Visionless

I've always disliked violence—perhaps even to a point where some might label me a pacifist. There are several reasons for this, but the roots lie deeply in my upbringing. My father, a practical and no-nonsense man, shaped much of my thinking. For him, if something had no tangible use, it was simply dismissed. Violence, in his eyes, rarely served a meaningful purpose and often created more problems than it solved. He instilled that philosophy in me, urging me to steer clear of it.

But my disdain for violence goes beyond practicality; it's a matter of logic. In 99.98% of cases, violence doesn't make sense. It complicates, it disrupts, it perpetuates cycles of harm. For me, its justification is limited to the narrow scope of protection—defending oneself or one's loved ones. Beyond that, it's an avenue I avoid, a belief ingrained into my core.

You might wonder why I'm bringing this up. Let me explain.

_________________________

The party had ended, and Adam was utterly spent. Exhaustion seeped into his bones, heavier than he'd ever imagined. He hadn't just been drained physically, but mentally and psychologically as well. Every aspect of his being felt like it had been pushed beyond its limits.

Physically, he'd overexerted himself to a dangerous degree. His muscles ached, his body screamed for rest, and every step felt like wading through quicksand. Mentally, maintaining his peculiar "splitting" technique for far too long had exacted a toll. Even after he'd accidentally dropped it mid-way, the attempt to reinstate the trick had left him with a pounding headache and a disorienting fog in his thoughts.

But the worst was the psychological strain. The fear had been relentless—a gnawing dread of dying, of losing his sanity, of failing and being discarded. It had driven him into a corner, and even his eventual magical success had its cost. The sheer adrenaline rush of conjuring fire, of tasting the intoxicating ecstasy of magic, had sent him spiraling. His mind, already fragile from stress, found the high of magic both thrilling and disconcerting. In the end, he had spent everything—body, mind, and spirit—leaving him broken and hollow.

Recognizing this, Ligh had taken charge. She'd carried the barely conscious Adam back to the hotel where Ren was waiting. Though typically aloof, Ren looked concerned as he accepted the exhausted boy. Ligh, ever silent and efficient, handed Ren a carefully folded note, meant for Adam to read once he woke up. She patted Ren on the shoulder before vanishing as abruptly as she'd arrived, leaving Adam in the capable, albeit begrudging, care of his tiger guardian.

Adam's battered form sprawled on the hotel bed, his breaths shallow and his mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. The note sat on the nightstand, waiting patiently for the morning, when clarity—or whatever version of it Adam could muster—would return.

_______________________

"So that's what happened? You actually learned magic?!" Ren's voice carried an edge of disbelief as he stared at Adam across the small, dimly lit table.

Adam nodded, his mouth too full of food to respond immediately. He raised an arm and focused. It took a moment, but then, with a faint flicker, a tiny flame burst to life in his palm.

Ren's eyes widened, his pupils dilating as he leaned forward. "Whoa, kid. That's insane! Do you even know what this means?" His hand shot up to rake through his now human-like hair, an odd quirk of the enchanted mask he wore to blend in.

Adam paused mid-chew, swallowing the overly large bite he'd crammed into his mouth. "Not really. Other than the fact that I've taken the first step toward surviving," he said nonchalantly, as though wielding elemental power was just another box on his to-do list.

Ren raised an eyebrow, his expression a swirl of skepticism and intrigue. (The hell is this kid even talking about?)

Over the short but chaotic journey they'd shared, Ren had come to a singular conclusion about Adam: the kid was weird. But now? Now, Ren was rethinking that understatement.

(One moment, he's a sniveling kid. The next, he's conjuring fire. And then there's that unhinged look in his eye sometimes, like he's a few steps away from setting the world on fire—not just metaphorically.)

Ren leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he watched Adam eagerly demolish his meal. The flickering flame in the boy's hand had gone out, but the memory of it still danced in Ren's mind. He couldn't help but feel a knot of unease forming in his gut.

(What the hell have I gotten myself into?)

The thought wasn't new, but it had evolved. When Ren had first encountered Adam, he'd thought of him as a scrappy runaway, a desperate kid clinging to survival. But now, the pieces didn't quite fit. Adam's intellect stood out—sharp, intuitive, far beyond what Ren expected of someone scrapping for their next meal. His mannerisms were too polished at times, his speech a little too precise. Then there was the glaring lack of basic survival knowledge, which didn't align with his cunning.

(It all adds up to one thing: this kid might be nobility.)

Ren rubbed his temple, the thought spiraling further. (A runaway noble, maybe in the middle of some succession war. Maybe he's dodging assassins, or trying to reclaim his position, or some other royal drama. Either way, it spells trouble for me. Big trouble.)

Ren's hand fell to the table with a dull thud as the realization sank in. (If I'm right, I didn't just pick up a stray. I've saddled myself with a walking target. If he's being hunted, they're going to come for me too. And if he's trying to claw his way back to power, I've become collateral in a game I never wanted to play.)

Adam glanced up from his plate, noticing Ren's furrowed brow and distant expression. "You okay over there?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Ren snapped out of his spiraling thoughts and forced a grin. "Yeah, yeah. Just… thinking about how I got roped into babysitting someone who's half mad and fully dangerous."

Adam smirked. "Dangerous? I take that as a compliment."

Ren sighed. (Oh yeah, I'm in trouble.)

After lunch, Adam sat alone in his room, picking absently at the edge of a letter that had been sitting on his nightstand. Ren had gone out, claiming he needed to gather information about the girl he was looking for. Adam finally opened the letter and read:

Hey kid, it's me, Ligh. Great job yesterday! You were perfect—so perfect that the Boss Lady wants to meet you. Be prepared and make sure to impress her! Make me proud so I can gloat about it to the others. Also, yay! You're part of us now… more or less. I'll be making your mask pretty soon!

Adam leaned back, tilting his head thoughtfully. Ligh? So that's Master's name, huh? Guess I never actually asked. Not that she could answer if I did.

His mind wandered as he lay on the bed. He still wasn't sure if Ligh was mute or just stubbornly refused to talk, but it didn't matter much. He liked her in a weird, chaotic sort of way.

Looking up at the ceiling, Adam's thoughts turned to magic. I was right about how it worked… but it's not exactly easy.

His recent success with the flame trick had taken an enormous toll, both mentally and physically. It makes sense, though. Manipulating fire is one thing, but trying to… fix my body? That's a whole other beast.

Adam sighed. He'd been toying with the idea of using magic to enhance himself—to speed up his physical and mental development, make himself stronger, maybe even smarter. But the intricacies of the human body, or whatever passed for a human body in this world, made it a near-impossible challenge.

What if the people here aren't even biologically the same as humans from Earth? Adam mused, sitting up. What if I mess up? What if I accidentally give myself super cancer or something?

The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He groaned and flopped back onto the bed, only to feel a sudden draft across his face. Blinking, he looked up—and there was Ligh, her masked face unnervingly close.

She was smiling—or at least, her body language screamed "happy." Without a word, she reached down and grabbed him. By the armpits. Like a cat.

Adam dangled helplessly in her grip. I'm starting to notice a pattern here… and I don't like it, he thought, his legs limp as she carried him off the bed.

"Is it time?" he asked dryly. "To meet the Boss Lady or whatever?"

Ligh nodded enthusiastically, and before he could protest, they disappeared in a flash.

When Adam opened his eyes, his breath caught. The room they were in wasn't just fancy—it was extravagant. Lavish tapestries adorned the walls, and gleaming chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystals catching the sunlight streaming through impossibly large windows. The carpets beneath his feet were softer than any bed he'd ever slept on, and every surface seemed to shimmer with luxury.

Adam gawked. What even is this place? This single room is bigger than my entire house back on Earth! His thoughts spiraled, tinged with bitter envy. Why couldn't I have been born a noble?

Ligh didn't give him much time to admire the décor. She carried him—still like a stray kitten—through an enormous set of gilded double doors and into an office that was so absurdly large and over-the-top it might as well have been the throne room of a palace.

And sitting at the desk in the center of it all was the Boss Lady.

Adam blinked. She was striking. A mature redhead with vibrant green eyes that sparkled with intelligence, even though her expression radiated exhaustion. Her crimson hair was pinned in an elegant twist, a few loose strands framing her face. She wore a fitted red gown that matched her hair and a subtle, no-nonsense scowl that Adam instantly recognized as Boss Energy.

The woman glanced up from her paperwork, her tired gaze shifting from Ligh to Adam. She sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of too many responsibilities.

"You're late, Ligh," she said, her tone brisk but not unkind. Then her eyes flicked to Adam, narrowing slightly as she leaned back in her chair. "And I assume this… child… is the one you've been raving about?"

Ligh set Adam down on his feet, puffing up her chest and gesturing to him with dramatic flair, as if unveiling a masterpiece.

"Uh… hi?" Adam offered, raising a hand awkwardly.

The Boss Lady arched an eyebrow, her lips twitching as though she were suppressing a smile. "Hmm." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Well, let's see what you're capable of, little stray."

Adam swallowed hard. Who the hell is this woman? And why does she feel scarier than any villain I've ever met?!

Adam's palms were sweaty, his heart pounding in his chest as he stood before Mistress Leah—the so-called "Boss Lady." She exuded an air of authority so intense it reminded him of the times he'd been summoned to his manager's office back on Earth. But this was worse. This wasn't just some middle-management scolding; this felt like standing before someone who held his entire fate in her hands.

He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm down. No, Adam, you can't show fear. If she's as powerful as she seems, she's probably used to people groveling. If I keep my cool and act casual, it might throw her off… maybe even impress her. Genius.

Straightening his back, Adam shifted his expression. The wide-eyed nervousness of a child was replaced by a composed, almost calculating look—an uncanny mimicry of an adult. His movements were deliberate as he stepped forward and sat on one of the ornate chairs in front of her desk. The chair was gilded with gold and encrusted with gemstones, and for a fleeting moment, Adam entertained the thought of pocketing a few. She wouldn't notice... right?

He quickly dismissed the idea and focused on the woman in front of him.

"Hello," Adam said, his voice calm and even. "I heard you wanted to speak with me. My name's Adam, though I'm guessing you already knew that."

He extended a hand for a handshake, a bold move that caused Mistress Leah's emerald eyes to narrow ever so slightly. Internally, she was intrigued. Outwardly, her expression remained unreadable, a mask of serene composure.

Her delicate, gloved hand met his briefly, the handshake light but firm. "You may call me Mistress Leah," she said, her voice smooth and measured. "Or 'Boss,' if it makes you feel at ease. I understand you requested Ligh's assistance in learning magic, yet… it seems you succeeded without her. I find that curious."

Adam tilted his head. "Curious how?"

Mistress Leah leaned back in her chair, her posture regal yet relaxed. Her eyes studied him like a puzzle to be solved. Internally, her thoughts raced.

Who is this boy? He speaks with a confidence that doesn't match his apparent age. His mannerisms… too polished for a mere commoner. Could he be the child of nobility? Perhaps even a prince?

Her mind spun with possibilities, crafting a narrative in seconds: If he's noble, it would explain his demeanor and intelligence. But why come here? Why request Ligh—a known non-mage—to teach him magic, only to master it on his own? Unless…

Her thoughts sharpened, connecting threads with frightening precision.

This boy might have intended to reach me all along.

The theory gained traction. It's plausible. If he's from a royal family across one of the undiscovered "doors," he could be fleeing a succession war. It would explain why he's alone, seeking allies. If he researched this kingdom and my position, he'd know I'm in need of assets. Ligh's kindness toward children? An easy in. Demonstrating magical prowess? A calculated move to make himself invaluable. A genius strategy, if that's what this is.

Her fingers tapped lightly on the desk, her face betraying none of her thoughts. Leah had no intention of showing weakness, not even for a moment. Magic… True magic is rare, numbering in the hundreds throughout history. For him to self-learn, bypassing the traditional method of master-student transmission… this child might be the key to tipping the balance of power.

"Tell me, Adam," she said finally, her voice carrying a weight that demanded respect. "What do you hope to achieve by learning magic?"

Adam hesitated for a moment, then decided honesty—or something close to it—was his best play. "Survival," he said simply. "In this world, I need every edge I can get to stay alive. Magic is just one of them."

Leah raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the blunt response. No talk of glory, ambition, or conquest. Just survival? Fascinating.

"And do you believe survival is enough of a reason for me to grant you my favor?" she asked, her tone testing, probing for cracks.

Adam met her gaze, his own small flame of determination flickering in his eyes. "I'm not asking for your favor, Mistress Leah. I'll earn it. Just like I earned this." He raised a hand, summoning a tiny flicker of fire that danced in his palm.

Leah's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. This boy… he's more interesting than I expected.

The flames in his hand wavered, then extinguished as Adam lowered his arm. Leah studied him for a moment longer before making her decision. "Very well," she said, her voice steady. "You've earned the right to stay—for now. But I'll be watching closely, Adam. Don't disappoint me."

Adam exhaled, tension he didn't realize he was holding leaving his body. Who the hell is this woman? And what did I just get myself into?

_____________________

Leah sat slouched in her chair, her shoulders heavy with the weight of a crown unseen. Sweat beaded her brow as the day surrendered to the amber hues of the setting sun. "Hah… these days, I can barely catch my breath," she murmured, her voice lost to the cavernous silence of her chambers.

The horizon, aflame with gold and crimson, whispered promises of endings. Soon, she thought, her gaze distant. This war—this quiet, grueling war—must reach its end. By year's end, if not sooner.

Her mind turned, unbidden, to the Church of Fera, her oldest adversary. Their shadows crept into every corner of her life, relentless and suffocating. If I can do this… if I can see it through, perhaps I'll finally have time to breathe. Perhaps… I'll return home.

A wistful ache bloomed in her chest at the thought of home—a memory blurred by years of battle and deceit. With a deep sigh, she pushed herself from her chair and crossed to the great bed that awaited her, its silken sheets a poor balm for the fatigue clinging to her soul.

For a moment, she allowed herself vulnerability. Her fingers rose to the delicate mask she wore, the symbol of her false identity, and let it fall.

The Leah the empire knew—the queen of fire-red hair, emerald eyes, and porcelain skin—vanished with it. In her place stood the real Leah. Dark hair spilled like ink over her shoulders, her amber eyes gleaming with a quiet intensity. Her skin, a rich umber marred by patches of pale discoloration, told stories of a life lived far from royalty.

Gone was the regal figure, and in her place was a tired woman bearing the scars of countless lies.

"Father…" she whispered into the stillness, her voice brittle and low. "Is this what you meant? To be a shield and not a spear? To endure, to protect, even when it feels as though I'll break?"

Her hand clenched at her side, then relaxed as she lay back against the plush pillows. The ceiling above offered no answers, only silence.

Tomorrow loomed like a storm on the horizon. Smugglers needed silencing. Her guards needed direction. And her part in these clandestine dealings would need to be buried, as always. But amidst the chaos, there was one flicker of hope.

The boy.

The thought of the peculiar child—his defiance, his raw potential—brought the faintest ghost of a smile to her lips. "With that little prince in my hand… perhaps this game will grow easier."

Her eyes fluttered shut, the weight of the world pulling her into restless dreams. For now, the real Leah could exist, even if only in the dark.

-

Adam perched on the rooftop, tense with anticipation, his crossbow resting in his hands. It felt as though the world below him was shifting—no, waiting. He didn't like this. There was something about the air tonight, thick with the promise of violence, that gnawed at him. His mind drifted, as it often did, to the same thought: Why can't they be normal? He knew the answer already—there was no such thing as normal in this world. Not when people like this existed.

It was just a joke. A quiet thought to himself as he sat up there, isolated from the storm below, but now… now it felt less like a joke and more like a warning.

He squinted, peering into the clearing below. The figures emerging were cloaked, the vague outlines of their bodies more menacing than they should have been. Fifteen, maybe more. All armed, none of them looking innocent. And then, he saw it: crates. Heavy with smuggled goods. Smugglers?

He scoffed, bitter humor in his voice. This is going to be a long night.

Then, something shifted in the air. A strange mist. At first, Adam thought it might be his imagination, a trick of the evening breeze, but it wasn't. It wasn't. He noticed it creeping from an alleyway, a white fog that hung low to the ground like a wraith.

His heart sank. So it begins.

Pental, on the ground, felt rage like a furnace stoking his insides. His entire life had been one endless spiral of fury, but today was different. Today, it was personal. These smugglers dared to bring their filth into his domain, into the very queen's home? He would show them what it meant to defy her.

With a low hiss, his mask—one of ferocity—settled into place, and from behind it, a thick, white fog poured out. It swirled like smoke, toxic and dangerous to anyone who dared to inhale. His scythe gleamed in the moonlight, wickedly sharp, as he stepped forward with the deadly grace of a serpent hunting its prey.

The first target came into view: a mage, confused by the mist, trying to cast a spell. With a swift coil of his body, Pental's scythe cut through the air. One slash. The mage was down.

The others were quick to react, their training evident as they attacked in unison, but Pental was faster. His strikes were merciless, relentless, as his scythe took down the nearest assailant. His body moved like a coil, snapping and slithering through their defenses.

Above him, a giant, laughing balloon descended—Ludel.

"Hohoho!" Ludel's jovial laugh echoed, contrasting sharply with the violent chaos below. He landed with an earth-shaking thud, his hands held in a loose fighting stance. A gleam of mischief danced in his eyes.

He stepped forward, gathering all his strength into his legs, before dashing like a cannonball, fists primed for battle. But the enemy wasn't as easily intimidated as Ludel thought. A large shield met his fist with a loud clang, but Ludel wasn't deterred. "Hohoho!" He grinned, revealing metal spikes on his hands, ready to take down whoever dared to stand in his way.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, Ligh was facing a different challenge. Two smugglers, attempting to flee, had been cornered by her. She hurled two knives with deadly precision, sending them towards the pair, but as she dropped from a rooftop to finish the job, she was intercepted by a smaller, wiry figure. A sword-wielding man. Annoying.

Ligh disappeared in a blur, only to reappear behind the two, ready to end the chase, but the small sword-wielder was faster than expected. The fight was far from over. How inconvenient, she thought, irritation simmering beneath her calm exterior.

Rift, ever the loner, remained high above, his vantage point perched on a distant rooftop. He strummed his guitar, the strings vibrating under his fingers, a smooth hum filling the night air. With an effortless motion, he reached into his back and drew something unexpected—a bow, but not the kind made for arrows. No, this was an instrument designed like a bow, and as he drew the string back, the bow thrummed with a strange energy. He released it.

The sound of an arrowless shot rang through the air, and below, one of the hidden thieves collapsed, a clean, silent kill. Rift stood, watching, as the remaining forty or so enemies, unaware of his presence, were still none the wiser.

Elsewhere, Hey and Bey were tasked with clearing out any lingering threats. Hey, as always, was excited for the fight, his twin swords flashing as he moved with reckless abandon. His twin, Bey, wasn't so thrilled. Her massive hammer was an odd sight among the quick-moving figures, but she had learned that when the queen gave orders, they were to be followed—whether she liked it or not.

Just as they were about to engage, another figure appeared: Due. His whistling filled the night, and before the smugglers could react, the three of them charged forward with reckless force, their presence now known to the hidden enemies. This is going to be fun, Hey thought, grinning madly. But for them, it's going to be short-lived, Bey mused, the weight of inevitability heavy on her shoulders.

Back on the rooftop, Adam was witnessing it all. Shocked. Terrified. What is this? His heart pounded in his chest. His mind screamed for him to do something, but his body refused to listen. He stared at the chaos below, his thoughts a muddled mess. This is… why I don't like violence. He clenched his fists, staring at the bloodshed unfolding. His heart wavered. Should he intervene? Help? No, he thought, his voice shaking. They've got this.

But just as he was about to dismiss the whole thing, a sound snapped him back to reality—a crossbow bolt, whizzing past him with deadly accuracy. His eyes widened. "Uh-oh."

He turned to his left, eyes landing on a face he hadn't expected to see—Edward. The same man he had mugged all those days ago. And judging by the look in his eyes, Edward wanted nothing more than to kill him.

Adam's heart skipped a beat. The fight had just become a whole lot more personal.