I wasn't sorry.
Not even a little.
I should've been. I should've felt something—remorse, guilt, hesitation. But when I replayed the fight in my head, all I felt was… exhilaration.
Not anger. Not blind rage. Nothing reactive. It was joy. A deep, buzzing thrill—like I had found something I'd been missing my whole life.
That wasn't normal.
That wasn't sane.
And yet—I wanted to feel it again.
The rush.
The waves.
Because that's what it was. Not a metaphor. Not just adrenaline. I heard them. The tide rising, the current pulling—stronger, deeper. And somewhere in that vast, endless blue, I felt something calling.
I clenched my fists. My knuckles were still sore. Did I break something? Maybe. Didn't matter. The bruises would heal.
But the memory wouldn't leave me.
That moment.
That exact moment when everything flipped.
When the first bolt of lightning should've ended me.
When I should've lost.
But instead, something inside me had whispered—
"Osmosis."
It wasn't my thought. It wasn't even a voice.
It was a knowing. A single word that came with meaning attached, like instinct. Like it had always been there, waiting for me to hear it.
I touched my chest absentmindedly. The blue-green glow—was that really Aether?
No. It was something else.
Aether didn't work like that. It didn't consume, it didn't absorb. It didn't feel like—like drinking in the world itself.
I exhaled slowly, grounding myself.
I have questions now.
Too many to ignore.
I needed answers. I needed to know what the hell had happened to me.
And if no one could give me the answer—
I'd find out myself.
But regardless of how I felt, I had caused a commotion. On my last day, no less. While my uncle was inside… again.
He'd be pissed. Later.
For now, I just walked. Following the Headmaster through the halls, my body still buzzing from the fight. My skin tingled where my muscles had torn and healed, my breath steady despite the lingering ache in my limbs. I should've felt exhausted. Instead, I felt aware. Hyper-aware. Like something was still shifting inside me, adapting.
Osmosis.
That word still clung to my mind, sinking deep. I needed to figure out what the hell had happened back there.
But first… this.
We reached his office. Standard setup. A desk, a chair, a computer, a nameplate that read:
"Headmaster Jean-Paul Lyricus Solari."
Not many decorations. He didn't seem like the sentimental type. But there were two photos—one on the desk, another on the wall. Both had the same little girl in them. One was just her. In the other, she was with a woman—probably his wife.
A silver pendant hung around his neck, shaped like… a harp? Maybe?
It suited him.
The Headmaster shut the door, stepping behind his desk. His expression was unreadable—but his eyes carried something close to confusion.
I shifted slightly, crossing my arms. "…Hello, Headmaster. How are you?"
He studied me for a moment, then took his seat. "I'm doing well, Lucian." A pause. Then, with a slight sigh, "I'd ask the same, but I have a feeling you have something else on your mind."
Jean's gray trench coat fluttered slightly in the faint breeze as he adjusted his glasses. His silver hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. Violet eyes—sharp, unreadable—peered through the lenses.
He looked composed. Youthful, despite his presence carrying the weight of someone who had seen far too much. The deep brown of his skin contrasted against the crisp white of his tailored suit, the well-groomed beard adding to his air of quiet authority.
He'd always been like this. Calm. Unshaken. A man who could see straight through you without ever raising his voice.
…And yeah, he looked young.
You should've seen him back then—HAHAHAHA…
I cut that thought off before it went anywhere. Now wasn't the time for distractions.
Jean-Paul sat across from me, hands clasped together, elbows resting on his desk. His gaze wasn't harsh or condemning, but analytical—like he was piecing together a puzzle he hadn't known existed until now.
"You realize how much of a mess you've made, right?" he asked finally, his voice carrying the calm weight of an impending storm.
"Yeah, I know," I said, stretching my fingers, still feeling the faint tingling of power lingering beneath my skin. "But if I'm being honest—and since we're already here—I just wanted to let off some steam." I leaned back in the chair, unfazed. "So why not choose the people who annoyingly tormented me?"
Jean-Paul sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Lucian, letting off steam is one thing. Hospitalizing four students—especially those four—is something entirely different."
I scoffed. All I train is breath control and techniques. You assigned me to all the combat classes, and when I was getting jumped or messed with, everyone just stood there. I had to take it. No one did a damn thing." I glanced down at my hands, flexing them, a slow grin creeping up. "So no, I don't care about what I did to them."
Jean-Paul exhaled through his nose, his fingers drumming against the desk. "That's the problem, Lucian. You're saying that now, but I need you to understand that this isn't something that goes away. Do you have any idea who those boys are? What Syndicates do their families belong to?"
"Of course I do," I said, meeting his eyes. "Jason Rowan, son of a Black Winter commander. The Black Winter—the most feared strike force in the North. Xavier Marvin—Mirror of Sunlight. A Syndicate known for their intel-gathering. No one moves without them knowing. Anthony Gates, heir to All Gates Inc., the people behind Rift research and Aether technology development. And Rion Quinzell—the Beast Sage Syndicate. One of the biggest names in monster study and containment. Yeah, I know exactly who I just crippled."
Jean-Paul's expression darkened. "Then you understand why this is bad, right?"
I shrugged. "Bad for who? Me? Them? You?"
Jean-Paul clenched his jaw but said nothing. I continued.
"I do understand that I just messed up a lot of them—probably permanently. Maybe they'll recover, maybe they won't. Maybe they're scared now. But that's not my problem. I could have shown restraint… I just didn't feel like it."
Jean-Paul sighed again, rubbing his temples. "Lucian. You don't get it. They won't let this slide."
"They can try something if they want," I muttered under my breath.
Jean-Paul gave me a hard look. "You're leaving tonight, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I remember 'he' told me they found 'one' around the Delwit Park woods. I was against it at first, but after today? Since I'm leaving anyway, tonight is my only chance."
Jean-Paul's eyes narrowed. "And what, exactly, are you planning to do, Lucian?"
I smiled. "Experiment."
For the first time in this conversation, Jean-Paul looked genuinely unsettled.
"Lucian… what are you?"
A good question.
One I intended to find the answer to.
Jean-Paul's sharp hazel eyes bore into me, searching for something—hesitation, uncertainty, maybe even guilt. But he found none of those things.
"Lucian," he said, leaning forward slightly, his fingers steepled, "there's something I need you to understand. Whatever happened to you out there today… it wasn't normal."
I smirked. "Yeah, I got that part."
His jaw tightened. "I'm not talking about your physical abilities. Even without a developed core or circuits, your body's naturally stronger than most. That alone puts you above the others. But this—this was something else."
He shifted, exhaling slowly before continuing.
"When I was training you all, I categorized you as a Flow Fighter—someone naturally gifted with strength, speed, and endurance. It made sense. You couldn't use Aether. You never showed any potential for it. And now, out of nowhere, you absorb it? You siphon it? If that's what I saw you do out there. That's not something that just happens, Lucian.
I tilted my head, thinking back to the fight. "Osmosis."
Jean-Paul's brow furrowed. "What?"
"The word came to me during the fight. When I was taking their Aether, it was like… my body knew what to do. Like it wasn't the first time. But I never did it before. I think... that's what it's called."
Jean-Paul rubbed his temples, sighing heavily. "So you're telling me… your body instinctively developed an ability? On the spot?"
I shrugged. "Apparently."
His fingers tapped against the desk, a slow rhythm of contemplation. He was processing, calculating outcomes. Then, with a sharp breath, he straightened his posture.
"You need to leave."
I raised an eyebrow. "I'm already leaving."
"No, Lucian. You need to disappear."
The room was quiet for a moment.
Jean-Paul wasn't one to panic. He wasn't one to overreact. So if he was saying this, it meant something bigger was at play.
"You don't get it," he continued, voice low and serious. "You didn't just cripple those boys. You publicly humiliated them. And then—you showed an ability no one has seen before. There were witnesses, Lucian. Do you think their families—these Syndicates—are just going to let that go?"
I exhaled through my nose, tilting my head back against the chair. "Tch. So what? They're gonna put a bounty on me?"
Jean-Paul didn't answer.
Which meant yes.
I let out a laugh. "Seriously? That's their next move? They're that soft? They lose one fight and decide to kill me over it?"
Jean-Paul's eyes hardened. "This isn't a schoolyard fight, Lucian. The Syndicates rule the world. They decide who rises and who falls. And you? You just made enemies of four of them before you even left the Academy."
He leaned forward, voice lowering even further. "And worse? You showed them something new. Something dangerous. You showed them an ability they don't understand. And the one thing these Syndicates fear most... is what they don't understand."
A slow grin spread across my face.
"Good."
Jean-Paul sighed again, shaking his head. "You're impossible."
I stood up, stretching, rolling my shoulders. "I was never meant to fit in their little world, Jean. If they want to hunt me down? Let them try."
Jean-Paul was about to respond, but then—
The door creaked open.
My uncle stepped in.
And he did not look happy.
His dark eyes locked onto me, cold and unreadable, then shifted to Jean-Paul. "How bad is it?"
Jean-Paul exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It's worse than I thought."
My uncle's jaw tensed. His eyes flicked back to me. "So you got into another fight, Lucian? You just couldn't help yourself."
I shrugged. "Yep. I'm going to the woods. Sigh."
His glare sharpened. "It's not what you think, Uncle. They came after me first—I was defending myself. It's not fair to say I started it." My voice was steady, my eyes solid.
"So you're saying you had to fight? There was no other option? Like, I don't know—getting someone of authority?" His tone turned sharp, and I saw it—the telltale sign. Arms crossed. Back straight. That meant he was pissed. "No, you didn't. You got hot-headed and ran into another fight. And this time, you didn't just win, Lucian. You wrecked them."
My lips twitched into something between a smirk and a grimace. "Well, they're still breathing. Mostly."
"Lucian."
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Look, I get it. I went too far. But let's not pretend those bastards were innocent. I've taken their shit for years. Today was just payback with interest."
Jean-Paul cleared his throat. "Jamie, you don't understand. Lucian's ability—whatever it is—it's not normal. He didn't just fight them. He absorbed them. Took their Aether. Broke them down like it was instinct."
Uncle Jamie's expression didn't change, but I saw it—the brief flicker of something in his eyes. Something that told me he knew more than he let on.
"You don't have time for lectures," Jean-Paul continued. "The Syndicates aren't waiting. They're already moving."
Uncle Jamie turned on his heel, already heading for the door. "You wanted to let off steam? Well, congratulations, kid. You just kicked a damn hornet's nest."
Jean-Paul's voice grew tense. "They don't waste time. If they sent out word already… Lucian, you need to disappear."
I frowned, my body tensing on instinct. "What's going on?"
My uncle's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "We don't have time for this. Grab your things. We're leaving. Now."
I didn't hesitate.
I turned back to Jean-Paul, forcing a smirk. "Well, Headmaster, thanks for everything. Sorry for the headaches."
He studied me for a long moment. "Farewell, Lucian… please be safe out there. But most of all, remember—"
I cut him off with a wave, already walking away. *Always protect my freedom and my peace, even if that means taking a couple of defeats.**"
I don't know if I really believed those words yet.
But I sure as hell was about to find out.
We stepped outside, the afternoon air thick with something unspoken. My uncle moved ahead, cutting around the front of the car, but before he got in, he and Jean-Paul exchanged a look.
A look that told me they had already made up their minds about something.
I acted like I didn't notice, tilting my head slightly and slipping one earbud into my right ear before he could catch me. The moment he sat in the driver's seat, the air in the car shifted—heavy, charged, like a storm just waiting to crack open.
Silence.
The hum of the car filled the space between us, punctuated only by the occasional bump in the road. Neither of us spoke. Not once.
I glanced out the window, watching the streets blur past in streaks of steel and neon, the city humming with life beyond the glass, thinking of the new place I'm soon to move to. Vesperia. The capital of the world. A place where dreams and nightmares coexisted like old friends.
I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the seat. My body still thrummed, every nerve alive with the echoes of the fight. The feeling still lingered—that high. That rush. The memory of Aether bleeding into my body, the phantom sensation of power flowing through my veins, pulling me deeper into something I didn't understand.
Osmosis.
That name—it wasn't just a thought. It was something more. Something instinctual. I had felt it. The way my body drank in the energy, how it responded without hesitation.
My fingers curled unconsciously.
What the hell am I becoming?
I peeked at my uncle from the corner of my eye. His grip on the wheel was tight, his jaw locked. He wasn't looking at me, but I knew his mind was already running circles around the problem I had just created.
I thought about breaking the silence. About telling him what I had felt back there.
But I didn't.
Not yet.
The road stretched ahead, the city swallowing us whole.
The only question now was—what the hell was waiting for me on the other side?
He was the first to break it.
The road stretched ahead, the city swallowing us whole.
I could feel it before he even spoke—the weight pressing down on my shoulders like an invisible hand. His Aether, thick and heavy, radiated through the car, making the air dense with unspoken words.
A-Rank Wave Riders had something called Aether Density—a byproduct of their mastery. When someone reached a certain level, their very presence became overwhelming, a pressure that could break weaker minds and bodies.
Right now, my uncle wasn't even looking at me, but I could feel every bit of his disappointment.
The silence didn't last long.
"So would you like to explain yourself? Or will I have to?"
His voice was calm. Too calm. His hands never left the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. But I wasn't an idiot. The storm was there, beneath the surface, waiting.
I swallowed. My heart was still racing, but I forced myself to breathe evenly. He wasn't going to let this slide, so I might as well lay it out.
"They've been messing with me for years," I said, voice sharp, edged with something bitter. "And every damn adult tells me the same thing—'Oh, just ignore them. If you ignore bullies long enough, they'll stop.'"
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Lies. They don't stop. They get worse."
His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles paling.
"So yeah," I continued, my pulse hammering in my ears. "I fought them. I fight them every time they push me because I refuse to be their punching bag. I refuse to let them walk all over me while I 'be the bigger person.'"
I turned to him fully now, meeting his profile with unwavering eyes.
"I don't feel bad for them. I don't care."
The moment the words left my mouth, his Aether dropped. The pressure vanished in an instant, and the car suddenly felt… emptier.
Silence.
I watched his expression shift slightly, the rigid lines of his face softening—not in relief, not in anger, but something in-between. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, quieter.
"I taught you to defend yourself, Lucian. But not at the expense of someone else."
I scoffed, leaning back in my seat, arms crossed. "Yeah, well, they weren't showing me any mercy either."
His eyes flicked toward me for just a second. "You're not the same as them. You know that, don't you?"
That made me pause.
His tone wasn't accusatory. It wasn't judgmental.
It was a warning.
Something cold crawled down my spine.
"You're different, Luci," he said, looking back at the road. "And that means things will be harder for you. You need to control that temper of yours—before it controls you."
I hated the way that sounded. Like a lesson. Like something I should be grateful for.
But deep down, I knew he was right.
I looked down at my hands, flexing my fingers. The feeling of the fight still lingered—the rush, the power, the hunger.
Was that just my temper? Or was it something else?
I clenched my fists. "Whatever."
Uncle sighed, shaking his head slightly. "We'll finish this conversation at home. But we have more to discuss than just this."
I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Your Headmaster told me some things," he said, voice unreadable. Your Aunt and I need to go over them with you. Until then, just go inside and finish packing."
That was it. Discussion over.
He put the car in drive, and we pulled away from the school, heading home.
But my mind was already racing ahead.
What the hell did Jean-Paul tell them?
"Sir, I know you asked me not to press the issue, but about the child, Lucian... What happened today?"
Rose's voice was steady, but there was a sharp edge to it. The kind that meant she already knew I wasn't going to like what she had to say. She stood in front of my desk, arms crossed, her sun pendant earrings swaying slightly as she shifted her weight. Dressed in a deep red blazer over a burnt orange shirt, her stance was firm—no-nonsense as always.
She continued, eyes narrowing. "Do you think this has something to do with what the disciples of Delphe's Eye spoke about?"
I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temple. Of course she'd bring that up.
"Rose, listen to me carefully." I met her gaze, leveling my tone. "Send word to him. Tell him this: 'Raziel Delmar has started to open their eyes. They're on their way to Vesperia. Be on watch.'"
For a brief moment, Rose's hard expression faltered, just slightly. But she recovered fast, scoffing under her breath. "And?"
"And..." I forced a small, tired smile, though my mind was clouded with concern. "How's the kid? Must be hard watching someone as gifted as them and knowing they'll never be yours."
Her lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. "Fuck you, Jean."
I chuckled, but there was no humor in it. Just exhaustion.
Rose's tone turned razor-sharp. "And you're one to talk. You let yours walk away with a wolf in sheep's clothing. We all saw it, Jean—his 'uncle'? That wasn't his uncle. Which means his aunt was the one we were looking for, isn't that right?"
I didn't answer. I didn't need to.
She took a step forward, her voice low but carrying the weight of her accusation. "You're going to let that kid fall into the wrong hands because the higher-ups said to leave it be? What the hell is the kid's deal anyway? Why go through all this secrecy?"
I sighed, the weight of the situation pressing into me like an iron chain. "Look, all we know is that somehow he's connected to the prophecy The Eye spoke about."
Rose's gaze burned into me.
I continued. "You know The Crone's Eye Faction is more than just some backroom cult. They're the messengers of the gods—of something beyond even them. They receive prophecies, messages we don't always understand, and relay them to us so we can prepare."
I turned, staring at the bookshelf against the far wall, but my eyes weren't looking at it. "The prophecy was first told ten years ago. Then, it was repeated this year. January first."
I let the words hang in the air for a moment before reciting them.
"Beware the Salt Queen's Last Wave,
For only the True King, reborn from despair,
Can seal the breach or cast all into endless night.
For he will be the last wave of the old,
And the beginning tides of the new."
A chill settled over the room.
Rose exhaled sharply. "And you think that applies to Lucian?"
"I don't think." I turned to face her again. "I know."
She clenched her jaw but didn't argue.
I ran a hand down my face. "But there's something The Eye isn't telling us. Today, Lucian displayed more power than he should have. A lot more. And for a moment..."
I hesitated.
For a moment, I was certain he was going to kill them.
Rose's expression darkened.
I continued, voice quieter now. "A beast was coming out. A monster. And that monster... loved to fight. Loved it too much."
I could still see it. That damn smile. The way he looked at them. The way his body moved. The way the air around him changed.
A deep unease curled in my gut. "That kid… he wasn't just fighting back, Rose. He was enjoying it. That wasn't anger. That wasn't fear. That was pure thrill."
The words settled between us like a lead weight.
Rose's gaze flickered, conflicted for just a second before she buried it under another layer of frustration.
"Jean," she said, tone softer this time, "we need to do what's best for everyone. But I get it. It's not easy."
I scoffed. "No, it isn't."
I turned back to the window, watching the sky darken outside.
"Little did I know…" I murmured. "I already started it."
As we pulled into the driveway, the sight of the house brought a mix of relief and dread.
It looked normal. Neat. Ordinary. A well-kept suburban home with a welcoming front porch, warm lights glowing from the windows. A place that was supposed to feel safe.
But I knew better.
Inside these walls, everything was a carefully constructed illusion—a stage for the twisted play that unfolded behind closed doors.
The living room was cozy in all the ways that counted: plush furniture, soft lighting, tasteful decor. But it wasn't real. It was too curated, too perfect. The photos on the walls—smiling faces, a picture-perfect family—felt like props in some sick charade of normalcy.
And my room? Red and black decor. Racing-themed. A reflection of someone I was supposed to be. A sanctuary built for a version of me that didn't exist anymore.
Uncle Jamie stood next to the car, arms crossed, silent. His posture, his presence—it screamed discipline. A military man through and through. The way he carried himself, the way he expected perfection, the way his eyes told you when you had already disappointed him before he even spoke.
Tonight was no different.
He wasn't in uniform, but the authority never left him. Just a polo shirt and jeans, yet the air around him was suffocating.
Then there was Aunt Sarah.
Elegant. Sharp. Always poised, always composed. Dressed to perfection—stylish, yet never flashy. Her dark hair in a neat bun, glasses perched just right, every little detail as calculated as the words that left her lips.
She played the role of the loving caretaker with chilling accuracy.
We stepped inside, and the calm atmosphere wrapped around us like a snake.
The scent of dinner filled the air—something hearty, rich, warm. A deception. A distraction.
We sat at the table. The meal was served with practiced grace. The conversation? Casual. At first.
School. Sports. The weather.
And then—
The shift.
Aunt Sarah, setting down her fork with the faintest clink against the porcelain, turned to me. Her smile unwavering.
"So, how was school today, Lucian?" Her tone was light. Too light.
I shrugged. Neutral. Controlled. "It was fine. Nothing special."
Uncle Jamie didn't look at me immediately, but I could feel the weight of his gaze. Measuring. Calculating.
Then—his voice. Steady. Too steady.
"I heard there was a bit of excitement today."
I froze. Just for a second.
"Something about a… scuffle?"
The air thinned. My grip on the fork tightened. "Yeah," I said, forcing nonchalance. "There was a little fight. But it wasn't a big deal."
Aunt Sarah's eyes narrowed slightly. The smile stayed.
"Fights are never just 'little,' Lucian." Her voice was soft. Too soft."They have consequences. Don't they?"
I swallowed. Nodded. "I know. It just… got out of hand."
Uncle Jamie leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed. His stare was unreadable.
"You need to learn to control your temper."
I swallowed hard.
Not like other kids.
It was a phrase they'd always thrown at me. Like a mantra. A quiet warning. A reminder that I was different—that their expectations sat heavier on my shoulders than anyone else's.
But different how? They never told me that part.
The only thing I knew for sure was that anything less than perfection was unacceptable.
Aunt Sarah reached across the table, placing a delicate hand over mine. The warmth of her touch was an illusion. Nothing was comforting about it. Cold. Calculated. Empty.
"We're just worried about you, sweetie," she murmured, voice dripping with manufactured concern. "We want you to succeed. To be the best you can be."
I pulled my hand away.
"I know." The words felt like dust in my mouth. My eyes stayed locked on my plate.
A heavy silence settled over the table.
No one spoke. No one moved. But the weight of unspoken expectations sat thick in the air, pressing into my chest like a slow-building storm.
Uncle Jamie was the one to finally break it.
"You understand the problem, don't you?" His voice was low, measured—but the edge was there. The tension. The warning.
I didn't look up. I didn't want to see his face.
"You didn't just pick a fight today, Lucian. You picked a fight with the wrong people."
I clenched my fists beneath the table.
"They came after me first." My voice was steady, but I could feel something simmering beneath the surface. An old, familiar heat.
"Doesn't matter," he shot back. "You broke them. And now their families will come looking for us."
That got my attention. My eyes snapped up to meet his.
Syndicates.
Jason Rowan—Black Winter of the North.
Xavier Marvin—Mirror of Sunlight.
Anthony Gates—All Gates Inc.
Rion Quinzell—Beast Sage of the West.
All of them.
Major players. Powerhouses. Families with reach and influence in every corner of the world.
I had crippled their sons. And now they were coming.
"We need to leave. Tonight."
Aunt Sarah sighed, dabbing her mouth with a napkin like we were discussing the weather and not my impending execution.
"Start packing, Lucian," Uncle Jamie said. "Say your goodbyes. We're out of here in an hour."
I didn't hesitate.
I pushed away from the table, chair scraping against the floor, and left.
I made my way through the dimly lit hallway, feet moving faster than my thoughts. I didn't even know where I was going until I stopped in front of her door.
Caree Uriel McLyion.
The only person in this house who didn't see me as a problem to be fixed.
I knocked once.
"Come in, Lu."
Her voice. Warm. Familiar. Safe.
I stepped inside.
She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, a sketchbook balanced on her thighs. Her room smelled like ink, old books, and the faint scent of vanilla lotion. The walls were lined with paintings—her work. She was always drawing something.
She looked up at me, deep brown eyes catching the dim light.
"Something's up," she said immediately.
I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah. We're leaving."
Caree frowned, closing her sketchbook. "Leaving? As in—?"
"Tonight."
She stared at me for a long moment, then swung her legs off the bed and stood. She was tall—not as tall as me, but close. Five-foot-nine, built strong. She wasn't just any A-Rank Mage—she was one of the best. The only reason she hadn't joined a Syndicate yet was because she was waiting for her application to Vermillion Pheasant.
The Number One Syndicate.
She folded her arms. "Who'd you piss off?"
"All of them."
A long pause. Then she sighed, shaking her head. "Of course you did."
I gave her a half-smirk. "Wouldn't be me if I didn't."
She huffed, walking over and smacking me upside the head.
"Dumbass."
"Ow—hey!"
"You're out here making enemies with Syndicate families?" She crossed her arms again, tilting her head. "You got a death wish or something?"
I didn't answer. Because I didn't know.
Silence stretched between us.
Caree sighed, dropping onto her desk chair, spinning it to face me. "You know, for someone as smart as you, you suck at planning."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. "I'm working on it."
She studied me for a second, then suddenly smiled.
"Come here."
I frowned. "Why?"
"Because I said so, dumbass."
I rolled my eyes but stepped closer.
She reached out—then smacked the hell out of my forehead.
"OW—what the—!"
"That's for making me worry." She smirked.
Then, before I could complain, she pulled me into a hug.
I froze.
"Be safe, Lu." Her voice was softer now. "I know you don't want to leave, but… I have a bad feeling about this. Just promise me you'll watch your back, okay?"
I hesitated. Then, slowly, I raised my arms and hugged her back.
"Yeah. I promise."
I hesitated. Then, slowly, I raised my arms and hugged her back.
"Yeah. I promise."
But as I pulled away, something gnawed at the back of my mind.
"Wait." I frowned, taking a step back. "You're not coming with us?"
Caree's expression shifted—just slightly.
"Nah," she said, forcing a casual shrug. "I'm staying behind. Gotta finish packing things up."
I narrowed my eyes. "Packing things up? For what?"
She exhaled through her nose, then reached over to her desk, flipping open a sleek black envelope—the kind reserved for official Syndicate notices.
My stomach dropped.
"No way."
Caree smirked, flipping the envelope between her fingers before handing it to me. "Got my acceptance letter. Vermillion Pheasant."
I stared at the letter, feeling a weird mix of emotions.
Relief. Pride. Dread.
"When?"
"I leave in a couple of days. Just gotta finalize everything here first. But yeah—officially a Pheasant now."
I ran a hand through my hair. "So that's why you're not coming. You're not packing up our stuff—you're packing for yourself."
She shrugged again, but this time it felt forced.
"Pretty much."
For some reason, that didn't sit right with me.
"You could still come with us, though. Just long enough to lay low, then catch your transport to VP later. It'd be safer that way."
She scoffed. "Lucian, I'm A-Rank. And I'm officially Syndicate-affiliated now. Nobody's coming after me."
That wasn't the point.
I knew nobody would touch a newly recruited Pheasant. But something in my gut twisted at the thought of leaving her behind.
"Just doesn't feel right," I muttered.
Caree smiled, shaking her head. "You're acting like I won't see you again."
You won't.
I didn't say it. But the thought sank deep into my mind, heavier than it should've been.
Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was the lingering rush from the fight.
Or maybe it was something else.
Because for some reason, as I looked at her, the image blurred.
I didn't see Caree sitting at her desk, smirking at me.
I saw her lying in a hospital bed, unconscious, tubes running into her arms, a machine beeping rhythmically in the background.
I blinked. The vision was gone.
But the feeling remained.
"Lucian?" Caree raised an eyebrow. "You good?"
"Yeah." My voice was hollow.
She studied me for a second longer, then smirked. "C'mon, don't look so mopey. This is what we always talked about, right? Going pro? Making something of ourselves? You get your big adventure, and I get to be a badass on the best team in the world."
I forced a smirk. "So basically, I get stuck doing all the work while you sit pretty in VP?"
"Hey, I earned my spot, okay?" She nudged my shoulder, rolling her eyes. "I didn't just beat up a bunch of Syndicate brats in an afterschool program—"
"Wow. Alright. Damn."
Caree snickered.
For a second, things almost felt normal.
Then Uncle Jamie's voice rang through the house. "Lucian! Time to go!"
My stomach twisted again.
Caree stretched, rolling her shoulders. "Guess that's my cue to say goodbye."
I nodded.
But I still didn't move.
"Lu?"
I looked back.
She grinned, giving me a lazy salute. "You better not forget me when you get all famous and shit."
I smirked. "Not a chance."
And then I left.
I hesitated for a second, glancing at my uncle, who was pulling bags from the trunk. His jaw was tight, his movements sharper than usual. He was still pissed.
But there was something else. Something I couldn't put my finger on.
"Now or never."
"Hey, Uncle… I know we need to leave," I started, keeping my voice even. "But do you think I have time to head to the park? I need to say goodbye to Vallen and the team."
Uncle Jamie paused mid-motion, throwing me a sidelong glance. His expression was unreadable, but I could see the gears turning in his head. Calculating. Measuring the risk.
"Tch." He exhaled through his nose, standing up straight. "Five minutes."
I blinked.
"Wait?"
"I said five. That's it."
I nodded quickly, already stepping back toward the sidewalk. "Thanks."
"Lucian."
I froze. His voice had that edge to it.
"Be smart."
I nodded again, but I didn't say anything. I just turned and walked.
The night air was crisp, the wind carrying the scent of damp earth and distant street food. The city still hummed with life, but here, in the quieter districts, the neon lights of Vesperia barely reached past the high-rise buildings.
I pulled out my phone, shooting a quick message.
Me:Yo, you at the park?
The reply was almost instant.
Vallen:Duh. Thought you dipped already, traitor.
Me:Shut up. Be there in five.
I sighed, shoving my phone back into my pocket. I was running out of time. This was it—the last goodbye before everything changed.
The park wasn't far. Just a few blocks down. But with each step, a weird weight settled in my chest.
A feeling.
Like I was walking toward something bigger than just a simple farewell.
Like this moment… was the last quiet one I'd get for a long time.
And I had no idea why.
But I didn't stop walking.