THWACK
The boy looked down—at the ferocious claw impaling his chest.Thrown by a soldier into the beast's path, to save the leader of the group.
He staggered forward, no chance to brace himself, no time to run.Only the crashing impact of claws tearing through flesh.
He was young—barely eighteen—but his body bore more stories than most men twice his age.A lean, reedy frame, stripped of nourishment, wrapped tightly in rags that once resembled a tunic.His skin was pale, marred by countless scars—some healed, some fresh—each one a silent testament to pain, obedience, survival.His arms were roped with subtle muscle, the kind forged not through training, but through labor.His hands were calloused, trembling, yet steady—trained by repetition, beaten into compliance.
But it was his eyes that made him unforgettable.
Crystal blue.
Not the soft, sky-like blue of peace, but sharp—icy, almost inhuman.They seemed to pierce through the world, detached, distant.As if they were always watching from behind a wall of frost, untouched by warmth or emotion.Eyes that once reflected dreams... now reflecting nothing.
He didn't scream when the beast's claws sank into his chest.He merely gasped—a sharp, restrained sound—before collapsing to his knees.The beast's talons had drilled into him with terrifying precision, and yet the group behind him showed no panic, no remorse.
Lucian coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.His vision blurred—not from pain, but from something colder.Something far more familiar.
Resignation.
It was just another hunt.Another day under the golden sun of the world, where people basked in glory and heroism, hiding their inner ugliness.So it was with this little group of warriors.
To any distant observer, these men and women might have seemed noble—brave defenders of the kingdom risking their lives for the greater good.But a closer look would reveal the rot beneath the heroism.
The pain blooming in his chest, sharp and suffocating, was nothing new.By now, he knew it as intimately as breath itself.As the beast snarled above him, blood dripping from its jagged maw, Lucian's gaze didn't flicker.A soft bluish-yellow shimmered in his irises—the telltale spark of the Behavioral Ability of Wit.
A split-second analysis.
The beast was fast, but not immune to patterns.The way it tensed its back legs before pouncing, the slight twitch in its shoulder before it struck—it was predictable.In the breath between blinks, Lucian gathered the fragmented pieces of its rhythm and reached inward, calling on the current etched within him.
Crack.
A bolt of lightning tore down from the heavens, crashing into the creature's spine.The shock arced through its muscles, locking its limbs and seizing its jaw mid-snarl.It dropped, paralyzed, smoke curling from its fur.
Before Lucian could draw another breath, a hand gripped his hair.
Roughly.
Painfully.
The leader of the group—dressed in polished steel and arrogance—yanked Lucian to the side like a ragdoll.Lucian's thin frame hit the ground with a dull thud, dirt and blood smearing his already tattered cloak.
"Move, mutt," the man growled.
With a practiced flourish, the leader unsheathed his ornate sword—a gleaming relic bestowed upon him by the Kingdom of Heilen—and brought it down in a clean arc.The weapon sliced through the frozen beast, its death a mere formality.
The group cheered.
Not for the kill—but for the show.
One of the warriors, a man with a crooked nose and the kind of laughter that scraped like rust, walked past Lucian and sneered."Aww… Poor Verlain. You hurt?"
Mockery echoed from the others—chuckles, whispers, jeers.It was the kind of laughter meant to belittle, to remind him of what he was.
Another snorted. "Careful, he might cry this time."
Lucian didn't answer.He didn't raise his head.He didn't even blink.
A common man might have screamed in rage, leapt at them, cursed their names, vowed vengeance through blood and fire.But Lucian Verlain was not a common man.
In truth, he didn't even know their names.
Why should he?
There was no value in remembering the names of insects who basked in borrowed authority.No satisfaction in proving oneself to people whose power rested solely on status.
Besides, Lucian didn't feel anger.
It was not that he couldn't—it was that he wouldn't.Anger required a sense of justice.Hatred needed personal investment.Lucian had long discarded both.
These men were merely acting as nature dictated—the strong belittling the weak, the wolf devouring the lamb.It was not cruelty. It was law.The superior devoured the inferior.The strong reigned over the weak.The world turned on that law, and Lucian had no illusions of being anything other than prey in their eyes.
Lucian rose from the bloodstained grass in silence.
His limbs ached. His ribs throbbed.Dirt clung to his clothes, mixing with sweat and dried blood.He looked ragged—pathetic, perhaps.A stray wind tousled his unkempt hair, revealing bruises blooming across pale skin.His crystal blue eyes, usually unreadable, flickered with something even he couldn't name.
The others had already turned away.The monster's corpse lay sprawled across the field, its body now little more than a resource to harvest.The warriors huddled together, picking apart the high-value parts—the claws, the fangs, the glimmering core within its chest.Their chatter was casual, like workers on a lunch break.
Lucian stood apart. Forgotten. Discarded.The battle was over. So was his usefulness.
"Let's go. We're leaving," the leader barked, not sparing a glance in Lucian's direction.His voice carried no weight of authority—only habit.He wiped blood from his blade and sheathed it, his cloak fluttering as he turned away.
As the group began its march back to the kingdom walls, he added over his shoulder, "Don't fall behind.We're not bothering to come back for you."
Lucian didn't respond. He never did.
The others moved in loose formation, chatting, laughing, comparing their spoils.Lucian followed several paces behind, not out of discipline, but because that was the unspoken rule.Stay behind. Stay quiet. Stay invisible.
He walked like a ghost—present, yet absent. Even to himself.
But the silence in his head was louder still.
He didn't know what he was thinking.Or if he was thinking at all.There were no coherent words, no clear emotions.Just noise. An eternal fog of muted understanding.Nothing made sense—but maybe it wasn't supposed to.
Further up the line, a voice spoke hesitantly.
"Uhm... why are we treating him like that?" asked a boy—barely out of adolescence, with wide eyes and a furrowed brow.His name was Rayen, the team's newest recruit. His armor was still polished.His idealism hadn't yet been scuffed away by the world."Didn't he just help us? If he hadn't paralyzed that beast—"
"Shhh," muttered the older soldier walking beside him, casting a wary glance toward the leader."Don't think too much about it, kid. That's just how it is here. You're new, so you wouldn't understand."
Rayen frowned. "But… he's not just some ordinary guy. I saw it—he used at least three Behavioral Abilities.That's rare, right? Really rare. Shouldn't someone like him be a knight, or—?"
"Listen here, kid," the soldier cut in, his voice lowering. "You don't know how it is. You don't get it."He leaned closer, eyes hard."Don't try to get yourself in trouble. You'll make it worse trying to stand up for him."
"But I seriously don't get it, why would—"
"Is something the matter?" The leader of the group suddenly appeared behind them, cutting into Rayen's words.
"I-it's nothing, Boss. We're fine over here," the man spoke up quickly, trying to cover for them.
"Oh, it's something alright..." The leader smirked cruelly as he grabbed Rayen by the collar."You think you're so heroic, trying to stand up for him?" he scoffed.
Rayen gasped in fear, his words caught in his throat.He was innocent, naive—and perhaps today was the day he would be introduced to the real world.
The leader began to unsheath his sword—When a hand stopped him.
The hand was rough and calloused, like that of a laborer.It was Lucian.
The leader turned, looking at Lucian as if he were trash.
The leader spoke only one word.
"Move."
"Lord Blaze wouldn't appreciate his guest being harmed," Lucian said, voice calm, cold.He hated invoking that name—but if it kept Rayen alive, so be it.
The leader scoffed. "And what if I don't care?"
"Then I would be compelled to take action."
"You talk a lot for a lowly slave," the leader sneered. "You couldn't match me in a hundred lives..."He drew his sword fully now, eyes gleaming with cruelty."Allow me to put you back in your place."