CHP NO 13. AN EIGHT YEAR OLD, AFTER ALL

Left Dominated?

A skill? An ability? Or maybe… a Class! It sounds mysterious as hell, and with the way Sia's looking at me, I'm guessing it's something positive. Right?

"Are you listening?"

Huh? What?

"Yeah, yeah, fuck yeah! I mean—of course... What were you saying?"

She hates when I zone out on her, and right now is absolutely not the time to test her patience. She's about to drop something big on me—something that might change everything.

Sia folds her arms, eyeing me with that unreadable expression of hers, then says, "Ahem, as I was saying, you're a Left Dominator."

Wait. She's sure? Just ten minutes ago, right after our spar ended, she said, "I think you might be a Left Dominator." Might be. And now she sounds completely certain?

I squint at her. "Wait, hold up. What the hell is a Left Dominator?" I ask, politely, of course.

Sia exhales, as if bracing for a long explanation. "In simple terms, you're left-handed. In complex terms, you're entirely left-oriented. You don't just favor your left hand—you favor your entire left side. Every attack, every defense, every movement in our fight revolved around your left limb, your left leg, even your left shoulder. Even when you used mana push to accelerate, your instinct was to lead with your left foot. That's not normal, Lucius. That's why you're a Left Dominator."

…Huh. I blink at her, absorbing the information.

She leans forward slightly. "Now that I think about it, it explains why you've grown so much stronger in such a short time. Your complete reliance on one side has given you an incredible level of control over it. It's like putting all your stats into one attribute instead of spreading them out. The efficiency is insane."

I nod along, pretending like that makes perfect sense. "Okay, but how are you so sure now? Ten minutes ago, you weren't."

Sia smirks. "Because after our match ended, while you were lying there asking me all sorts of questions—about your performance, your strategies, your shortcomings—you kept gesturing exclusively with your left hand. Your right arm, which isn't even fatigued from the fight, never moved once. Not even subconsciously."

…Damn. She really noticed that?

I flex my fingers, thinking back. She's right. Even when I reach for things, when I scratch my head, when I shift positions—it's all my left hand.

Sia watches my reaction with amusement. "Now you see it."

"Alright," I say, shaking off my thoughts, "so is this a good thing? That I'm a Left Dominator?"

She tilts her head, considering. "Yes and no. But in your case… mostly yes."

That's annoyingly vague.

Sia stands up and moves to a small round table near her garden. The flowers are in full bloom, their colors vibrant under the light, but I barely notice them. There are two chairs, and she gestures for me to sit in the one across from her. I almost sat on the table instead—before catching myself.

"How did I miss that?" I mutter under my breath, clapping my cheeks lightly to refocus.

Sia raises an eyebrow, waiting patiently.

I exhale. "Alright, how is it mostly a good thing?"

She leans back in her chair, fingers steepled. "The reason Left Dominators aren't common is because it's not seen as an advantage. In most martial arts, balance is crucial. A warrior should be able to react and attack from either side. You? You'll never have full synergy between your left and right. No matter how much you train, your right side will always lag behind. And in life-or-death situations, that predictability could cost you. Your enemies will figure it out, and they'll exploit it."

That's… concerning.

"But," she continues before I can dwell on it, "in your case, the benefits far outweigh the drawbacks. And I'm not saying that to cheer you up, Lucius. That's your job. Regularly."

I huff a laugh at that, but my mind is racing.

Sia taps a finger against the table. "You want to know why I'm so sure this is a good thing? Because you're smart."

I blink at her. "That's it?"

"No, listen. I've said this a hundred times, and I'll say it again—you are exceptionally intelligent. You observe, adapt, and learn faster than most. That's why being a Left Dominator will work in your favor."

She holds up a hand and starts listing.

"One, your single-sided mastery means your reaction speed and muscle memory on that side will develop at an absurd rate. Your left hand will be faster, stronger, more precise than anyone else's."

"Two, because you only have to refine one side instead of two, your growth speed is accelerated. You're already closing the gap between yourself and those noble-born brats. The ones with money, resources, and natural talent. And if you keep improving at this pace? You won't just match them. You'll surpass them. They'll never see it coming."

My pulse quickens.

Sia leans in, lowering her voice. "And three. That massive weakness I just mentioned? The one about predictability? The thing that could get you killed in a real fight?"

I nod slowly.

"I believe that you will figure out a way to minimize it. As the very least."

She says it so simply. So matter-of-fact.

Not if I figure it out. When.

My throat feels tight. "…Is that how much you believe in me?"

She doesn't say anything. Just smiles. And nods.

***

Since the day Sia named me a Left Dominator, I refined my combat style with relentless focus. The realization that my left-side dominance could be both an advantage and a liability fueled my obsession with improvement.

At first, my movements were crude—instinctive, and unpolished. But with each passing day, I studied Sia's form, her balance between aggression and calculation, and sought to replicate her efficiency. She was a warrior who dictated the pace of battle, and if I could integrate even a fraction of her precision into my own fighting, I would be unstoppable.

Yet, our differences became evident. Sia's style was built for a balanced fighter—one who could shift weight, strike from either side, and anticipate counters fluidly. I couldn't afford such versatility. My strength lay in refining my one-sided dominance to the point where it became unpredictable rather than a glaring weakness. If enemies assumed I was limited, I would make sure to turn that assumption into their downfall.

This constant drive for refinement also led me to reconsider my future. The idea of becoming a knight had once crossed my mind—after all, knights held authority, stability, and resources I could never access on my own. But the more I trained, the more I realized that control over my own fate mattered more. The restrictions, the hierarchy, the obligation to serve—none of it aligned with what I wanted.

I chose to become an adventurer instead.

When I told Sia, her reaction was... unexpected.

She was pleased—relieved, even. Yet, a flicker of concern remained in her eyes, hidden behind a forced smile. I could tell she was glad that I wouldn't follow her exact path, but she also knew what awaited me beyond the safety of her teachings.

The adventurer's path was not noble. It was not honorable. It was not safe.

Still, she supported my decision, because she knew me well enough to understand that I would never accept a life where I wasn't in control.

My daily routine had settled into a steady rhythm.

8 to 9 hours of sleep.

1 to 2 hours of studying.

The rest? Training, refining my mana core, and conditioning my body.

For the past three weeks, I had submerged myself entirely into this cycle. I had not joined Sia on her trips to the market or to the blacksmith. I had not taken breaks to wander through the city. Every second was spent on improving myself—on pushing beyond the limits I had just discovered.

And today, my effort has paid off.

Sia had been delaying a crucial lesson—the truth of elemental mana.

For weeks, she had intentionally withheld it, likely thinking I needed more time to reach a certain level of understanding. She had even promised that I would have to last four minutes against her in combat before she considered teaching me.

Tonight, I lasted seven.

She could no longer delay.

It was night.

We had just finished dinner. The plates clattered as Sia rinsed them under the freezing water. I wiped the table clean, the motion automatic, my mind elsewhere.

That's when it hit me.

I hadn't thought about the Ghost Bear's remains in weeks.

The creature had nearly killed me. Sia had lost her comrades to it. And yet, after she brought its corpse back, we had never discussed what became of its body.

"You stored the Ghost Bear's remains in your ring, right?" I asked.

Sia glanced at me over her shoulder, raising a brow. "Depends. Its claws, mana core, sharp canines, and a portion of its mane are still inside. The rest? Sold at auction. Got us a good amount of eons." She smirked. "Why? You want a share of the profit?"

"Haha, very funny. No."

Sia chuckled before turning back to the dishes. "I know. But you'll be happy to hear this—I've decided to use its remains to craft you a weapon and armor."

I paused. "For me?"

She nodded. "A dagger and armor from its claws and bones. Its canines will reinforce the edges of both my weapon and yours. Since you can't freely wield Crimson Ultima—which, by the way, is still under my protection—you'll need additional gear."

I stared.

This… felt undeserved.

"Are you sure? I haven't done anything to—"

"You haven't done anything to prove yourself yet," she interrupted, her tone blunt. "You're not worthy of rare weapons, Lucius. Not yet."

Ouch.

"But," she continued, her voice softening, "you haven't been given the chance to prove yourself either. And I know you. I know you'll get there. That's why I'm equipping you now. Because when the time comes, and you set foot beyond the Lunar Walls, I won't be able to protect you.

"When that day arrives… your weapons and armor will be the only things shielding you."

I had no response.

For all her harshness, Sia was giving me more than just tools. She was ensuring that when I left, I wouldn't be defenseless.

She was preparing me for a future where she wouldn't be there.

A few nights ago, I had asked if she planned on continuing as an adventurer.

Her answer had been absolute.

No. Never again.

She had no reason to. The Ghost Bear hunt had been an exception—born from boredom, not necessity. Now, she had me to occupy her time. There was no longer a need to cross those dangerous borders.

And yet, her preparations for me—her investment—suggested that she knew I would one day make that choice myself.

She was getting ready for the inevitable.

"Now," Sia said, shaking me from my thoughts. "On to what was promised."

I straightened. "Still dead-set on avoiding this topic, huh?"

She sighed. "A promise is a promise. But before I explain, tell me how much you already know."

I nodded and began.

"Like humans, the natural world influences mana. The skies compress and reshape it into wind, the oceans saturate it into water, volcanoes ignite it into fire, and the mountains forge it into earth. These forces have existed for thousands of years, refining mana's nature over time.

"As a result, elemental affinities are determined not only by bloodlines but by exposure to these mana sources."

Sia's eyes narrowed. "How did you learn all this?"

"From the libraries," I admitted. "Whenever you went shopping, I took the time to read."

She exhaled slowly. "And you understood these concepts?"

I shrugged. "They're complex, but they make sense."

She observed me for a long moment before nodding.

"...The reason humans and beasts develop elemental affinities is precisely because of this atmospheric mana. But inheritance is… inconsistent.

"Bloodlines influence affinity, but they don't guarantee it. Even noble families—ones with generations of powerful mages—sometimes produce children with no affinity at all."

My stomach twisted.

I understood now.

That's why my parents—

No. Don't think about it.

I forced my expression into neutrality. Sia was watching too closely.

"Now," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "What about rarer elements?"

Sia hesitated.

Then, slowly, she answered:

"There are uncommon, rare, special… and legendary affinities. These are the ones we know of."

I froze.

We know of?

Which meant… there were some we didn't.

Sia's calm nod confirmed my realization.

Some affinities were deliberately hidden.

Why? And by whom?

***

I lay in bed, my body sinking into the mattress, still warm from the meal we had an hour ago. The lingering taste of roasted meat and seasoned vegetables clung to my tongue, but my mind was elsewhere—looping through fragments of today's conversation with Sia.

My entire body ached. The training had been brutal—more than usual. My muscles protested every movement, a dull burn stretching from my shoulders to my calves. Proof of progress, Sia would say. Evidence that you're pushing past your limits.

For some reason, that didn't make it any less painful.

Lately, I'd fallen into a strange routine—one that I wouldn't have imagined myself following in the past. Training aside, I had picked up habits like cleaning my own room, washing dishes, and even maintaining the small lawn outside. Oddly enough, these mundane chores brought me an unexpected sense of satisfaction.

Something was grounding about them.

Something that made me feel… at peace.

Perhaps it was because, for once, I had a space to call my own.

A life. A purpose.

Since arriving in Varis, I had pieced together fragments of knowledge about its inner workings.

The city was governed by the House of Walkins, a noble lineage responsible for maintaining order and stability. But they weren't the ultimate rulers. That authority belonged to the Dukedom of Dredagon and, above them, the Imperial Family. Walkins merely acted as the regional stewards, ensuring that the empire's interests remained intact.

It was a structure built on layers—each one more powerful than the last.

At first, I found the empire's education system difficult to understand, but after seeing it from a different perspective, it made a certain brutal kind of sense.

Here, no child could enter an official institution before turning sixteen. Until then, young mages trained privately—under the guidance of instructors or family members—until they completed their Phasing Test.

This wasn't a world that valued theory over action. Here, knowledge was earned through experience, not textbooks.

The reasoning behind this structure became clear the more I thought about it:

Children are quick learners. The younger a mage is when they begin combat training, the faster their bodies and minds adapt.

Young mages are less likely to rebel. They are taught discipline before knowledge, ensuring they respect authority before questioning it.

This society is built for warriors. It doesn't matter if a child can recite the alphabet—what matters is if they can wield mana and survive.

Only after reaching sixteen were students allowed to take the entrance exams for top institutions—tests designed to push both physical and mental limits.

Sia's words echoed in my mind, a cold reminder of where I stood in all of this.

"Children your age are miles ahead of you."

The realization made my core rotation spike—a sudden, uneven pulse of energy through my body. My breath hitched.

Was I… unconsciously channeling my frustration?

I wasn't sure. And frankly, I didn't care.

I still had time.

I just had to train, train, and train.

That was my final thought before exhaustion finally pulled me under.

***

Sia's Pov

A hundred thoughts swirled through my mind.

And I had nothing else to do but entertain them.

I sat at the edge of my bed, staring at the handcrafted coffee table beside me. The room was dimly lit, a soft glow of moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains. Normally, I preferred absolute darkness—a room swallowed in shadows.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I wanted the light.

Most of my thoughts were, unsurprisingly, about Lucius. The rest… drifted toward my husband.

"Will he accept him?"

I told myself he would. That he must.

But doubt was a persistent thing.

I had hoped Lucius would stay at the orphanage for two weeks. It would have been easier that way—less complicated. But when the time came, I couldn't bring myself to say it to his face.

That boy had already suffered abandonment once.

Asking him to consider the orphanage, even temporarily, would have reopened that wound.

And so, I had taken him in.

Again.

My husband is a good man. I have seen him fight, seen him kill, seen him willing to die for those he loves. He is traditional—unyielding in his values, loyal to his moral code.

If he learns what Lucius has gone through—truly understands it—he will accept him.

He must.

But what if he doesn't?

It's unlikely, I told myself. But not impossible.

The fact remained that I had decided without consulting him.

I had taken responsibility for this child—twice. And now, I expected my husband to do the same.

Was that fair?

No.

But fairness had nothing to do with it.

What mattered was Lucius. And I refused to abandon him.

A sharp gust of cold wind swept through the open window, rustling the curtains, stirring the warmth from my skin. I closed my eyes, welcoming it.

The worst of the past was behind us.

I had fought enough battles.

I deserved a drink.

Not alcohol—I never cared for it. The bitter, medicinal taste was nothing but a chore to endure. But I still had a few bottles of cola and soda tucked away in storage.

A rare find.

I reached for one, twisting the cap with a faint hiss of carbonation.

Lifting the bottle slightly, I murmured under my breath:

"To love and unity."

And took a sip.