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 lingering beneath his silence. Still, they chose not to pry. Some wounds are best processed in solitude.
Lunch passed quietly. Sara and Lavya eventually bid their farewells. Lucius accompanied them partway, walking in silence until they reached the edge of Market Road. A nod was exchanged. No words. Then, he turned back.
He returned to a quiet home. Inside, he found Sia where he'd left her—still drained, her eyes half-lidded with fatigue. When he approached, concern tugging at his brow, she waved him off with a gentle gesture.
"I'm fine," she whispered hoarsely, "Nothing you need to worry about."
Lucius frowned but didn't press. Sia had always been stubborn about showing weakness.
After making sure she'd taken her medicine, she shifted her weight slightly and looked at him with a faint smile. "You handled Lavya well," she murmured, voice 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 smile. "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, gently 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 the standard there now. And honestly?" Lucius 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 argue. She was fading fast, the weight of her illness settling in.
"Time's up," Lucius said quietly. "Rest now."
He moved with practiced ease, scooping her into his arms in one fluid motion. Sia didn't resist—she hadn't in years. Once upon a time, she used to argue with him about the "princess carry," but she'd long given up. Somewhere along the line, she had started to enjoy it.
Lucius laid her down gently on the bed, removed her sandals, and pulled a maroon blanket over her frame. He tucked her in with care, smoothing the edges around her shoulders. Then, without a word, he crossed the room, shutting the windows, drawing the curtains, and turning down the lamps.
As he reached the door, he turned and looked 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 forward, and kissed her gently on the forehead. Then, with a slow wave of his hand to ease her shut eyes, he slipped out the door.
Afternoon warmth blanketed the city. Though winter was near, the sun still reigned over the cobbled streets, casting golden glows onto the faces of vendors and children alike.
Lucius walked aimlessly, hands in his coat pockets. His mind ran loops around three names—Sia, Mercy, Lavya. Each tied to him by different threads, each pulling in their own way.
He wore a light outfit—something Sara had gifted him months back. A beige, full-sleeve long coat draped over his usual black shirt, though he'd refused to change his pants or boots. Some habits clung like scars.
As he rounded a corner, his attention faltered—and he nearly collided with a woman chasing a child through the crowd.
Lucius reacted instantly, stepping aside with a controlled shift. But the woman, panicked and rushing, couldn't adjust in time. Her foot caught mid-turn. She tumbled forward—
—and Lucius caught her at the waist before she could hit the ground.
"Ah—I'm so sorry," she gasped, eyes wide. "I didn't mean to—thank you, I—!"
She wasn't just apologizing.
She was afraid.
Lucius didn't need to look hard to see the fear. It clung to her voice, her trembling fingers, her inability to meet his gaze. Not embarrassment. Not clumsiness.
Fear of him. Fear of a mage.
A child darted up from behind. A girl, maybe seven years old, with soft black curls and wide light-brown eyes. She looked almost identical to her mother.
Lucius understood immediately. Both of them were different. Not just poor. Not just marginalized.
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 at the quiet threat behind his words. Lucius turned his attention to the child.
He knelt, lowering himself to her height.
"What's your name?"
"Aurora, my lord," she chirped, unafraid. Pure. Unaware.
Lucius smiled. "Aurora... That's a lovely name for a brave little girl."
He offered her a handshake. She took it eagerly.
"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... I'm sorry. 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 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. Helped. Kneelt.
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."
He stepped out of the alley.
And kept walking.
***
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 practiced 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 armor?" she asked. "With Knightcrawler plating, I can upgrade it without compromising mobility."
Lucius shook his head. "No. I prioritize offense. Speed, strength, precision. Heavier armor 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 day's encounters—Sia, Mercy, Lavya—but didn't allow himself to get tangled in them. He compartmentalized, 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.