The banquet hall was louder than Owen liked.
Nobles filled the enormous room, their conversations blending into a constant hum beneath the music. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the polished floors, and servants moved between tables with trays of wine and delicacies.
Owen stood near one of the pillars.
He had been there for nearly twenty minutes.
Nobody had asked him to leave, but nobody had particularly welcomed him either. He was accustomed to that distinction.
His black hair was neatly combed, his clothes immaculate. Yet there was something about him that seemed perpetually out of place among the children of noble houses.
Perhaps it was the absence of mana.
Perhaps it was simply him.
"You're standing in the way."
Owen glanced to his side.
Cedric Landergrey stood there, one hand resting against his waist. He was a little taller than Owen, with an expression that carried the unmistakable confidence of someone who had rarely been told no.
Owen looked behind himself.
There was ample room.
"Am I?"
Cedric's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Don't be clever."
"I'm not."
For a moment, Cedric simply stared at him.
Then he sighed.
"You're always like this."
"Like what?"
"Never mind."
Cedric turned away, but his attention soon shifted to the other side of the hall.
A young boy stood near the refreshments, quietly observing the gathering. He had ash-blond hair and green eyes, and unlike the other children, he seemed entirely uninterested in impressing anyone.
Luke Haika.
Cedric approached him.
"You're Thaddeus Haika's son, aren't you?"
Luke looked over.
"Depends who's asking."
"Cedric Landergrey."
"I see."
The exchange should have ended there.
Instead, Cedric glanced at Owen.
"Do you know him?"
Luke followed his gaze.
"Yeah."
"Then you should probably be careful who you associate with."
Luke tilted his head.
"Why?"
Cedric's expression barely changed.
"Because some people have a habit of dragging others down with them."
Owen looked away.
He knew what was coming.
It wasn't the first time someone had made a remark like that, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.
But Luke didn't look away.
"Are you talking about him?"
Cedric gave a small shrug.
"Who else?"
"What's wrong with him?"
Cedric looked almost surprised by the question.
"You're seriously asking me that?"
"I'm asking you what's wrong with him."
Cedric glanced at Owen again.
"He's a Landergrey who can't use mana. You'd think that would be embarrassing enough without him wandering around pretending it doesn't matter."
Owen's fingers tightened around the glass in his hand.
He could have answered.
He could have told Cedric to mind his own business.
But he knew how these conversations went. They rarely ended with anything worth saying.
So he remained silent.
Luke, however, seemed to find the entire exchange rather strange.
"That's it?"
Cedric frowned.
"What?"
"That's what's wrong with him?"
"You're missing the point."
"Then explain it."
Cedric's expression hardened.
"You know, I was beginning to wonder why he was following you around."
Owen finally looked up.
"I'm not following anyone."
"Then why are you standing here?"
"Because I was here before you arrived."
Luke almost laughed.
Cedric didn't.
"You're both insufferable."
He turned to leave.
Or, at least, he tried to.
Luke stepped into his path.
"Hold on."
Cedric stopped.
"What now?"
"You said something about him dragging people down."
"Yes?"
"Then I suppose you should be able to prove it."
A few nearby children had begun paying attention.
Cedric glanced around, then back at Luke.
"You want to fight?"
Luke shrugged.
"Not particularly."
"Then move."
"No."
Cedric's expression changed.
He wasn't accustomed to being challenged so casually, especially not by someone who didn't seem particularly interested in the consequences.
"You're making a mistake, Haika."
"Maybe."
Cedric moved first.
He wasn't careless. His movements were deliberate, his stance properly formed, and there was a confidence in the way he carried himself that came from genuine training.
But Luke was better.
Considerably better.
The first exchange ended before most of the watching children understood what had happened. Luke slipped past Cedric's attack, caught his arm and sent him stumbling across the floor.
Cedric recovered quickly.
He tried again.
And again.
It made little difference.
Luke wasn't simply stronger. He seemed to understand Cedric's movements before they happened, leaving him with fewer and fewer opportunities to land a clean strike.
By the time Cedric found himself on one knee, Luke was standing comfortably in front of him.
The entire exchange had taken less than a minute.
Cedric looked up, breathing hard.
Luke offered him a hand.
"You're pretty good."
Cedric stared at it.
Then he pushed himself up without accepting.
His expression was difficult to read. There was embarrassment, certainly, but also something else. Frustration, perhaps. The kind that came from discovering that someone had surpassed you when you hadn't even realised you were competing.
"Don't patronise me."
Luke lowered his hand.
"Wasn't."
Cedric straightened his clothes.
His eyes briefly met Owen's.
For a moment, Owen thought he might say something.
Instead, Cedric turned and walked away.
The crowd gradually returned to its conversations.
Luke watched him leave before turning towards Owen.
"Well, that was interesting."
Owen didn't answer.
Luke tilted his head.
"You're welcome, by the way."
"Who asked you to do that?"
Luke blinked.
"What?"
"I didn't ask you to interfere."
"I know."
"Then why did you?"
Luke looked towards the direction Cedric had disappeared.
"Because he was being an ass."
"That's not your problem."
"Didn't say it was."
Owen's jaw tightened.
"Then stay out of it."
Luke said nothing.
Owen placed his glass on a nearby table.
"I can deal with my own problems. I don't need someone fighting my battles for me."
There was no gratitude in his voice. Only irritation.
Perhaps a little too much of it.
Luke studied him for a moment.
"Alright."
Owen looked at him.
"Alright?"
"Yeah. I'll stay out of it."
The answer was so straightforward that Owen almost didn't know what to do with it.
He had expected an argument. Perhaps some lecture about how he should be grateful.
Instead, Luke simply turned towards the refreshments.
"Do you want something to eat?"
Owen stared at him.
"...What?"
"Food. You look hungry."
"I'm not."
"Suit yourself."
Luke picked up a plate.
And just like that, the matter appeared to be settled.
Owen didn't understand him.
He didn't understand why someone like Luke would bother himself with someone like him. They had barely spoken before tonight. They weren't friends. They weren't even particularly acquainted.
There was no reason for Luke to get involved.
No reason to take an insult that wasn't directed at him personally.
And no reason to offer him food afterwards as though nothing had happened.
Owen eventually left the banquet without another word.
He remembered thinking that he probably wouldn't see Luke again.
He was wrong.
The memory lingered longer than Owen expected.
Sitting in the garden beside Luke, he found himself recalling that evening with an unfamiliar clarity.
The boy who had stood in front of Cedric without hesitation.
The boy who had offered him a hand.
The boy who had accepted being told to fuck off without making a fuss.
Owen had thought that would be the end of it.
But it wasn't.
After that evening, Luke kept appearing.
Whenever Cedric confronted him, Luke somehow found himself nearby. Whenever Owen got himself into trouble, Luke had an uncanny habit of showing up before things could get worse.
Sometimes he intervened.
Sometimes he simply stood beside him.
And sometimes, much to Owen's irritation, he would offer some completely unrelated comment as though they had been friends for years.
Owen had told him to mind his own business more times than he could remember.
Luke had never seemed particularly good at listening.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Owen's lips.
That bastard never stopped, did he?
He looked at the man sitting beside him.
The ash-blond hair had grown longer. The boyishness had disappeared from his face, replaced by the features of someone who had lived through far more than he should have.
And yet, somehow, Owen could still recognize him.
Luke had been interfering in his problems from the very beginning.
Perhaps Owen had simply never realized how much he had come to depend on it.
Owen lowered his gaze.
He had spent years watching things slip beyond his reach. People, places, promises. Sometimes he wondered whether the world had simply grown accustomed to taking things from him.
But he was tired of accepting that.
Slowly, Owen rose from his seat.
Luke glanced up.
"Leaving already?"
Owen didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned towards him, his expression unusually composed.
"You're not dying."
Luke blinked.
Owen slipped his hands into his pockets.
"I won't let you die."
For a moment, Luke said nothing.
He had heard plenty of assurances throughout his life. From physicians who spoke cautiously, from people who wanted to comfort him, and from those who simply couldn't bear to acknowledge the reality of his condition.
But Owen's words carried none of that uncertainty.
He wasn't trying to comfort him.
He was telling him what was going to happen.
Owen turned slightly, looking down at Luke with a grin.
"Besides..."
His scarlet eyes narrowed faintly.
"It's your turn to start letting me interfere with your problems."
The words settled between them.
Luke stared.
Then, ever so slightly, his expression changed.
It was strange.
He couldn't quite explain it. The feeling was unfamiliar, almost fragile, and so small that he might have overlooked it had it not been for the sudden warmth spreading through his chest.
Hope.
A tiny fragment of it.
He hadn't realised how long it had been since he'd allowed himself to feel something like that.
Looking up at Owen, Luke found himself studying the man standing before him.
The boy he remembered had been difficult to understand. Quiet, stubborn, and seemingly determined to carry every inconvenience in the world by himself.
That boy had grown.
His features had matured, his presence had changed, and there was a density to his mana that Luke could scarcely comprehend. Even beneath whatever concealment Owen was using, the difference was unmistakable.
He had become a capable man.
Someone who could stand before him and speak those words without hesitation.
Luke's lips parted, but no words came out.
Eventually, he looked away, a faint smile finding its way onto his face.
"...You're still a troublesome bastard."
Owen chuckled.
"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment."
He turned towards the garden entrance.
Yet beneath his seemingly carefree expression, his thoughts were already moving.
A shattered mana core.
He had heard of such injuries before. They were among the most difficult conditions to treat, and in most cases, the damage was considered irreversible.
He didn't know how to repair one.
He didn't even know where to begin.
But that didn't mean there was nothing to be done.
I'll figure it out.
Somehow.
Somewhere.
He would find a way.
For the first time in a long while, Owen felt something close to relief.
He hadn't solved anything. Luke was still sick, his condition was still deteriorating, and the answer remained frustratingly out of reach.
But at least he had someone to fight for again.
"Detailing complete."
A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
Owen turned.
Lucius had appeared beside him, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. His expression was as composed as ever, though there was a faint trace of amusement in his eyes.
"Everything is in order," he continued. "The household staff have been accounted for, and I've finished inspecting the surrounding area."
"Good."
Lucius glanced towards Luke, offering him a polite nod before looking back at Owen.
Owen, however, seemed to have stopped listening.
An idea had just occurred to him.
His eyes shifted towards Lucius.
Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth curled upwards.
Lucius stared at him.
A moment passed.
"What is it?!"
No response.
"...Why the heck are you smiling at me, you bastard!?"