THE ONE

"You're still alive... That's some resilience you've got," I muttered, standing over the beast that lay defeated before me.

Its once-proud frame was now shattered, its middle section blown apart, exposing jagged bones and mangled intestines in a grotesque display of defeat. A heavy stench of blood and burnt flesh filled the air. I could see the Guardian Alpha's single remaining eye, defiant even in its final moments, glaring up at me. Once a proud sentinel of the Greindeer species, now it was nothing more than a wounded relic of its former self, teetering on the edge of death.

It kept baring its fangs weakly, emitting a low, hollow growl — a last, pointless show of pride. It wouldn't change its fate.

My weapon, Snowhite, had already returned to my storage ring. I approached, preparing to end its suffering swiftly. Mercy, even for a fallen enemy, was sometimes necessary.

But just as I took the final step forward, the beast opened its mouth wide, gathering raw, unfiltered mana into a volatile, desperate beam. I felt it the moment the thought crossed its battered mind. My senses, heightened far beyond human norms, caught the disturbance instantly. Before the attack could even properly form, I seized control with telekinesis, snapping its jaws shut against its own volatile energy.

BOOM.

A muffled explosion detonated inside its skull. Fragments of bone, blood, and brain matter sprayed the ground. In the end, I had granted it the release it fought so stubbornly against.

I crouched beside its corpse, retrieving its mana core — a brilliant, ocean-blue sphere pulsating with residual life. Strong. Dense. Perfect.

"Barely a few steps away from S-rank," I mused quietly, feeling the core's power hum against my fingertips. Yet… this core would serve Mercy better than me. Elemental compatibility was key, and the beast's water-aligned mana would integrate into her system far more efficiently than my own.

Pocketing the core, I stored the Guardian Alpha's body in my storage ring, already planning how best to make use of its other remains. It's hide, its bones — valuable materials for weapons and armour, if properly refined.

As the immediate aftermath settled, I noticed the mist creeping back over the battlefield. During our clash, the shockwaves had kept it at bay, but nature was quick to reclaim its territory. Thick, cold, almost sentient in its movements, the mist slithered back into place, restoring the eerie silence of this forsaken zone.

I climbed a nearby tree, activating Absolute Zero to suppress my presence and scanning the area carefully. Sensing no nearby threats, I allowed myself a brief exhale.

Yet, the unease persisted.

'Hmm... No beasts. No ambient mana anomalies. Then why was a Guardian Alpha so far from its territory?'

Guardian Alphas were apex protectors, creatures tied intimately to specific regions — areas rich in natural mana of their elemental affinity. Their entire existence was about balance, defence, and survival. For one to stray this far into a mana-deprived wasteland? It didn't make sense.

And it wasn't just today.

Lately, the predators I'd encountered had grown unnaturally aggressive. Beasts abandoning self-preservation. Apex monsters are breaching territories. All against instinct.

'Pride without logic leads to downfall.' I thought grimly. 'But this… this feels orchestrated.'

A cold pit settled in my stomach.

I prepared to head back. Night was still young, and in these mists, encountering a Wraith would be suicide. Even for me.

I bent my knees, ready to launch myself at full speed toward the safer zones—

"?!!"

My entire body stiffened. My heartbeat spiked, pounding violently against my ribs as shivers shot down my spine like falling meteors.

That mana pulse.

Raw, immense, familiar.

It couldn't be!

No. No, it had to be!

Without thinking, I expanded my senses outward, further than ever before, forcing my mind beyond its safe limits. Pain lanced through my skull, sharp and burning, but I didn't care. I needed to be sure. Needed to feel it. Needed to confirm it wasn't a dream.

The pulse answered my desperate reach.

Faint. Fading. But unmistakably his.

A flood of memories surged in an instant — bloodied training grounds, a hand ruffling my hair when I finally mastered my first technique, the rare smile of approval after a brutal sparring session. A presence that once anchored me when I was drifting, broken, and angry at the world.

"Master…" I whispered, my voice trembling, before I could suppress it.

He was here.

The one who shaped me. The one who dragged me back from the edge when the world turned its back on me.

After all these years of silence—

to feel that signature again...

I clenched my fists, steeling my heart. 

***

Lucius bolted forward, every muscle in his body coiled tight with urgency, his boots tearing through the wild earth of the Rims.

The mana pulse he had just felt... it was no ordinary ripple.

It was a roar, a thunderous surge that rattled the very fabric of the world around him.

He didn't need to wonder who had caused it.

There was only one man alive who could unleash such a terrifying, awe-inspiring force from the heart of Varis — strong enough for Lucius only, to feel it all the way out here, standing at the fractured edges of the Beast Rims.

The one who had sent out that call...

It was none other than his master, Arcane.

The memories hit Lucius hard, sharper than any blade.

It had been four years ago, on a day that had begun like any other.

He was immersed in brutal training, his body straining, muscles screaming, heart pounding in the ice-cold focus of Absolute Zero.

He remembered the moment vividly — the moment when his instincts screamed.

A presence.

A watcher.

Instantly, he had reacted, mana core flaring like a dying star ready to erupt.

He would have attacked, would have fought tooth and nail —

Until the man emerged from the mist.

Draped in red and white robes, lined with flowing jet-black patterns, moving with a grace so effortless it seemed he commanded the very air itself.

A heavy cloak hung from his shoulders, and his greyish eyes—yes, those piercing moon-like eyes—locked onto Lucius with a gaze that saw everything.

And Lucius, proud and hardened though he was, had dropped to his knees without hesitation, the weight of awe pressing down on him. He had known about Arcane from the rumours, news and mentions about his appearances. 

Arcane.

'The Mighty One' of Verdun.

A living legend.

A force that could bend the empire of Verdun if he so wished.

In the Empire of Verdun, there existed only two individuals worthy of the ancient title of "The One."

Emperor Ashoka — crowned 'The Great One,' ruler of Verdun, a being whose command was absolute.

Arcane — 'The Mighty One', a free soul who answered to no throne, no court, no council and no royals. 

And those who bore this title were no mere mortals.

They were weapons forged by existence itself — powerful enough to stand toe-to-toe with the apex rulers of all sentient beings, the mighty dragons. 

It was said that bearers of 'The Ones' could rival the dragons, the ultimate beings of mana and strength, if battle ever truly came.

That day, as Lucius knelt before him, he had expected judgment.

Commands.

Perhaps even punishment.

Instead, Arcane had offered him a hand—not in dominance, but in kinship.

A simple, human gesture.

The moment Arcane smiled at him — a real, almost mischievous grin — Lucius knew he had found something rarer than all the power and prestige in the world:

He had found a true teacher.

A true guide.

Something closer to him as family than blood could've ever offered.

Now, racing toward Varis, Lucius's chest felt tight with a thousand emotions colliding at once.

If Arcane was here — truly here — he couldn't waste a single breath.

Arcane never stayed long in one place.

The Empire had been tracking him for years, fearful of a man they could neither command nor understand.

Not because Arcane wanted the throne or power or authority or anything that resembles these words. 

But because he stood apart — a force of nature immune to politics, untouchable by greed.

And for the stewards, the nobles and the rival factions of Verdun, nothing was more terrifying than a man of absolute freedom and unmatchable strength. 

Yet the common folk never saw that.

In the crowded streets of Verdun, in the grand halls of the Honorary Knights, in whispered conversations behind closed doors, they asked the same questions over and over again:

"Why doesn't Arcane join us?"

"Why doesn't he save us from the corrupt beasts and nobles?"

They could not understand.

Arcane could wipe the plague clean from the land if he so chose — his strength was vast enough to do it effortlessly.

But it was not his place.

It was not his fight.

Arcane fought for freedom — for himself, for others, for the world to be bigger than just power and duty.

And Lucius, more than anyone, understood and respected that choice.

Because in Arcane's silence, Lucius had learned something most of the world never would:

True strength was not in domination.

It was in restraint.

Lucius pushed himself harder, faster.

He wasn't just running toward power.

He wasn't just chasing a legend.

He was chasing the man who, without ever needing to say it, had become his teacher, his only friend who could fully understand him and help him grow. 

"Please..." he whispered into the winds, his voice cracking with something raw, something fragile.

"Stay just a little longer, Master."

And with that prayer burning on his lips, he disappeared, racing toward the storm at the heart of Varis.