The battlefield was loud.
Too loud.
Steel clashed. Men screamed. Magic tore through the sky in violent streaks of light—but to Lucas, it all felt… distant.
Like he had heard it all before.
Like he had *died* to it before.
A blade came for his neck.
He didn't even look.
A faint shimmer pulsed beneath his skin.
The air bent.
The blade shattered.
The soldier holding it froze, eyes wide—just in time for the ground beneath him to split open and swallow him whole.
Lucas lowered his hand slowly.
"…Annoying."
His voice was quiet. Flat. Empty.
Around him, the battlefield warped.
Flames that weren't his flickered unnaturally. Wind currents shifted in ways no ordinary mage could control. Even the earth beneath their feet trembled—not from fear, but from *obedience*.
A commander shouted something in the distance.
Orders. Strategy. Formation.
Lucas ignored all of it.
He stepped forward.
And every step he took, the war bent around him.
—
"They're saying he turned the tide alone."
"Third circle, they said. No—fourth? That's impossible—"
"I saw it. The way the mana moved… it wasn't normal."
Voices. Whispers.
Lucas walked past them like they didn't exist.
Because they didn't matter.
None of them ever did.
Not the kingdoms.
Not the titles.
Not the expectations they tried to shove onto him the moment they realized what he was.
A tool.
A weapon.
A convenient solution.
Just like before.
His fingers twitched.
For a brief moment—just a moment—the battlefield disappeared.
And in its place—
A quiet night.
A forest.
And a voice.
"You don't have to do anything for them."
Lucas' breath hitched.
"…Tch."
The memory snapped like brittle glass.
Gone.
Just like that.
His expression hardened.
Cold. Distant. Unreachable.
"…Irrelevant."
—
The war ended faster than it should have.
Not because of strategy.
Not because of unity.
But because one person decided it wasn't worth dragging out.
Lucas stood at the edge of the battlefield, staring at the horizon painted in ash and dying light.
Victory.
They would call it that.
They would celebrate. Praise him. Try to bind him again with obligations and gratitude.
He already knew how it would go.
Because it had happened before.
"…So this is where it starts."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Not the war.
Not the politics.
Something else.
Something deeper.
Something that had already slipped through his fingers once.
His hand moved unconsciously—to his chest.
A faint, almost imperceptible pulse answered him.
Not power.
Not quite.
Something… *familiar*.
Lucas frowned.
"…What was it again?"
There was something he was supposed to remember.
Something important.
Someone.
A name lingered at the edge of his thoughts—just out of reach, like a dream fading with the morning light.
He clicked his tongue, annoyed.
"Doesn't matter."
If it was important—
He would find it again.
This time…
He wouldn't let it disappear.
—
Days later, in the aftermath of war, while nobles argued over territory and generals over credit—
Lucas stood alone in a dim, forgotten corner of a ruined outpost.
Dust. Broken stone. Silence.
His kind of place.
At his feet lay something small.
Discarded.
Ignored.
A fragment of blackened metal, etched with symbols too faint to notice at a glance.
Worthless.
At least, that's what anyone else would think.
Lucas crouched.
The moment his fingers brushed it—
The world stilled.
A pulse.
Sharp.
Clear.
His eyes widened—just slightly.
"…This—"
For a split second—
A voice.
Soft.
Amused.
"You're finally looking at the right things."
Lucas froze.
His grip tightened.
"…Who—"
Silence.
Nothing answered him.
But the feeling lingered.
Faint.
Familiar.
Real.
His heart—something he thought had long gone numb—beat just a little faster.
"…Tch."
He stood, slipping the fragment into his cloak.
"Annoying."
But he didn't throw it away.
—
Far away, beyond the reach of kingdoms, beyond the understanding of gods—
Something stirred.
Not awakened.
Not yet.
But aware.
A presence brushed against the edges of something it had once touched.
Something it had once—
Chosen.
And for the briefest moment—
It felt… *amused*.
—
Back on the ruined outpost, Lucas looked toward the distant sky.
Unmoving.
Unreadable.
"…I'll find it."
He didn't know what "it" was.
Didn't remember why it mattered.
But the feeling in his chest refused to fade.
So he followed it.
Like a fool.
Like someone chasing a ghost.
"…Even if I have to tear this world apart."
The wind carried his words into silence.
And somewhere, far beyond his reach—
Something listened.