LUCIUS
"How long has it been?" I muttered to myself, my steps echoing across the streets, the bustle of the city fading into background noise. The question was a habit by now, rhetorical and cruel. I knew exactly how long it had been since it all started — since I crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.
More than three years. Closer to four... Maybe.
I've got a lover.
And I've got a girlfriend.
Two different women, stitched into my life by different threads, loved almost equally — at least, that's what a lying bastard like me tells himself when loyalty becomes a burden too heavy to carry.
And here I am, cursing Goodman of all people.
Goodman — that demon, that stubborn fool who, for all his flaws, at least stays loyal to the woman he loves, even knowing she'd never glance his way in a million, billion years.
Unlike me. Unlike the hypocrite walking these streets pretending to be better than he is.
It all started with Sia.
I told myself, once, that what I felt was admiration, loyalty, duty, the innocent yearning of a lost boy seeking an anchor, an anchor that saved his life, gave him a chance, a hand to hold and a person to trust blindly.
But admiration doesn't burn in your veins. It doesn't twist your guts every time she looks away, or drive you to madness when she smiles at someone else.
No — what I felt was love and desire.
Pure, selfish, inevitable, you name it.
Sia resisted me for years.
She was loyal, heart and soul, to that "honourable servant" of hers — Rartar. Her husband. Her ghost. A man more in love with duty and fame than with her, his own wife.
She clung to that loyalty like a drowning woman to driftwood, refusing every unspoken offer, every silent plea I hurled her way.
But loyalty doesn't warm your bed at night.
Loyalty doesn't brush your hair back when you're sick, or hold your trembling hands when the world collapses around you, or make you laugh.
And slowly, inevitably, she began to see me.
Not as a student. Not as a subordinate.
As a man, as a partner, even though we have a huge age gap... What was that saying? Ah yes, 'Age is nothing, but just a number,' One said, well said.
It took years of patience.
Years of being there when Rartar wasn't.
Years of silent promises, lingering touches, careful walls built and dismantled one brick at a time.
Until finally, she fell—no, she allowed herself to fall—and I caught her.
Do I regret it?
... No. I don't.
But yeah, I just marvel at how deeply satisfaction can carve itself into guilt — and still leave you smiling.
And Rartar?
He's still out there somewhere, oblivious to what he lost.
When he returns — if he ever returns — there will be nothing left to reclaim. All thanks to his pride and stupidity.
I made sure of that.
As for Sara...
God, Sara.
If Sia was the impossible dream, Sara was the quiet miracle I never asked for.
I've known her for almost a decade now.
We trained together under Sia and the others back at the Academy — children pretending to be mages, all bruises and sweat and unspoken hopes.
Back then, I wasn't anyone special.
Lav was the golden boy — stronger, smarter, better-looking, blessed by every goddamn fortune the world could offer, except the 'loving family' one, 'Same pinch,' I called, as I lightly pinched my right shoulder.
And me?
I was the mutt. The outsider. The N'mana. The lesser, too many names, insults, I was labelled with, including my favourite one, 'the lost one', who didn't even know who he was before the age of eight.
We fought a thousand duels, against each other, Lav and I.
And I lost every single one of them.
Humiliating.
Infuriating.
Every time I stood back up, every time I trained until my body broke itself into new shapes, it was for one reason — to crush him someday. Jealousy being my driving factor.
Lav had it all.
The admiration of our peers.
The favour of the instructors.
The whispered dreams of the girls who circled him like moths around a flame.
And yet... the one girl he looked at, the one girl he wanted above all, was Sara.
Sara — the bright-eyed warrior girl who drew hearts out of every man around her, like it was effortless.
Every man but one.
I never looked at her that way.
Not because I wasn't interested in women my age.
But because I didn't have time to be.
Training and Sia. Those were my gods back then, still are.
Romance? Romance was a luxury I couldn't afford, couldn't spare time for.
Maybe that's why Sara fell for me.
Because I didn't chase her.
Because I wasn't dazzled by her smile or desperate for her attention.
Because, maybe, she saw something broken in me that mirrored something broken in herself...
Women are unpredictable like that.
In the end, Lav lost the duel he never even knew he was fighting.
And I, the mutt, the lesser, walked away with the prize he had spent his whole life reaching for.
Love is a battlefield, they say.
But they forget to mention — the blood on the victor's hands never really washes away.
I was young.
I was stupid.
But most importantly, I was selfish. Jealous. Desperate to get one-up against Lav for once.
So the moment I realised how Sara felt about me, I made my move.
I made her mine — right there in front of him, and everyone else who knew damn well how much he loved her.
It was a complete victory.
A landslide.
A war won without swords, without spells, without even lifting a finger. Just pure, petty cruelty.
I still remember his face.
His reaction.
His quiet, broken eyes that refused to cry.
I can see it now as if it's happening all over again, except this time, I'm just an invisible ghost watching from the corner.
That day, I wore a different expression — arrogant, triumphant, disgustingly proud.
I stood there, victorious, while Lav stood shattered.
I was a narcissist. A sociopath.
Whatever the right term is — it doesn't matter, I don't know their exact meanings even though I probably fit them all.
And Lav?
He took it like a champion.
Yup. That's what he is — a damn champion.
He didn't scream. He didn't lash out.
He just smiled — a dead, hollow kind of smile — and walked away, carrying the entire wreckage of his heart without a single complaint.
Maybe he cried later, alone, where no one could see, in his room.
But to my face?
Never.
Not once did he look at me with hatred, not once did he curse me, not once did he call me a traitor.
Instead, he kept caring. For me. For Sara.
He kept calling me 'brother.'
And every time he does, I die a little more inside.
Because he's a mirror.
A living, breathing mirror that forces me to look at the real monster behind the mask I wear.
I swear to God, if I could time-travel back to that day, I wouldn't wait for the devils in hell to punish me.
I'd burn myself alive.
I'd do it myself — no hesitation.
Because some sins don't deserve forgiveness.
As for Sara...
At first, when we started dating, I gave her attention — affection — but only when Lav was around.
Only when there was an audience to watch my 'victory parade.'
The rest of the time?
I couldn't have cared less if she was alive or dead.
I always thought being called an overthinker was a curse.
But it's worse knowing I wasn't some clueless idiot back then.
I knew what I was doing.
I knew how Lav would feel.
I knew Sara would suffer.
And still, I went ahead without a second thought, just to win, just to taste what it felt like to finally beat the golden boy at something.
But fate has a funny way of kicking you in the teeth.
It didn't take long for reality to catch up with me.
And once again, it was Lav who held up the mirror.
That champion of a man took the blow right to the heart — and still found it in himself to smile at us.
He wished us well.
He told us to be happy.
And he let Sara go — just like that — without a single selfish word.
That moment shattered me more than any sword ever could.
By the time I realized how badly I'd fucked everything up, it was too late.
We'd been together.
Crossed every line.
Physically, emotionally — more times than I could even count.
Not out of love at first — no.
At first, it was just... possession.
Proof of my so-called victory.
But Sara — beautiful, stupid, amazing Sara — she loved me for real.
Even when I didn't deserve it.
Even when I barely looked at her, she poured her entire soul into me, like I was worth saving.
And somewhere along the way, without even noticing, I fell for her too.
Hard.
Hopelessly.
I remembered her words — the ones that still carve into my chest like knives:
"Lucius... I've realised something important, something beautiful..."
"That I love you. More than anyone else. More than myself..."
How the hell do you break up with someone after that?
How do you shatter the heart of the only person who ever truly loved you without conditions, without games?
I can't.
I fucking can't.
Even if every kiss, every night, every moment we share while I'm still tangled with Sia... feels like I'm driving another dagger into Sara's back.
This guilt is eating me alive.
And the worst part?
I don't even know how to move forward anymore.
I'm drowning in this mess I created with my own hands, and no amount of swimming is ever going to save me...