High above the quiet sprawl of Varis, the lunar walls stretched like a great silver serpent encircling the city. Built with enchanted marble and fortified by centuries of mana inscriptions, they loomed over the outer sectors like guardians carved by the gods themselves.
Several outposts dotted the wall's spine—small reinforced watchhouses manned by thousands of Lunarknights. Even in these times of relative peace, their vigilance never wavered. Beast hordes were a rarity now, reduced to whispers thanks to the corruption that had swallowed the wilderness beyond. Ironically, the Empire viewed the corrupted beasts as a blessing—a brutal solution to an older threat.
Above the great Golden Gates, the largest and most imposing entrance into Varis, stood the primary command post. Unlike the modest garrisons scattered across the walls, this one bore the weight of prestige. Reinforced by mana-forged steel and arcane shielding, it had the space and authority to house command decisions that could sway wars.
Within this high perch sat Captain Mercy, recently promoted and already a legend in the making. His name carried respect across garrisons and noble circles alike. Clad in a greyish-blue cloak that rustled softly in the wind, Mercy lounged back in a reinforced chair, one leg propped up on another opposite him. The night breeze filtered through a narrow window, tousling his hair and stirring the papers on the round table beside him.
Maps. Patrol routes. Beast sighting reports. A glass of amber-hued liquor caught the moonlight as he sipped it with tired grace, eyes half-lidded, observing the formations of Aerial Knights in the distance. Their wings shimmered in tight formation, gliding silently across the starlit skies.
"Why so down, Captain?"
The voice came like a whisper but carried the presence of a blade—silent, sharp, and far too familiar. Mercy's brow twitched. He didn't turn. He didn't need to.
"I should have my men impale you for invading a command post," he muttered, still sipping, brushing back a strand of hair with idle fingers. "From their perspective, this would look like a breach."
"Your men," the voice replied with a smirk audible in its tone, "didn't even sense me. If I were here for your head, we'd be having a very different conversation."
Mercy exhaled sharply through his nose—part irritation, part amusement. "Not tonight, Lucius. I'm not in the mood for riddles or power games. It's been a long week."
Lucius stepped into view from the shadows, the dim moonlight revealing his left arm holding something small and metallic. His long black coat fluttered behind him as he approached the table and placed an object down with gentle deliberation.
The moonlight glinted off its polished surface—it was an emblem, stained with blood and soot. The insignia of a fallen comrade, a friend.
Mercy's eyes narrowed, and his glass halted mid-air.
"You went after them…" he murmured.
Lucius nodded once. "One-hundred ninety-five. And a half."
Mercy grimaced faintly. "I meant—how long did it take?"
"Four hours. Twenty minutes," Lucius replied coolly, his voice flat but not without pride.
Mercy gave a slow nod, masking his satisfaction. He was proud—though he'd never say it aloud.
"You're efficient," he admitted. "Brutally so."
Lucius didn't respond. His gaze was elsewhere—lost in thought.
Then he asked, "Why?"
Mercy tilted his head. "Why what?"
"Why did you take responsibility for me?" Lucius said, finally turning his full gaze on him. "That day I arrived in Varis... you didn't know me. You weren't obligated to help. Yet you risked your name, your position, and possibly your damn future for a kid you'd never spoken to."
He leaned forward, hands resting on the edge of the table.
"I get why Uncle Rartar vouched. He had no choice. If he hadn't, Sia would've crushed him with one glare and a sentence. But you… You're not sentimental. You calculate risk like a damn ledger. So why?"
Mercy didn't answer immediately. He swirled the contents of his glass lazily, pretending to ponder, though his silence was more to buy time than offer wisdom.
Lucius waited, arms folded, posture rigid. For once, he wasn't hiding behind shadows or games. He genuinely wanted an answer.
After a moment, Mercy sighed and leaned forward, hands clasped over the table.
"I don't know," he said.
Lucius's expression twisted in disbelief.
"I'm serious," Mercy added. "Sia asked. I looked at you. And something told me yes. No logic. No strategy. Just… a pull. A voice in the back of my head saying, 'Protect this one.' That's it."
"That's bullshit," Lucius snapped, rising to his feet, pushing the chair back with a screech of wood against stone. "That's the same fate-driven nonsense everyone says when they can't explain their hypocrisy."
He turned toward the window.
"You're all the same," he muttered.
"Are we?" Mercy's voice rose slightly. "What about you, then? What about that time you 'accidentally' found Ragnar and his team in the depths of the Ghastwood? You were what—Eight? You told us your instincts led you to a group of dying men over five hours away, hidden under layers of enchanted terrain. Sound familiar?"
Lucius froze halfway through stepping onto the ledge.
"I asked you a question, 'Prodigy of the Machangels'," Mercy mockingly continued. "Why won't you face me? Is it because you lied all those years ago?"
The mana in the air thickened. Pressure rose like a storm cloud building in the still of the night.
Lucius's body tensed, and in response, his own mana surged—cool, controlled, but undeniably potent. Shadows swirled around him, and the illusion of invisibility peeled away like mist under sunlight.
From outside the door, steel clanged. Guards rushed in, weapons drawn and flaring with colored mana.
"Stand down!" Mercy barked, his voice cutting through the tension like a whip. "This is between him and me."
Reluctantly, the knights halted. Their eyes flicked between their commander and the cloaked young man who dared to match his presence.
Lucius stepped down from the ledge, mana still swirling around his limbs like a second skin.
"So what, Mercy?" he said, voice low. "You're calling me a liar now?"
"I'm calling you familiar," Mercy said, rising to his full height, his aura now completely unmasked. The pressure hit like a tidal wave, raw and deadly. He was no longer hiding his rank. An SS-ranked Elemental Knight, forged through training and conflicts, honed through near-death experiences. His mana bore the cold, relentless signature of water sharpened into blades.
Lucius held his ground, but the sheer force made the room hum with suppressed violence.
"This is pointless," Lucius growled. "You know my story. You saw how weak my core was back then. I couldn't sense them. I was just… lucky."
"Liar," Mercy said simply.
Lucius didn't flinch, but his fingers curled tightly at his side.
"You experienced what I did. A pull. An instinct. You followed it and found something that changed your life. Just like me. So don't sit there and pretend you're better or more logical than the rest of us."
There was a silence. A long one.
"…Just leave," Mercy finally said, his voice weary again. "I've had enough tonight. Do me a favor, Lucius—don't show your ungrateful face around here for a few days. I don't care where you go. Just not here."
He turned his back, pouring another drink.
Lucius stood there, breathing hard, mana still radiating from his skin.
"…Fine," he muttered. And with that, he turned, walked to the window again, and leapt out. His figure disappeared into the night wind, long black hair whipping behind him like a flag retreating from war.
Mercy didn't look up. He just stared into his drink, swirling it once.
"Questioning my noble intentions... Ungrateful bastard," he muttered. But his lips twitched, just slightly.
Lucius, still seething from the conversation with Mercy, leapt out of the command post window without so much as a second glance. The wind tore against him like a thousand biting blades, lashing his coat and whipping through his long black hair. With a flick of his wrist, he secured the strands behind his ear, silently cursing how everything—everything—tonight had felt like a test he didn't ask to take.
His boots hit the narrow spine of the Lunar Wall with a sharp thud. From this height, Varis stretched before him in all its midnight glory—silver-tinted rooftops glistening under moonlight, veins of roads illuminated by crystal-lit lampposts, and watchtowers pulsing faintly with mana wards. The city he had called home for nearly a decade looked so serene from up here… yet inside him, chaos churned like a storm held back by brittle dam walls.
Lucius walked slowly, his hands shoved into his pockets, head bowed slightly. His irritation hadn't faded—but clarity had begun to creep in like a cold draft. Mercy was his superior. More than that, he had been the one to put his name on the line for a complete unknown—an abandoned child with no elemental affinity and no lineage to boast of.
Lucius clenched his jaw.
He should go back and apologize.
And yet, something inside him resisted.
A voice? A gut instinct? Or maybe just his own stubborn pride?
Whatever it was, it froze his steps.
So instead, he stopped near the outer edge of the wall. With the wind tugging at his coat and the faint murmurs of night patrols behind him, he stood at the brink, just staring. Below lay the world he'd clawed his way through: alley fights, library floors, underground rings, and the battlefield… all compressed into this sweeping, beautiful city. Varis was chaos and order, cruelty and mercy. He loved it. He hated it. He belonged to it.
And perhaps, more frighteningly… it belonged to him.
But his stillness drew attention. The knights stationed nearby, perched in shadowed alcoves and elevated turrets, shifted uneasily. Their eyes hadn't missed how close the young man stood to the edge. Nor how tense his stance was.
One of them—a senior knight in polished armor dulled from use—approached cautiously.
"Oi, kid," the knight called, voice low but firm, not unkind. "You should get going. Captain Merc already dismissed ya, didn't he? Come on now. I'll escort you down—"
As he reached out, his gloved hand mere inches from Lucius's sleeve—
Lucius jumped.
There was a flash of movement—barely visible—and then nothing but air. The knight lunged forward with a panicked curse, fingers just grazing fabric before it slipped away into the abyss.
"SHIT! HE JUMPED!" the knight roared, calling for backup as other sentries rushed over.
But Lucius was already gone, free-falling in silence.
Mana-walking was impossible at this point—there were no surfaces beneath his feet. He had launched himself far past the reach of the wall, plummeting headfirst toward what should have been a brutal death. The speed of descent caused his ears to ring, his coat to flap violently around him, and his limbs to be nearly numb from the pressure.
But he did not panic.
Instead, Lucius closed his eyes.
He let go.
He surrendered control.
And then... the mana came.
Not his, but the wind's.
He could feel it in the deepest part of his core—responding, not resisting. The air around him shimmered, then twisted, then howled. It swirled around his body in concentric spirals, forming dozens of micro-vortexes, each precisely aligned to his descending trajectory. His fall slowed—not jarringly, but smoothly, like sliding down an invisible slope.
Above, the knights stood frozen. What they saw was insane enough—an uncontrolled dive off a wall that should have ended with a body splattered across cobblestone. But what they sensed was far worse. The mana… the raw, unfiltered draw of elemental essence… it wasn't learned. It wasn't cast.
It was innate.
Lucius didn't force the wind to obey. It chose him.
Moments later, he landed softly on the reinforced earth at the base of the wall, crouched and calm, as though he had simply stepped down a flight of stairs. He didn't bother looking back until the knights peered over the ledge above.
He raised his arms with a dramatic flair and bowed mockingly.
"Thanks for the concern," he called, sarcasm thick in his voice. "Truly—your faith is touching."
And just like that, he turned and vanished into the thin line of trees separating the outer city from the Lunar Wall—a newly cultivated buffer zone designed to trap invaders, though tonight, it offered him nothing but quiet cover.
Home
Lucius entered his home without a sound.
The moonlight spilled through the tall windows of their modest residence, silvering the stone floors and flickering across the paintings and weapon racks along the walls. It was warm inside—Sia's doing, no doubt.
She was on the sofa, curled up with her feet tucked beneath her, head lolling slightly as if she'd drifted between sleep and waiting. Her red-and-black silk gown shimmered faintly, draped across her frame like molten midnight. Her long red-black hair spilled like ink over the cushions, and her breathing was slow, but alert.
Lucius almost smiled.
"Sia," he said quietly. "You're up. I thought Adrianna had you on a strict schedule—early bedtime and all that for whatever cursed meditation she's made fashionable now."
At the sound of his voice, Sia's crimson eyes fluttered open. At first, they were dazed, slow to adjust. But the moment they recognized the silhouette, they sharpened with something between relief and exasperation.
"Lucius?" she muttered, blinking rapidly. "Gods, don't sneak up on me like that—I thought you were a burglar."
"In a black coat?" Lucius asked, lifting a brow. "Bit dramatic, don't you think?"
"You blend in like a damn wraith. And your voice is colder than one." She rubbed her temples, sitting up slowly.
Sia hadn't changed much in ten years. Maybe a few lines etched from stress and sleepless nights, but even those only added to the nobility of her face. Her beauty was timeless, the kind that seemed forged by will rather than vanity. Crimson eyes. Ivory skin. A presence that made people sit straighter without realizing it.
Lucius approached her and stood silently in front of the couch.
Sia rose to meet him, now several inches shorter. She tilted her head up just to meet his gaze, one hand brushing his hair behind his ear, almost absently.
"When did you get taller than me, my little one?" she whispered, a small smile curling her lips. "More importantly—why?"
Lucius chuckled. "Growth comes with age. Both physical… and mental."
Sia rolled her eyes and walked toward the dining area. "Smartass. You could've written a letter, you know. Or maybe come home on time."
He followed her, sheepishly. "I met with Edward. And Mercy. Things… got tense."
He didn't mention Adith. Not yet.
Sia, already lifting the lids off warm containers, didn't need the details to guess the rest. Her jaw tightened.
"Of course they did."
She handed him a plate, then sat beside him as he began to eat. Her cooking was still as good as ever—seasoned to perfection, warm and grounding. For a moment, Lucius felt like a kid again.
Midway through the meal, he reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy bag of coins. "Here," he said. "From the strokedeer. Use it however you want."
She accepted it silently, stashing it in her storage ring. It wasn't about the money—never had been. But the gesture… the intent behind it… that mattered.
When he finally told her about the argument with Mercy—minus the murder—her expression darkened.
"You messed up," she said flatly. "Mercy isn't like the others. He's one of the few in power who still sees beyond bloodlines and politics."
"I know," Lucius said quietly. "I'll apologize."
Sia nodded, appeased for now.
She was about to speak when he interrupted her.
"Can I ask you something?"
That tone—serious, unflinching—made her pause. She hated being interrupted, but something in his voice made her yield.
"…Go on."
Lucius looked at her, eyes steady.
"Why did you save me that day?"
Sia blinked.
She didn't ask which day. She knew. The question had been buried beneath their relationship for years—never brought up, never demanded.
And now… here it was.
She exhaled, her gaze softening.
"I don't know," she admitted, echoing Mercy's answer with startling similarity. "Back then… You were just a tired, starved and half-dead child with eyes too sharp for your age. And yet… something in me screamed not to leave you behind. It wasn't logical. It wasn't pity."
She paused.
"It was instinct."
Lucius was quiet.
He nodded.
Maybe for once… he believed her.