Lucas didn't know what he expected from his first meeting with Senior Vivian — maybe a cold, seasoned veteran with a strict glare and an iron spine. What he found instead was someone who laughed the moment she saw him.
She leaned against the doorframe, sunlight spilling through behind her, and let out a quick chuckle like she couldn't believe what she was looking at."You're the new trainee?" she asked, half amusement, half curiosity.
Lucas nodded, still a bit unsure. "Yes, ma'am. I'm—"
"Oh please," she interrupted, waving a hand dramatically. "Don't call me ma'am. Makes me feel ancient. "She pointed a thumb at herself, grin widening. "Name's Vivian. Just Vivian."
He blinked. For someone described by the head assigner as demanding, she was nothing like the rumor. She moved with the easy energy of someone who didn't take formality too seriously — or maybe someone who'd grown tired of it.
"Come in, kid," she said, stepping aside. "You look like you're about to faint from the weight of your manners."
Inside, her home was smaller than Lucas imagined — neat but scattered with small oddities: weapon parts, training dummies, and scrolls piled on a table next to a chipped mug. She motioned for him to sit, and before he could properly gather himself, she'd already disappeared into the kitchen.
When she returned, she was balancing two bowls of something steaming. "Eat first," she said, plopping one in front of him. "We talk after food. Hungry people don't listen well."
Lucas hesitated but obeyed. The food was simple — stew, thick with herbs — but after weeks of tavern bread and camp meals, it tasted like a celebration.
"So," she said between bites, watching him. "What's your name, kid?"
"Lucas."
"Lucas, huh?" Vivian grinned. "Good. Easy to yell if you're about to die."
Lucas nearly choked. "W-what?"
She laughed again, loud and unrestrained. "Relax, it's just a joke. Probably."
He was starting to understand why no one had warned him what she was actually like.
After the meal, Lucas wiped his hands and finally asked, "So… what kind of missions do you take?"
Vivian leaned back in her chair, eyes half-closed with a teasing smile. "You'll see soon enough." That was all she said.
When they stepped out later, the sun was already past its climb. Vivian didn't seem in a hurry to go anywhere. She wandered through the city's lanes, greeting vendors, stopping to look at trinkets, sometimes talking to complete strangers. Lucas followed, confused at what kind of 'training' this was supposed to be.
By the time the sky began to redden, they were back at her small home. Lucas was half certain he'd misunderstood the entire day.
Vivian stretched and yawned. "Alright," she said casually, "you'll be staying here from now on. My trainees live where I do — makes it easier to drag them out of bed when there's work."
Lucas blinked. "Live here? Like… permanently?"
"Until you survive long enough to quit," she said with a smirk. "Or until I get tired of you. Whichever comes first."
He didn't know whether to laugh or be worried.
"Tomorrow," she added, walking past him toward her room, "we head out. First mission together."
Then, with that same mysterious tone she'd used before: "You'll see."
The next morning, Lucas was outside the walls of the Kingdom of Dragons, sun flashing off the gate's golden trim as it sealed behind him. His chest thrummed with anticipation — finally, a real mission. A chance to prove himself.
He adjusted the weight of the leather bag slung over his shoulder — Vivian's bag, stuffed to bursting with gods-knew-what. She walked a few steps ahead, head bent over a creased map, her ponytail swaying with each lazy step.
"So," Lucas began, for maybe the tenth time, "are you going to tell me where we're headed?"
Vivian hummed. "Mm."
"That's not an answer."
She squinted at the map like it might confess its secrets under pressure. "Patience, my brave little pack mule."
Lucas scowled. "You can't just call me that."
"Oh, sure I can. You're carrying my bag, aren't you?"
"That's not—" He sighed. "You're supposed to be my mentor, not my boss."
Vivian turned just enough for him to catch the mischievous smile tugging at her mouth. "Sweetheart, I am both."
Lucas groaned, shifting the bag higher on his shoulder. The morning air was sharp, the road long and sloping, lined with birch trees that whispered in the breeze. Every step felt like a march toward something important — or at least, that's what he told himself.
"So it's a monster hunt, right?" he pressed again. "Or a raider camp? You wouldn't have brought me out here just to—"
Vivian suddenly stopped, holding up a hand. Lucas froze, instinct tightening his grip on his sword's hilt.
She turned slowly, dead serious for a heartbeat. "There."
Lucas's eyes followed her pointing finger — and landed on a small hilltop cottage, smoke drifting lazily from its chimney.
He blinked. "...What?"
Vivian folded up the map. "Our destination."
"That's a house."
"Excellent observation." She walked ahead cheerfully, boots crunching on the dirt path. "Today's mission is of utmost importance. High risk, very delicate."
Lucas hurried after her, eyebrows furrowed. "You're joking."
Vivian didn't answer — just whistled softly, as if the morning breeze carried the rest of her words.
They reached the little village just as the sun slid low, paint-bright on the thatched roofs. Smoke curled from chimneys, and children's voices drifted out of doorways. A single man stood by the lane — thin, shoulders hunched against an invisible chill, fingers worrying the strap of a small pack. He looked older than Lucas expected, eyes darting to the treeline and back to the village like he couldn't decide where he wanted to be.
Lucas stepped forward automatically, fingers brushing the sword at his hip as if habit were stronger than reason. He kept his distance — close enough to react, far enough to not seem like a threat. Vivian moved ahead with the easy confidence of someone used to talking down trouble. She greeted the man with a bright, plain voice that fit the road and the dusk.
"Good evening. You look like you've seen better days," she said. "We're here on a—well, on a mission. How can we help?"
The villager's eyes snagged on Lucas for the smallest moment — suspicion, gratitude, something like fear. "I… I need to cross the forest," he stammered. "To bring grain to my brother. The path's shorter that way, but the forest—people say it's cursed. Strange sounds at night. Shapes that move wrong. No one will walk with me."
Lucas's hand went half to his sword. The word cursed was a blade-call. He imagined monsters and shadows, the sort of thing a sword was made for. Vivian, however, only nodded once, thoughtful, and turned to Lucas with that small, conspiratorial smile that had already started to unnerve him.
"Easy," she said softly, looping an arm through the villager's with practiced gentleness. "We're not here to cut anyone down."
Lucas blinked. "We're not?"
Vivian laughed, the sound low and steady. "No. This man is frightened, not evil. He needs an escort to the edge of the forest and a little courage. Nothing more. No fighting."
The villager's shoulders loosened like a knot untying. He spoke faster now — words tumbling out in a rush about odd noises. Vivian listened, folding the story into small questions, drawing out the places that truly worried him.
Lucas stayed silent, palms open by his sword as if to remind himself of its weight. He'd come expecting a clash; instead the problem was a trembling man. It felt almost silly, and more than a little frustrating—then Vivian put a hand on the villager's shoulder and offered a smile that was all warmth.
"We'll walk with you," she said simply. "No blades unless the forest makes it impossible. We'll show you it's only trees and wind."
The villager's face changed then — from pale, hunted worry to a fragile, grateful hope. He nodded so hard it looked like relief might spill from him. Lucas felt something shift in his chest: the urge to fight didn't vanish, but it quieted, replaced by the odd sense that some things were won by steadiness rather than steel.
Vivian straightened and looked at Lucas, stone-cold for a second, then soft again. "You can keep your sword ready," she said, "but today the work is patience. Are you with me?"
Lucas swallowed, the sword feeling heavier than usual at his hip, and found himself nodding.
The forest went just fine—almost too fine. No ambush, no beast, not even the rustle of danger that Lucas had prepared himself for. The villager walked between them, trembling at every sound, while Lucas stayed alert, hand always near his sword. But nothing came. Not a single fight, not a single surprise—just the long, uneventful silence of trees whispering in the wind.
When they finally reached the edge of the forest, the villager bowed in gratitude and hurried away. Vivian stretched her arms with a cheerful sigh. "That was a fun mission, wasn't it?" she said brightly, brushing a leaf off her shoulder.
Lucas stared at her blankly. No smile. No reply. His expression was as flat as the dirt road they stood on. "What's the next mission?" he asked.
Vivian rummaged through her bag and peeked at a folded note. "Let's see… ah! We've got to help a farmer get his nineteen sheep back into the pen!" she said, sounding as though she'd just read the name of a legendary quest.
Lucas blinked, disbelieving. Sheep?
Hours later, when all nineteen wooly rebels were finally rounded up and bleating behind their fence, Lucas looked ready to collapse—not from exhaustion, but from sheer frustration. "Next?" he muttered.
"Another escort," Vivian replied, completely unbothered.
By the time the third mission ended, the sun was slipping beneath the hills, painting the sky orange. Vivian clapped her hands together, cheerful as ever. "All missions done! Good job today, partner!"
Lucas's patience finally cracked. "How is this any different from what I was doing inside the walls?" he snapped, his voice rising with genuine anger. "These are the same boring missions I did back there—except now I'm just your sidekick! When am I going to get a real mission?"
Vivian's expression changed for the first time that day. The playfulness drained from her face; her smile vanished.
"What?" Lucas barked, taking a step forward. "Are you gonna give me that weird smile again?" His tone was sharp, words spilling before he could stop them. "Do you even know how to fight? Or do you just take weak missions like these and pretend you're strong? Why do you even carry a sword? I've never seen you pull it out—or even tell me what element you use!"
Vivian said nothing. Her eyes lowered briefly, then lifted again—steady, unreadable.
Then, without a word, she reached for her sword. The steel whispered as it slid free of the sheath, gleaming faintly in the fading light.
Vivian's eyes stayed dark—no hint of the cheerful woman Lucas had met in the morning. Her voice dropped to a calm, cold tone."Show me that you're ready for this 'real mission' of yours."
Lucas's jaw tightened. His grip on the sword firmed as his teeth ground together. Without a word, he drew his blade and dashed forward, his boots kicking up dirt. Just a step away from her, Vivian merely moved her hand—slowly, almost lazily.
Lucas froze, stepping back instinctively, anticipating a counterattack. Nothing came.
Then, in a single motion, Vivian swung her sword. The air around her roared to life, and before Lucas could even brace himself, a violent gust slammed into his chest, launching him backward. He hit the ground hard, sliding across the grass, but he wasn't the same boy who'd once been helpless against wind users.
He stabbed his sword into the soil, the blade carving through dirt as he used it to steady himself. "Not again," he muttered, spitting blood to the side. He gripped the sword tighter, inhaled deeply, and with one swift motion, slashed the air.
A sharp crescent of wind tore toward Vivian. The air howled as the arc raced across the field.
But she didn't even look up. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, her hair gently swaying in the current.
Then—effortlessly—Vivian lifted her hand and caught the attack midair. The arc of wind twisted in her palm like a tamed beast."Maybe," she said slowly, her voice echoing faintly through the wind, "you shouldn't try using wind against another wind user… one who outclasses you."
She flicked her wrist.
The same attack surged back toward Lucas, twice as strong. It struck him before he could move. His body flew through the air like a rag doll, smashing into the rocky side of the mountain behind them. The stone cracked and shattered from the impact.
Groaning, Lucas shoved the rubble off himself and stumbled to his feet. Blood trailed from his mouth, but his eyes burned brighter than ever. "I'm not done yet."
He charged again, fast—too fast to read. Vivian dodged to the side, but Lucas's blade grazed her arm, slicing through the fabric of her sleeve and drawing a clean cut.
He jumped back immediately, panting. "Are you okay, Master?"
Vivian glanced down at her wound, then smiled—a calm, almost playful smile again. She pressed her other hand over the cut, and a soft, pale glow spread across her skin. Within seconds, the wound sealed. No blood. No mark.
Lucas's eyes widened."A… self-healing warrior?" he whispered under his breath, disbelief mixing with awe.
Vivian looked at him, the faintest grin curling on her lips. "You're learning, Lucas," she said, her voice calm but heavy with something new—respect.