CHP NO 14. THERE IS WHERE I BELONG

Sia stood outside Lucius's door, her fingers curled into tense fists.

Her mind warred with itself, a storm of emotions churning beneath the surface. Her heart had chosen Lucius the moment she laid eyes on him. Her logic… had not.

She exhaled slowly.

"Here goes nothing…"

She rapped her knuckles against the door. No response.

Another knock—firmer this time. Silence.

By the third set of knocks, which were more like heavy thuds shaking the foundation of his small room, the door finally creaked open.

Lucius stood there, half-asleep, his hair a mess, blinking against the dim light of the hallway.

Sia stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. She took a seat on the edge of his bed, avoiding his gaze. The mattress barely dipped under her weight, yet the room suddenly felt suffocating.

"We need to talk." Her voice was calm.

Lucius yawned, rubbing his eyes.

"Right now? In the middle of the night? What's the—"

His words cut short the moment he noticed something was off.

Sia… was nervous.

A heavy silence stretched between them. She took a measured breath, steadying herself. This is for our family. The thought barely reassured her.

Finally, she met his confused gaze.

"Tomorrow morning, my husband returns."

Lucius frowned. So?

"He doesn't know about you."

That made him straighten up.

"He won't be expecting a new addition all of a sudden. There's a chance he might not accept you. It's unlikely—but I can't rule it out."

The words barely left her lips before she saw the shift in him.

His body went rigid. His breathing hitched, shallow and uneven.

Sia reached for him instinctively, pulling him down to sit beside her, closing the space between them.

A sharp inhale. A tremor in his hands. His core—wild, unstable, surging.

"Lucius—"

She didn't get to finish.

He wasn't hearing her anymore.

His body betrayed him. His hands shook violently. His breathing came in quick, sharp bursts. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, his mana fluctuating erratically, spiraling out of control.

Sia's eyes widened.

A panic attack.

"Lucius, breathe." She placed her hands on his shoulders, steadying him. His head hung low, strands of dark hair covering his eyes. His fingers curled into his palms, knuckles pale.

"You're not going anywhere." Her voice was firm. Unyielding.

But he was already lost in the spiral.

"Please," he gasped.

Sia froze.

"I'll do anything. Just don't send me away." His words spilled out—raw, desperate.

His entire body shook. His mana core fluctuated so wildly that even she could feel the unstable pulses rolling off him.

Then came the pleas.

Promises.

Bargains.

"I'll serve you. I'll clean, I'll be obedient. Just—please—"

His breath hitched, and he clutched onto her sleeves like a lifeline, his knuckles digging into the fabric.

Sia's chest tightened painfully.

This was beyond fear. This was terror.

It wasn't logical. It wasn't reasonable. It was primal. A deep, aching wound—one that no amount of maturity or intelligence could shield him from.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

"Enough, Lucius."

He trembled against her.

"You're not going anywhere."

She repeated it over and over, whispering reassurances, steadying his erratic core with her own controlled presence.

Time blurred.

It took an hour—an hour—for his body to stop trembling, for his breathing to even out, for his heart rate to slow.

By then, he was asleep.

Silent, but not at peace.

Tear streaks stained his cheeks, his expression twisted even in slumber.

Sia pulled a blanket over him, tucking him in with careful hands.

And then, she sat there, watching him.

Thinking.

Processing.

She had known abandonment was a wound he carried, but not like this.

Not like this.

His reaction was too extreme. Too visceral. Too deep-seated for someone with no memory of their past.

Unless…

"Does his body remember something his mind doesn't?"

The thought sent a chill through her.

Lucius had moments—flickers—where he recalled details he shouldn't have known. Tiny pieces of knowledge slipping through the cracks of his supposed amnesia.

Had he noticed it yet?

Likely not.

But Sia had.

Her suspicion wasn't just a theory anymore.

She sighed, rising to her feet. Carefully, she stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Her head throbbed. Exhaustion weighed on her shoulders.

She found herself back in the living room, sinking into her chair. The cold night air seeped through the cracks, sending a shiver down her spine.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

She reached for her drink, swirling the liquid absentmindedly before taking a slow sip.

"To a better tomorrow," she muttered under her breath.

And drank.

***

 The morning air was crisp, tinged with the lingering chill of dawn.

Lucius stood in the courtyard, his body drenched in sweat, his wooden sword gripped tightly in his hands. He was alone, refining the foundational sword techniques Sia had drilled into him a week ago. The movements were simple, but simplicity meant nothing if it wasn't perfect.

SWOOSH. SWOOSH. SWOOSH.

Each swing cut through the air with greater speed, greater precision.

His arms burned. His vision blurred at the edges. His breathing grew uneven, but he didn't stop.

He couldn't stop.

Last night had been a brutal reminder—acceptance had to be earned.

If he wanted to win over Sia's husband, he had to be his best self.

With one final, exhausted arc of his sword, his grip failed. The wooden blade slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the stone floor. Lucius fell back, landing on the ground with a thud.

His entire body screamed in protest, but he knew better than to push further. Training was vital, but recovery was just as important.

He adjusted himself into a cross-legged meditation stance, hands resting lightly on his knees.

To absorb mana, one needed three things—a calm mind, a relaxed body, and a focused soul.

Lucius exhaled slowly.

Except, for him, mana never felt like the gift Sia claimed it to be.

It felt like a burden.

No matter how much he trained, his connection to mana was different—abnormal. The energy flowed into him too easily, almost forcefully, as if he were a vessel it desperately wanted to fill.

Still, he tried.

He always tried.

A voice—deep, resonant, unshakable.

"You don't have to try that hard, young one. Relax, and let the essence perform its wonder."

The presence behind the voice carried authority—not the kind that demanded obedience, but the kind that inspired it.

Lucius should have been startled.

But he wasn't.

Instead, his body instinctively obeyed. His mind eased. His shoulders loosened. His breathing fell into a steady rhythm.

He opened his eyes.

And there he was.

A giant of a man, sitting before him, clad in a battle-worn suit of golden armor—stained with blood.

Broad. Muscular. Unshaken.

His head was shaved clean, save for a single long scar running up the side of his skull. His fierce, dark eyes and sharp eyebrows gave him the look of a warlord, yet the slight smile on his lips softened the edge.

Lucius didn't need to ask.

He knew who this was.

Rartar Machangel.

Sia's husband.

A saint.

"That's better," Rartar nodded, as if pleased by Lucius's adjustment. "You have a good relationship with mana. It flows into you without resistance—without the effort the rest of us have to exert."

Lucius blinked, momentarily distracted by the sheer power in the man's voice. Even when speaking casually, it commanded attention.

"Do me a favor and continue like this," Rartar added. "It will benefit you."

Lucius straightened his posture.

"I will. Thank you for your guidance, Lord Rartar."

The man raised an eyebrow—mildly surprised that Lucius knew his name.

Not personally, of course. But he was a Machangel. A warrior of legend.

Rartar didn't respond immediately. Instead, his gaze flicked toward something else.

Lucius followed his line of sight to the wooden sword lying discarded on the ground.

"That weapon of yours." His voice, though still steady, held a different weight now. A demanding tone. "My wife crafted it for you, didn't she?"

The moment he spoke, Lucius felt it.

A subtle but undeniable shift in the air.

Mana laced into his words. A test. A probe. A show of strength.

Lucius's body instinctively tensed.

But he didn't falter.

"Yes, sir," he answered evenly. "My master crafted it for my training."

Rartar studied him for a long moment before rising to his full height.

Lucius had never considered Sia a small woman—she carried herself with a warrior's presence. But Rartar?

He was a mountain.

Easily 6'4", built like an unmovable force of nature.

And beside him, resting against the earth, was his weapon.

A colossal warhammer.

The handle alone was nearly half his size, and the striking head? It was almost as big as Lucius himself.

Rartar grabbed the hammer effortlessly, hoisting it with one hand and carrying it to the only fully grown tree in the courtyard.

Lucius had a feeling—a very strong feeling—that he was about to witness something he would never forget.

***

"He should have woken me up."

Sia rarely slept in, yet after *last night's events—which she refused to recall—*she had been dead to the world. Even now, her body felt sluggish, reluctant to move, but something in the air pulled her from her half-conscious state.

A presence.

No—two.

And one of them was Rartar.

Her breath hitched. He's with Lucius.

Instantly, she shoved off her covers, dressed in haste, and rushed downstairs.

The moment she entered the hall, she saw it—the sliding windows open, the morning sun casting long shadows on the courtyard, and the two figures locked in motion.

Sparring.

Rartar was on the defensive, moving with effortless grace, evading every strike barehanded. He wasn't countering, only dodging, his massive frame weaving through Lucius's attacks like an immovable fortress.

Lucius, on the other hand—

Sia's heart skipped.

A dagger?

Why was Lucius wielding a real dagger?

It was clear he wasn't accustomed to its weight—his swings were off, his movements sluggish compared to his usual precision. Rartar must have forced this on him.

Her eyes narrowed.

Rartar's warhammer—Shatterhorn—rested near the tree they had planted together when they moved in, the symbol of their union. The fact that he wasn't using it meant there were rules to this match.

Sia studied their footwork, their movements, and within moments, she understood.

Lucius didn't have to land a hit.

He had to force Rartar to defend.

A test of pressure, of control.

Lucius fought desperately, pushing past exhaustion, throwing everything he had into the fight. But Sia knew—it was impossible.

At least for the next twenty years.

And then—

Thud.

Lucius collapsed, his body finally giving out.

Rartar stood over him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Then—a smile.

Sia exhaled. A good sign.

Reunion

"Rartar."

Lucius barely heard her voice from where he lay, face-first in the dirt, chest heaving.

He didn't dare move, not when he knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, less than a second later, Rartar was gone.

Lucius glanced up—just in time to see his teacher lifted off the ground, her husband's massive arms wrapped tightly around her, a rare, unguarded smile on both their faces.

A reunion.

Lucius turned away, pressing his forehead against the cool stone floor, giving them space.

He had lost. Again.

And his body—gods, his body was sore.

When he finally pushed himself upright, Rartar was already looking at him.

"Come here."

Lucius moved—slowly. Every muscle screamed in protest, but he obeyed.

The older man studied him for a long moment, then spoke, his voice calm but heavy with authority.

"We have a lot to talk about. And I assume this is your priority as well."

Lucius nodded. No hesitation.

"Word travels fast, you know."

Lucius stiffened.

"I want to hear exactly what happened that day—" Rartar's gaze flicked briefly to Sia, then back to Lucius, "—from both of you."

His voice wasn't loud, but it didn't have to be. It carried weight—an unspoken command that left no room for lies.

Sia exhaled and excused herself. "I'll join after you've eaten."

A tactical retreat.

Lucius understood why.

Rartar wasn't the kind of man you could hide things from.

They sat at the dining table, the air thick with tension.

Sia was in the kitchen, the scent of spices and slow-cooked gravy filling the room, but Lucius forced himself to focus.

He had to get this right.

And so, he spoke.

He didn't leave out details.

As much as he wanted to twist the narrative in his favor, he knew better.

This wasn't just anyone—this was Rartar Machangel. One of the strongest warriors in Varis, a man whose influence stretched further than many noble houses.

Lying now would only hurt him later.

Rartar listened, mostly silent, only interrupting occasionally with sharp, pointed questions. Each one made Lucius pause, forced him to reflect before answering. The man was testing him.

Testing his honesty.

Testing his resolve.

By the time Sia finally re-entered the room, half an hour had passed.

"Enough for now," Rartar finally said, leaning back. "We'll continue after lunch."

Lucius exhaled, tension melting from his shoulders.

But before he could even relax—

"No talking while eating. Got it?"

Lucius resisted the urge to groan.

"Yes, yes, I remember. You hate that."

Rartar smirked slightly, but said nothing.

The Meal

Lucius helped Sia set the table while Rartar observed from his seat.

Once the dishes were placed, Sia gestured for Lucius to sit—but instead, he took a few steps toward Rartar's chair.

Then, he pulled it out.

Not for himself.

For Sia.

Rartar raised an eyebrow, watching as Lucius finally seated himself across from them.

A silent gesture of respect.

Sia smiled faintly but said nothing.

Lunch was simple but hearty—a thick, flavorful gravy, fresh roti, fluffy white rice, and a large bowl of salad.

Lucius wasted no time, opting to eat with his hands rather than a fork. It was more satisfying that way.

Across from him, Rartar and Sia ate at their usual pace—except every so often, they would feed each other.

Lucius pretended not to notice.

He wasn't about to get in the middle of that.

***

The sun had finally dipped beyond the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of deep violet and fiery orange. The city of Varis glowed beneath the encroaching night, golden lanterns flickering to life like fireflies in the distance.

It was my time to shine.

Ever since that fateful day, I had come to prefer the night. Something about the way shadows stretched over the city, the way the sky lit up with stars while the world below dimmed—it just felt right.

"So you're not a morning person, unlike myself and Sia, huh?"

Rartar's voice carried over from the entrance of the garden, where he sat comfortably on a sofa he had moved outside, enjoying his evening snack—a simple bowl of fruits.

"No, sir." I answered without turning around.

I was nearly finished with my task, but my mind had already moved past it.

It was time.

"Sir, we have to talk."

I didn't hesitate. Now that we were alone, with Sia off visiting injured guild members, this was my only chance. Man to man.

Rartar set his bowl down, watching me with a thoughtful expression. Then, he exhaled through his nose, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You sound awfully like an old man, you know. But then again, you're far too mature for your age." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Yes, we do need to have a proper conversation."

Then his gaze hardened.

"I'll start, Lucius. My first and only question is simple: What is it you want? What is it you truly desire?"

His voice was even, yet it carried weight.

"And before you answer, remember—this is not a light question. The answer you give me now will shape your future. Think carefully."

He gestured for me to take my time.

But I didn't need it.

"Actually, sir, I've had more than enough time to think."

I turned to face him fully, standing firm beneath the moonlit sky.

"Ever since I stepped foot in this house, I knew I wasn't a permanent guest. I was either a temporary resident… or a full-fledged member of your family."

Rartar remained silent, listening.

"My mentor, Ms. Sia, has already accepted me as her student. I am her one and only disciple. Now, I must prove myself to you."

I took a breath, steadying myself.

"You ask me what I want… Well, my intentions are simple."

"I have no family. No mother, no father, no siblings, no friends. No one to rely on—except my mentor."

"From the moment I saw her, I admired her. The way she fought, the way she protected her comrades that day… It was something I had never seen before. It was—" I hesitated, searching for the right words, "—legendary."

I clenched my fists.

"I am eight years old now. When I turn twelve, I will join the Adventurer's Guild and venture into the Beast Rims. My goal is simple: I will become strong enough to protect my family and the friends I will make along my journey."

"But my true goal? My ultimate ambition?"

I met his gaze head-on.

"I will become the strongest version of myself. The best version of myself. No matter what it takes."

The words lingered in the air between us.

Rartar tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.

Then, his lips parted.

"This will only happen if I accept you."

His tone was calm—too calm.

"And what will you do if I don't? My wife may feel obligated to take you in, but I certainly do not harbor such feelings toward you."

A test.

I swallowed.

"If it comes to that…" I took a steadying breath. "Then I will accept it. After all, I am not your blood."

Rartar's expression didn't change.

"But that will not hinder my resolve."

I lifted my chin, voice unwavering.

"Whether you accept me or not, my path remains the same. I will grow stronger, become a man worthy of my own name."

My hands clenched at my sides.

"And my promise?"

"I will protect my mentor—with or without your blessing."

"From the shadows, if necessary."

Silence fell between us, heavy as steel.

Rartar studied me, his piercing gaze searching for something—weakness, hesitation, doubt.

But I had none.

And for the first time, ever so faintly—he smiled.