Ra-Ai Colony, or simply RA Colony, is a secluded settlement housing the Nmanas and their entire population.
The city of Varis is shaped like an egg. Now imagine that egg placed horizontally on a map—the left side pressed against the Black Mountains, while the right edge is bound by the Grand Line and the Lunar Walls. The top half of the egg? That's where the RA Colony lies.
The city's layout was simple in theory: the most important buildings and residential sectors were built at the centre. That way, if an emergency ever arose—like an invasion or sudden ambush—it would buy the people enough time to flee toward the Black Mountains. Logical. Strategic. Protective.
Except that logic apparently skipped the RA Colony.
This upper segment of the city? Abandoned. No knights. No defences. No one gave a damn about their safety, no matter the circumstances. Their entire existence was conveniently forgotten—ignored like a stain too far on the map to bother scrubbing.
Yet despite all that, the colony houses hundreds of thousands. Most of them are farmers, carpenters, watchmen, low-tier guards—occupations considered so irrelevant in Varis's high-ranking society that they're often labelled, quite literally, the most useless beings alive.
Not my words. Though once upon a time, I might've agreed.
But since the military and the city's officials had no interest in offering them protection or governance, these people simply did it themselves. Built their own walls. Erected gates. Formed councils. Lived like a functioning city within a city. Their walls mirrored the Lunar Walls in both design and inspiration—solid, reliable, defiant. The gates were open, so we slipped right through. No battleknights, no Lunarknights. Just ordinary citizens watching quietly from posts.
Our attire made it clear we were mages—the very kind that usually looked down on people like them.
"Why are we here again?" Sara asked, her gaze drifting as she scanned the surroundings.
Shops lined the streets. Food stalls, tool vendors, local crafts. Their build quality was honestly impressive. And the roads? Clean. Maintained. Better than what we had near Market Road, and that fact alone stunned me.
Children played in open spaces. Elders chatted over snacks and tea. People laughed, argued, drank, and shared. Not once did we feel unwelcome. Nobody sneered at us. Nobody asked why two mages were walking into their world.
"To find someone," I replied. "A child and her mother. I... don't remember their names, though."
But I did remember. I just didn't remember that I remembered. The girl had told me once. Her name was—damn it, what was it again?
I replayed the memory of that day, a trick I usually relied on when trying to recall something specific. I've got a good memory, after all.
Aurora.
"The girl's name. It's Aurora."
The moment I remembered, I blurted it out. I've got this annoying habit of forgetting things people just told me, while remembering useless trivia like it's scripture. Don't ask. I've given up trying to explain it.
"She's a she, I mean... a girl, of their age," I added, glancing at the kids running around. "And probably somewhere nearby..."
Finding a single girl among these many people? Gods help us. I was already on a tight schedule, and this errand was eating into the limited time I had before I needed to return home for core absorption.
"If she's as young as you say," Sara said, "she's probably near the common playground—about a hundred meters that way. Want to head straight there? Or we could ask around, though... I doubt anyone here would help us."
She was right. In these robes? They'd probably assume we were here to look down on them. Maybe if we'd worn something plain, they'd talk. But like this? Not a chance.
Besides, the playground sounded like the better bet anyway. And if that didn't work, I had a backup—my emergency plan involving some chocolate I'd packed earlier. Kids would sell out their own parents for sugar.
"The first option," I said, nodding. "Let's go. Since you're with me—my personal lucky charm—I have a feeling we'll find her before the sun's fully down."
Sara didn't respond. She kept her eyes forward, expression neutral.
But I could feel it.
She liked that I said it.
Maybe I've grown more perceptive lately.
"That's a huge space—allocated just for a children's playground," Sara noted, both of us staring at the massive area before us.
It really was something. The playground was sprawling, well-built, and vibrant. Dozens of kids were scattered across it, laughing and running wild. There was all kinds of equipment to climb, swing, and slide on. A dedicated sand and flower garden rested off to the side, where some kids were building sandcastles, others chasing butterflies or their pets.
"You see her?" Sara asked.
"Trying."
My eyes scanned the place. Maybe fifty kids, maybe more, spread out across different corners. All shapes and sizes. I tracked them one by one. None of them was her.
Except—
Found her.
The little girl was standing alone, pushed against a pillar behind some kind of ride—I didn't know the name of it, didn't care. She had her head down while four or five others circled her. Bullies, probably. Two girls were among them. Their body language screamed intimidation.
We moved closer.
As I watched, I couldn't help but draw a strange connection in my mind.
'Another loner, huh? Junior version of Ms. Forza... haha.'
I giggled to myself. Why? Don't ask. Must've lost a few brain cells today.
We quietly walked up behind the group of five. They hadn't noticed us yet. The moment was still unfolding—their voices getting sharper, hands getting twitchy. I wasn't going to let this escalate.
"Oi, little shits. Shoo!" I called out, waving them off casually.
They didn't take me seriously.
Instead, they actually tried to swing at me with bats and these weird elongated sticks—handmade, no doubt. The arrogance of these eight or nine-year-old brats was unbelievable. Swinging at adults like that? They needed a proper reality check.
So I gave them one.
I let a sliver of my mana leak out. Just enough to scare them without anyone else noticing. The effect was instant—they froze, then bolted in different directions like startled mice.
"Hehe. Nice. I've always hated kids," I muttered.
Sara gave me a disapproving look—the kind that said you're hopeless, before stepping toward Aurora, who still hadn't moved. Her eyes hadn't left me since we'd arrived. Recognition, maybe?
"You're an evil man, Lucius," Sara remarked as she passed me.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say."
She knelt down in front of the girl.
"My, my... Aren't you one little cutie?" Sara cooed, her tone soft. "Hello there. My name's Sara. And this vile-looking man is Lucius. Would you like to share your name, precious one?"
Vile-looking man?
Ouch.
"It's Aurora, my lady..." the girl replied, her gaze fixed firmly on Sara now.
Damn, she's got big eyes, I thought. Kind of enchanting, actually. She was definitely going to grow up to be a heartbreaker.
"Aurora, huh? That's a lovely name." Sara smiled gently. "Tell me, do you know the man behind me?"
Sara's hair brushed softly against Aurora's tangled locks, slightly dirty, probably from the scuffle.
"I know him. He's a kind man..." she answered.
Bingo.
Sara turned her head just enough to shoot me a look. We both knew it: this was going far smoother than expected. Almost too smooth.
Sara asked if she'd like us to walk her home. Aurora hesitated—just a little—until I pulled a chocolate out of my pocket.
That sealed the deal.
She nodded, holding out her hand shyly.
Perfect.
Exactly the outcome I needed—clean, quick, and easy.
***
KNOCK KNOCK.
Sara knocked, and the three of us waited outside Aurora's house. It looked alright from the outside—small but clearly spacious inside. It kind of reminded me of my own old place. Ground level, no upper floor.
With a tired click, the door creaked open. Definitely past its warranty. And standing behind it was the same woman.
Aurora rushed past us and invited Sara in without hesitation. I hung back. We both waited for something more formal—for an invitation from the so-called man of the house. Except in this case, that 'man' was her mother.
The woman's expression shifted the moment she recognised me. Her lips pressed together. Her posture stiffened. She told Aurora to go freshen up and stepped inside with her shoes still on.
She's scared. I noticed it immediately. Sara did too.
"Yes? Who are you? What do you want?" she asked Sara, deliberately avoiding eye contact with me, as if her instincts warned her to.
Sara took the lead, calm as ever. She offered her name, a quick bow, and introduced me. She explained we were here to discuss something serious—something only she might be able to help with.
We didn't really give her much of a choice.
"Ahana," she finally said, opening the door wider to let us in.
The three of us sat on the floor. There were no sofas, no chairs—just thin mats and a low table. I didn't mind. I'd slept on worse back at Buck's place. Sara struggled for a second but adapted quickly.
We sat there in silence for a moment, tension stretching between us like a wire. Then Aurora rejoined us, soft footsteps, bright eyes, breaking the heavy air.
I leaned forward slightly.
"I'll be direct. We don't have much time. Our recent intel, along with some independent investigations, points to a disturbing rise in disappearances among your people. Do you know anything about it? Any leads at all?"
Ahana didn't hesitate.
"You're only realising it now?" she said, her voice sharp, her eyes already welling. "It's been happening for years. We can't even count how many of my people are gone. Including my husband, ten years married. And one day, he just vanished."
Tears began to spill, no longer contained.
"We tried everything—reporting, begging for help—but no one cared. Not when it's us. We're just mutts to you, right?"
That word. I hated it, first because I was labelled one, now entirely.
"Please don't say that," Sara said gently. "You have a child in your arms. She shouldn't even know what that word means."
"She already does," Ahana whispered. "She was labelled one long ago. That was the day her innocence died..." She paused for a moment, then looked at me, "He knows." Yes, I do. I remember our brief conversation.
Her fingers combed absently through Aurora's hair as the girl leaned against her.
I spoke next, keeping it clinical. "I'm sorry, but we need details. About your husband's disappearance. Any clue, however small."
She wiped her face and nodded slowly.
"I don't know much. One day, long after Aurora was born, he just… vanished. He was happy. There was no reason to leave. We searched for days. Then weeks. Then months. Nothing."
"What was his job?" I pressed.
"He was a barber," she said, her voice trembling. "Well-known, too. Even knights and adventurers were his clients."
A barber. Meaning not politically significant, not a high-priority target. But maybe seen too much? Or maybe a gossip/secret holder... I mean, knights wouldn't really share that much of details, but adventurers? Most of them are part-time storytellers.
"Did he say anything odd before disappearing? Anything strange?"
She shook her head. "No… nothing."
Damn it. We were back to square one.
Then Sara turned to Aurora.
"What about you, sweetie? Do you remember anything about your daddy?"
Aurora looked up at her. Her expression changed—eyes wide with sudden memory.
"Shadows!" she blurted.
The room froze.
Again… shadows?
"What?" I asked, my voice steady, but it was Ahana's reaction that truly struck me. Her grief faltered, replaced with something colder. Shame? Fear?
…No.
It was something else. Annoyance? Disgust?
I couldn't tell. I thought I could, but now I wasn't so sure anymore.
"Daddy said… stay away from them!" Aurora added clearly, like she was repeating his words exactly.
Shadows.
Not metaphorical ones, surely. Literal? Was that possible? What the hell did it mean?
As I tried to press further, her mother cut in.
"That's enough, Aurora. Go to your room. And never say that again," Ahana snapped sharply.
Aurora just looked up at her mother, nodded once, and stood. She turned toward us and bowed politely—eerily calm—then vanished down the hallway without another word.
I leaned forward, my tone low, voice unrelenting.
"Tell me everything you know about those shadows. Don't leave anything out. After that, we'll leave."
"And you never come back," she said. Her eyes demanded a promise.
"I promise," I replied without hesitation.
Sara nodded beside me, awfully silent, but firm.
Ahana exhaled slowly, as if the weight of the whole house pressed on her chest.
"He warned us about shadows before he vanished. We thought he was just being paranoid… overworked. He'd taken extra shifts—said it was related to new construction activity—but something changed. Before he disappeared, he started sneaking out at night. Wouldn't return until dawn. He said he had important work—a task—but never told me who, what, or where."
"And he changed?" I asked.
She nodded. "He became… distant. Quiet. Like he was always somewhere else. His eyes... they looked like they were watching something I couldn't see."
Great. A vague warning, a missing man, cryptic whispers of "shadows," and a grieving family left behind. No clear lead. Just fragments.
Ahana's hands clenched the fabric of her dress.
"I didn't believe any of it at first," she continued as Sara and I stood to prepare to leave. Sara's legs were still weak, her movements slow. "He'd always been so grounded. So warm. But in those last few weeks... he wasn't himself."
"In what way?" I asked, halting mid-step.
She hesitated. Then her voice dropped.
"His shadows stopped following him."
I turned to look at her fully. Sara did too.
Ahana swallowed. "I mean that literally. At first, I thought he was just exhausted, imagining things. But I saw it too. During sunset, when he walked, his body didn't cast a shadow. Not on the ground. Not on the walls. Not even by candlelight."
She let the silence sit there, heavy and uncomfortable.
Then she whispered, as if afraid the house itself might hear:
"Sometimes… I think they took it before they took him."
I leaned back slightly. My eyes narrowed.
That wasn't just paranoia.
That was something else. Something worse.
Something real.
"Lucius… let's leave. Please—now."
Sara's voice cracked. Trembled. Her usual composure was unravelling at the seams.
"I-I don't feel right. I'm sorry, Miss Ahana, for bothering you," she said quickly, her words coming in shaky bursts as she tugged at my coat.
She didn't look at me. Couldn't. Her hands were clenched, knuckles white, gripping my sleeve like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
She was scared.
Not startled. Not nervous.
Genuinely scared.
I moved instantly.
I swept her up with one arm, lifting her like a wounded knight might carry his battle-worn partner, and turned toward the exit. Her arms looped around my shoulders, and her face buried in my chest.
The air in the house had changed.
Heavier. Charged. Dense.
There was no mana disturbance—my senses told me nothing. But my instincts?
They were screaming... Or was it something else?
Get out. Now.
Ahana said nothing for a moment. Then she stepped forward quickly and brushed aside a faded curtain, fumbling with the warped latch on the front door. "It's alright," she muttered, almost to herself. "This place… isn't for everyone."
Yeah. That helped.
Motivating us to leave even faster.
As I adjusted my grip on Sara, preparing to leave, something shifted.
A small rustle.
I looked over my shoulder.
Aurora was peeking from behind the hallway curtain.
"...He still visits," she murmured, barely above a whisper.
I stopped, my lower limbs halting automatically.
Her voice—it was off. Distant. Detached. The way the words echoed didn't feel… right.
"Sometimes, I hear him knocking on my window at night," she continued softly. "But Mommy says… it's not him, anymore."
My body tensed.
"What do you mean it's not him, 'anymore'?" I asked, even though I already knew—deep down—I didn't want the answer.
Aurora tilted her head slightly, her eyes too calm for a child.
"Daddy… doesn't have a face. Just a long shadow… and a voice that says my name…"
The door creaked open behind us.
That same groan. The same one I had written off as age.
It wasn't.
As we stepped into the moonlight, I felt Sara shift. She buried her face deeper into my shoulder, her arms tightening around me, her body trembling harder now.
She felt it.
Whatever it was… she felt it more clearly than I ever could.
There was something in that house.
Something I couldn't sense with mana.
Something I couldn't name.
But she could.
And her verdict?
Get away. As far and as fast as possible.
And maybe—just maybe—something in that house was watching from the walls. Not through eyes, but through something older, something wrong.
As I fired up my mana core and launched into a sprint, I didn't look back.
Not at the house.
Not in the city.
Not at the shadows that didn't follow.