The morning was muted, almost hesitant, as if the city itself had not yet dared to breathe. Light filtered weakly through the tall windows of the foster home, dust motes hovering like tiny specters in the air. The trio awoke in their areas of the room, limbs stiff, muscles aching, bandages rubbing against raw skin. Even the small victories of sleep could not undo the weight pressing down on their shoulders.
Rylan rose first, fingers tracing the faint bruises along his forearms. Each mark a reminder of what they had faced, what they had endured, and what they had caused. His mind drifted to the Fire Avatar — the one they had subdued, but not without leaving him broken. His chest tightened at the thought of the funeral, the coffin, the quiet faces of those who had suffered without any real understanding of the cost of survival.
Liam moved silently, his movements precise, a habit honed in training. His eyes scanned his reflection in the mirror, noting the faint cuts along his jaw and neck, the slight swelling around his ribs. Pain had become a constant companion, a teacher he could not refuse. He exhaled slowly, understanding that the life they had chosen — the one thrust upon them — demanded that they accept the consequences without complaint.
Esther's gaze lingered on the shadows in the corner of her room. She flexed her fingers, watching the skin stretch over bruised knuckles. Her mind, sharp and calculating, fixated on Leximus. The thought of him — favored, protected, untouched by the same rules that governed them — churned into a bitter taste at the back of her throat. She would never voice it, not aloud. But the resentment coiled, waiting.
By the time the breakfast bell sounded, the trio had dressed, patched, and readied themselves. The corridors echoed with muted footsteps, whispers of the foster home coming alive. The smell of cooked grains, charred bread edges, and the faint copper tang of blood from the minor injuries carried from the infirmary reached them. It was a semblance of normality, fragile and fleeting.
Leximus did not rise with them. His shadows had retreated to his bedside, coiling gently along the contours of his battered frame. His breaths came unevenly, labored and shallow. The cast along his left arm weighed him down, the bandages across his chest pulling with every movement. The faint line across his forehead throbbed with memory. Survival had not been kind; the body remembered each strike, each calculated blow delivered with surgical precision by the Rank 3 Storm-Logic Savant.
When he finally moved, it was with deliberate caution. Shadows stirred along his sides, protective and alert. Each step toward the breakfast hall was measured; each breath calculated. The hall fell quiet as he appeared in the doorway, a limping silhouette against the morning light. He brought his good hand over his side while his twisted left arm remained in its cast, searching for an empty bench. Every head turned, every whisper paused, the silence pressing on him heavier than the pain in his chest.
Liam lifted his hand, a quiet, deliberate signal. Leximus exhaled, shoulders easing fractionally, and moved toward the Trio. As he lowered himself onto the bench beside them, murmurs erupted like a tide breaking.
"They say he faced a Rank 3 Storm-Logic Avatar," a girl whispered, voice trembling with awe.
"Survived? Alone?" another asked, eyes wide.
"Must have been training with Sirius… maybe Calvin, too. That's the only way."
Wilder stories followed, impossible embellishments twisting survival into legend. Some claimed he had moved faster than air itself. Some said shadows obeyed him as if alive. The children leaned in closer, gossip sharpening like knives in the hall.
The Trio was accustomed to this. They had whispered about each other, about favors and dangerous encounters, about controlling unstable Avatars. But Leximus experienced it differently; he had survived life in the slums to such murmurs, watching eyes follow his every move. Here, it was magnified, but the mechanism was familiar. He did not flinch. He only glanced at Rylan, Liam, and Esther, noting the quiet ways they absorbed the chatter.
"Is it always like this?" Leximus asked softly, voice hoarse, gesturing to the room.
Esther's response was a scoff, sharp and bitter. "You eat in the Arcanum Depths, don't you? This is different. This is… exposure. Public."
Leximus shrugged, the shadows along his arms twitching unconsciously. The hall continued its low hum of gossip, oblivious to him yet attentive to every motion.
A tall figure entered then, moving with purpose toward the manager's office. His presence was commanding. He stated plainly that he wished to assess a child for care, and the manager, a young-looking woman in her thirties, blinked and nodded, masking apprehension.
"What type of child are you seeking?" she asked, steady but wary.
The man's voice was smooth, even, chilling in its precision. "A child with black hair… pale skin… black eyes. As if the light itself had been drained from them."
The manager swallowed hard. "Wait here," she said, a subtle tremor betraying her composure.
Meanwhile, the children finished their meal. Some slipped away through the back stairs behind the kitchen and near the store, returning to their base. Others stayed to clean, routines unchanged by the tension. Non-Avatars existed quietly alongside them, aware of the powers they could not wield, observing and interacting without interference.
Liam leaned slightly toward Leximus. "Once you're healed, we'll start training. Missions will be coming. You're not done yet."
A maid approached then, quietly directing Leximus toward the front office. He nodded, shadows slipping along his sides like wet cloth, and followed.
The blond man awaited him, deep green eyes sharp, a charming smile curling at the edges of his lips."His name is Leximus." Said the maid. He looked Leximus over, assessing the bandages and cast. "Why the arm?" he asked casually.
"A mishap," the manager replied calmly.
The man chuckled lightly. "I will return when you are fully healed. Until then… patience."
After he left, the maid exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Report to Sirius," she instructed. "He already knows."
Leximus nodded, moving with quiet compliance.
Meanwhile, the Trio was under observation, small tests of agility and stamina checking the limits of their recovery. Calvin entered abruptly, announcing that their next mission was scheduled in two days.
Leximus' presence shocked them — he was not ready to walk unaided, much less endure a mission. Calvin as if reading their thoughts and added, "Healers will be working harder to restore his body."
Esther's eyes narrowed. "Why him? Why special treatment?"
Sirius' calm voice cut through the tension. "Because if he goes in alone now, he dies. Someone has leaked knowledge of his existence… his unusual Element. An informant operates within the Organization."
Leximus reported what he had seen, what the blond man had said. Sirius' sigh was quiet, measured. "A surveillance group will be assigned."
He walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a notebook and black pen. "Record everything," he instructed. "This will preserve your control, your sanity, and your progression. Future generations will learn of the Shadow Element through you."
Leximus took them with a nod, shadows shifting lightly along his sides.
"And for the record," Sirius said, voice soft but firm, "you are now a Rank 1 Flicker of the Shadow Element."
Far away, in a vast chamber lined with opulent furniture and dark velvet, the captured merchant was brought before a shadowed figure. His body was broken, bloodied, ragged.
"Tell me about Leximus," the figure demanded, voice cold as steel.
"I… I don't know," the merchant whispered, trembling.
A bolt of lightning coursed through his chest, the light revealing terror, pain, and helplessness in the same instant. He collapsed.
The figure's voice echoed, sharp and final: "Pathetic."
Order given, the merchant was decapitated. His head was thrown into the streets of the city below, a grim warning for all who watched, and a shadow of the cost of knowledge.
Leximus, the Trio, the foster home — all existed in the fragile, painful in-between of survival. Some scars were visible, some hidden, some waiting for the moment to deepen. Normalcy was a myth. Every step carried consequence. Every breath, a choice. And far beyond the walls of the foster home, forces were already moving to claim what they sought — and Leximus had been marked