frayed, shaking with something deeper than fear.

Sia turned swiftly.

The boy stood utterly still. Frozen. Eyes wide. His gaze locked eastward, toward the dark line of trees where the sky had just begun to pale with the approach of dawn.

His skin had gone pallid, his breath shallow, erratic.

One trembling hand lifted halfway, reaching—not for safety, but for her.

Sia followed his gaze.

Beyond the treeline, shadows shifted. The world held its breath.

A dread settled into her bones.

Something had breached the edge of their awareness. Not a beast. Not quite mana.

But something.

Lucius took a single step back, lips parted in silent recognition. The hairs on Sia's neck rose.

And then, before she truly understood-

SWOOOSHHHH.

Dozens of dark, condensed arcs of mana tore through the air, emerging from the dense foliage with violent precision. They crackled with lethal intent, each one distorting the space around it, carving jagged lines of destruction through the clearing. This wasn't a reckless ambush—it was a calculated strike, orchestrated to wipe them out in a single moment.

Worse still, the attacks weren't random.

Some were aimed directly at Lucius as well.

Sia moved without thought.

She seized the boy's arm and yanked him toward her, her grip iron-strong. The pressure of the incoming assault prickled against her skin, thick with killing force—a heat that promised oblivion. In the same breath, her other hand snapped to the hilt of her blade: Rare Death.

A surge of mana coursed through her veins, awakening the sleeping fury within the weapon.

The first arc reached them.

Sia slashed downward, raw mana bursting from her strike. The resulting clash detonated in a blinding flash, thunderous, chaotic. The ground split beneath her feet, shockwaves tearing through the clearing.

And then came the explosion.

The impact slammed into her like a siege ram, hurling her backwards. Trees shattered in her wake, splintering into lethal shards. Her body crashed through trunk after trunk, each one giving way beneath her armoured form until she finally hit the forest floor, crumpling hard against the earth.

Agony bloomed like fire through her side.

Her right arm burned—no, screamed—with pain, electric and raw. Her breath came ragged. The air reeked of scorched bark and ionised mana. Her ears rang with the aftershock, but she forced her mind to focus.

Lucius.

She staggered upright, driven by instinct alone. Her right arm hung useless at her side, nerves severed or stunned. She scanned the wreckage—trees collapsed, dirt torn into blackened trenches.

And then she saw him.

Lucius stood a few paces away, somehow already on his feet. His tiny frame trembled from the impact, but his gaze was sharp—aware. He wasn't running. He wasn't frozen.

He was moving.

Toward her.

Dragging her sword.

The blade was far too heavy for him. Its enchanted weight pulled at his arms, but he refused to let go. Step by shaking step, he crossed the distance, grit carved into every line of his face.

"Miss Sia! Are you alright?!"

His voice rang out, cutting through the chaos like a blade of its own—urgent, cracking with fear.

Sia exhaled sharply. "I'm fine," she rasped, though the words were half a lie. Her arm was useless. Her body ached from the collision. She could already feel the damage settling deep into muscle and nerve.

Seven arcs. She'd intercepted most—but not cleanly. Her right arm pulsed with blistering heat. No mana poisoning. But the pain screamed of torn ligaments, maybe worse. She tried to move her fingers.

Nothing.

Damn it.

She'd made a tactical error. She should have braced with both hands. She should have anchored her mana more defensively. But in that moment, her instinct had chosen Lucius over form...

Yet, the battle wasn't over.

A second explosion thundered to her left, smaller—but devastating. The surrounding mana twisted, then collapsed.

A signature had vanished.

Her chest tightened.

Not now. Not yet.

Lucius stumbled the final step toward her, arms trembling, knuckles white around Rare Death's hilt. His body shook with effort, but he refused to stop.

He reached for her hand.

A warmth, small and earnest, pressed against her fingers. Not powerful. Not infused with mana. But real. It was a promise.

He didn't understand this battle—not truly.

But he understood this moment.

Sia closed her eyes for the briefest second.

Then, with a breath, she took the blade.

Her left hand curled around the hilt—lightly at first, then tighter. Rare Death responded immediately, its heat blooming like wildfire along its edge. Flames licked the steel, hungry and eager. Her armour pulsed, flaring with crimson mana, wrapping her in a living flame.

Pain ebbed away beneath the surge.

The scent of fear, ash, and blood faded. All that remained was purpose.

The shadows ahead shifted.

Sia rose to her full height.

The edge of her blade burned brighter now, casting flickering light across the ruined clearing.

She saw them now—shapes moving in the trees.

The enemy.

Who—or what—they were didn't matter.

Only one truth remained:

This was an equal match.