AN UNFORGIVABLE STANCE

SIA 

The room was too silent for my liking.

It wasn't just quiet—it was the kind of silence that felt wrong. Heavy. Stifling. Like we were all staring at one another through fog, not quite able to believe this was the reality we now lived in. The kind of silence that should've been shattered by shouting, panic, disbelief… anything. But there was nothing. Not even a whisper. Just stillness.

Beside me, Lucius sat with unnerving calm. His breath was steady, measured—like he'd already come to terms with something the rest of us hadn't. His right hand was resting on my shoulder, fingers tracing idle, rhythmic circles along the fabric. A habit of his. Not to comfort me, no, never that, but something he did when he was trying to steady himself. Reconnect with something real. Sometimes that meant his own body. Sometimes, mine.

Across from me, Sara was watching him. Not us. Just him. Her eyes were locked on that hand—the one draped so casually over my shoulder. There was no mistaking it: fury, barely contained, glinted in her gaze. Or was it hurt? Jealousy? Maybe all of it, tangled and raw. I couldn't blame her. Not really. But it didn't make it easier to meet her eyes.

She was quick to look away, her posture stiff as she redirected her attention to anywhere—anyone—but us.

I slipped Lucius's arm from my shoulder. He blinked, sharp and immediate, tilting his head slightly in that quiet way of his. A question. Did I do something wrong?

"No," I murmured, voice low. "You didn't make me uncomfortable. But that bastard left a while ago."

He nodded once, slowly. Understood.

To my right sat Adrianna, unusually quiet, and Rebecca beside her, equally subdued. That alone sent a ripple of unease through my chest. Those two were never quiet. Not like this. Not in moments like this.

Across the table, Edward was sipping tea. Or pretending to. His hands betrayed him, fingers trembling just enough to betray the act. He was always good at hiding emotion, at performing control. But I knew him too well. This silence was cutting through even his composure.

Mercy, on the other hand, was lost in thought, his brows drawn low as his eyes flicked between Rebecca and Arcane, waiting, perhaps hoping, that the myth himself would finally speak.

But Arcane remained still.

That was the most unsettling part.

When he finally did speak, his voice carried a weight that drew every eye to him.

"I know this news may sound disappointing. Unimportant. Maybe even irrelevant to some of you… But trust me, this is the beginning of a calamity. And if we don't uncover it now, it will unravel our lives. All of them."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

He looked at us like he believed—expected—we all shared his mindset. That same urgency. That same fear.

Except one of us didn't.

Lucius.

Arcane's gaze shifted. Sharp. Disbelieving. "You have something to add, Lucius?"

Their energy couldn't have been more different. Arcane sat like a loaded crossbow, tensed and aimed. Lucius? Lucius leaned back like he was attending a tea party.

That calm expression didn't sit well with anyone—not Arcane, not Mercy, certainly not me.

Or maybe it was never calm at all.

Maybe it was detachment.

And maybe that scared me more.

"I mean… I hate that guy. I really do," Lucius said, brushing a hand through his hair. "But he's not wrong, is he?"

The silence that followed was a different kind. Colder.

Arcane's expression didn't change much. Just… dimmed. Like the flame behind his eyes had been smothered in ash. Like something sacred had cracked.

Congratulations, little one, I thought bitterly. You've just managed to disappoint the Mighty One himself with that one, beautifully stupid sentence.

My eyes slid away, jaw clenching.

But Sara—Sara wasn't subtle. Her aura flared. The air around her was warped, tense and unstable. Her disappointment wasn't just visible—it was palpable. If I reached out, I swear I could've touched it.

Lucius didn't flinch. Didn't retract. He just… sat there.

And the rest of them?

Mercy's stare hardened, as if trying to search Lucius for something—anything—redeemable in that moment. Edward set his teacup down too gently, too deliberately. Rebecca looked as though someone had struck her across the face.

All of them wore that same expression.

Not anger.

Not betrayal.

But that awful, hollow hurt you only get from someone you believed in.

Mercy and Edward had always prioritised their people. Not their status. Not politics. People. No matter their background, no matter their birth. They'd bled for them.

Lucius knew that.

And yet here he was, tossing that conviction aside like it was optional.

I didn't know whether to shake him, slap him, or sit in silence beside him like nothing happened.

But one thing was clear.

This wasn't the beginning of a calamity.

It had already begun, and Lucius had no idea about it. 

He understood the room instantly.

The coldness in our eyes. The unspoken resentment is bleeding through the mana in our veins. The way no one met his gaze for more than a second. But Lucius didn't explain himself. Didn't try to de-escalate or justify.

He never did.

His stance was clear, etched into the air like steel against frost.

I mean what I say. I will not explain myself. And I will not sugarcoat it.

That was the message he broadcast without words. A message none of us agreed with. Not even me.

His gaze moved slowly across the room, pausing on each of us in turn. Measuring. Waiting. And then it landed on Lav.

His best friend. His brother-in-arms. The only one who, on most days, understood the storm beneath Lucius's skin.

But even Lav shook his head—barely, almost imperceptibly.

You're on your own with that one.

The message was just as clear.

Lav's eyes drifted toward Sara.

Sara. A gentle soul with calloused hands. Loyal beyond measure. Quiet, composed, kind—but fierce when it came to the ones she loved. Especially him. The love of her life, as she'd once whispered when she thought no one could hear.

Lucius had always been indifferent to that love. And maybe we'd forgiven him for it. For not reciprocating. For not even acknowledging it.

But this?

This crossed the one line he should've never touched.

Everyone knew about her parents. About how they were Nmana—those born without elemental affinities—massacred by Bloodfrost rebels in a purge that made history books whimper. They were murdered simply for breathing the same air as the gifted. For daring to exist. For touching sacred mana with blood deemed unworthy.

Sara's struggles in mana manipulation—the hours, the pain, the discipline—were the inherited scars of that lineage. A quiet curse. And Lucius knew this better than anyone.

Yet he still chose to speak as he did.

Aligning himself, however slightly, with Goodman, the man with "goodness" only in his fabricated name. It wasn't just careless.

It was cruel.

"Lucius—" Arcane's voice cut through with gentleness, one Lucius didn't deserve at all. 

Before continuing, he turned his head sharply to the right—unnatural in its precision. We all looked in the same direction instinctively, hands tightening and spell focuses alike.

"It seems," Arcane said slowly, "we're about to have company."

His voice was low, but certain.

City officials. Guild representatives. High-ranking nobles. They're closing in."

He stood, brushing down the front of his robe with quiet irritation. An emperor among shadows, forced to greet the insects he normally ignored.

Arcane rarely visited us. Even rarer was his staying this long. His presence in Varis was never supposed to draw attention, especially not from the power-hungry vipers running this city.

Who could've informed them?

I didn't need an answer.

Of course. Goodman.

This was his work. Stirring a hornet's nest, then disappearing into the wind.

Arcane's expression shifted ever so slightly—eyes narrowing, posture adjusting. He was preparing to vanish.

"Since you all clearly understand what's happening," he said briskly, "that saves me some time."

His tone was clipped, purposeful. Almost regretful.

"Start investigating. Focus on Varis. By my estimation, this city has the highest number of missing person cases in the region."

A hush fell over us. Arcane's words carried weight. Truth.

"I would've done it myself... but it seems someone's been tracking me. Interfering. Blocking the trails I might've found otherwise."

He paused.

And for the first time since arriving, he refused to meet Lucius's eyes.

That silence was louder than any accusation.

Before anyone could respond—before we could ask, plead, or argue—he vanished.

Just like that.

A whisper in the wind.

And then we felt it—them—the dozens of powerful presences bearing down on the chamber like a rising tide.

Another mess.

Another burden.

Left to us.