"Not all magic glows. Some simply walks beside it—
unseen, unyielding, and far more dangerous."
— Excerpt from "The Silhouetted War: Unrecorded Combatants of the Mana Wars" by Archivist Eno Sævryn, Year 044 N.A.
-The Mask and the Flame-
Crackling flames.
Wrinkling sparks.
Heat danced against the stone walls like spirits at war.
Harlen stirred.
His vision blurred at first—blue eyes squinting at the flickers of fire. The smell of charred air, herbs, and smoke filled his lungs. His body ached—but he felt… wrapped?
He blinked once. Then again.
Looking down, he saw his underarmor—his steel plate gone. A blanket, scratchy but warm, draped over him. Then he felt weight on his shoulder.
It was Camylle, head resting lightly against him. Her breaths were slow. Steady. Peaceful.
He allowed himself a small, private smile.
But when he looked forward, the warmth quickly left his face.
A figure sat across the fire, crouched low—half-shrouded in smoke. The red glint of two sunken eyes stared at him from the hollow sockets of a rough iron mask.
Harlen flinched and let out a startled grunt, instantly upright.
"Gah! Stars damn it—what the hell?!"
His voice cracked through the stillness. Camylle shifted in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent.
The figure didn't move.
Just sat there.
Silent.
Unblinking.
Watching.
Mina walked in from the shadows, rubbing the back of her neck, trying to hide a smirk.
"Heh… morning, Harlen. Meet Theseus."
Harlen clutched the blanket closer like a shield.
"Brat, who the hell is that? Where did that—masked thing—even come from?!"
She held up both hands to calm him.
"H-he helped us. Finished off the Armored Flesh."
Harlen frowned. "What? No, we killed it. The blast—"
"It survived," Mina interrupted gently.
"It was crawling toward Ashe and me. Then he appeared and stopped it. With one strike."
Harlen stared at her. Then at the masked man.
"…Are you serious?"
"Yup. He pulled us out of the pit. Trevus almost fought him when he first woke up—but he patched us up instead."
At that, Trevus let out a grunt from the other side of the fire.
"Didn't like the way he appeared outta nowhere," he muttered. "Still don't."
"But," Lotha interjected, walking over with a warm leaf-wrapped protein bar,
"he's… not a threat. Probably. He kept me from bleeding out. That's enough for now."
She offered the bar to Harlen, who reluctantly took it.
"Thanks..." he mumbled, then glanced at Camylle still resting on his shoulder, cheeks flushing slightly.
"Seriously though, someone should've warned me. That mask is nightmare fuel."
The group chuckled lightly, tension easing.
Still, Theseus said nothing.
He simply sat there, hands on his knees, unmoving—watching the flames.
Ashe, still pale from mana-burn, lay wrapped up on a bedding mat nearby, his voice hoarse.
"I'm just glad he's on our side," he said weakly. "I don't think I could've cast even a spark back then."
Mina nodded, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall.
"Yeah… he didn't say much. Just that his name is Theseus Alistor. Said he was trapped here for weeks. Wandered in from a dungeon in the Juluo Region."
Harlen's brow furrowed.
"Juluo? That's… like two to maybe three sectors from here."
"Exactly," Mina said. "He says that dungeon connects to this one. Like some kind of underground network."
"That's… terrifying," Lotha added. "The Guild doesn't know about this. If there's a connected system of dungeons…"
"It changes everything," Trevus finished grimly. "Every Guild map becomes obsolete."
Harlen finally took a bite from the bar, chewing thoughtfully. The warmth in his stomach helped calm the last of his nerves.
"Still doesn't explain how a Null—" he gestured subtly at Mina "—could kill something that survived that explosion."
Mina's gaze drifted toward the man again. Toward that still mask. Toward the way he hadn't flinched once since they'd woken.
"That's what I asked too."
"And?" Harlen pressed.
"He didn't answer."
The fire popped. The silence returned.
Theseus turned his head slightly, and the red glint of his eyes caught the firelight once more.
"Some things," he finally said in a low, gravel-dragging voice, "are better left unsaid."
And the fire crackled on.
-Campfire Reckonings-
The flames flickered low, casting long shadows across the stone clearing just beyond the maw of Dungeon 47-F: "Nexus Ryze"—now considered cleared.
A quiet hush hung in the air, punctuated only by the crackle of wood and the distant breath of night winds. The party had survived… but not untouched.
Harlen and Camylle sat together near a weather-worn tree stump.
Her torso was bandaged, resting in a sling; his shoulder wrapped tightly in cloth, stiff with dried blood.
Their backs were turned slightly from the rest—close, yet clearly apart.
Lotha, further along the clearing, sat with Nira's unconscious body gently lying across her lap.
She absentmindedly brushed dark strands from Nira's bruised face, her fingers trembling faintly, lips whispering silent prayers.
Trevus crouched nearby on a tarp, sorting what remained of their gear—what little hadn't been charred, bent, or broken.
His twin sabers were ruined—nothing left but scorched hilts. Harlen's sword was half-melted, and even Lotha's shield had a web of cracks running across its surface. He quietly folded their damaged equipment into bundles and salvaged what rations and medical supplies he could.
Across from them, Theseus sat by the campfire, unmoving, like a statue. Though still, his masked head slightly tilted, as if listening—to wind, or words unspoken. His presence hung heavy in the camp, a strange anchor in the center of their exhaustion.
Ashe lay nearby, finally asleep. Mina stayed beside him, cross-legged, gaze turned skyward. Her hands absentmindedly traced circles on her pants as if warding off the weight of everything that had happened.
Trevus eventually rose and walked to Harlen.
He crouched beside him, the firelight gleaming off the hard edge in his eyes—one not born from anger, but duty.
"Harlen."
Harlen looked up, eyes tired.
"Because of what you did back there," Trevus said evenly, "I won't stop myself from reporting this to Captain Ferris."
Harlen sighed, as if he'd already accepted it. He nodded.
"I figured."
"Good," Trevus replied.
"But I'll… put in a good word for you and Camylle. Not that it changes anything. You two still helped bring down the Armored Flesh. That matters."
Harlen glanced sideways. "You don't owe me that."
"No. I don't," Trevus agreed. "But I owe the team. I'm not about to burn everything we've built… not yet."
A pause. The fire cracked between them.
Harlen's expression was unreadable—bitter, but quiet. Contemplating.
"What if Camylle and I left?" he asked suddenly. "Resigned. Disappeared before the report even made it back."
Trevus blinked. That thought hadn't occurred to him. He turned his gaze to Camylle, then back to Harlen.
"We're the most successful non-elite party in the entire Apusa Region," he said slowly.
"You, me, Lotha, Nira... Camylle. We were good. Balanced."
Trevus' voice cracked slightly—not from weakness, but from the quiet pain of betrayal.
"You were never supposed to be the ones to break us."
Harlen looked down. The truth of it sat heavy in his gut like rusted iron.
Behind them, Lotha stood—her voice sharp and cold.
"And yet, they did."
Both men turned to see her standing near the fire, Nira still resting behind her.
"You threw two kids," she said, her tone trembling with restrained fury, "into a death pit with explosives strapped to their backs. Just to spite Ferris."
Camylle stirred slightly but said nothing. Guilt painted her face even in silence.
Lotha's voice lowered.
"Even now, Nira's still out cold." Lotha whimpered for a second.
"When she wakes, she'll say the same thing I'm saying now: I can't forgive you."
Trevus looked at her, then back at Harlen.
"Neither can I."
Silence fell once more.
Mina didn't speak. But her quiet distance said enough. Even from across the fire, her posture was tight—shoulders hunched, lips pressed shut.
Harlen finally exhaled and looked up at Trevus.
"Do what you need to do. I'll face Ferris when the time comes."
Trevus gave a small nod. Not of approval—but of acknowledgment.
"Good. Because no one's walking away from this without owning what they did. "
The fire had dimmed into a low orange glow, casting flickers of shadows across worn armor, tired faces, and bandaged wounds.
-Ashes in the Sigil-
The fire hissed as a knot of sap popped in the flames.
Everyone fell quiet after Trevus' words.
The embers pulsed like hearts between them—warm, flickering, uneasy.
Then… Theseus moved.
Just a slow turn of the head. His iron mask caught the light, those deep red eye-glints like coals hidden beneath iron.
"Ferris?" he muttered, his voice gravel-worn and dry. "You said... Ferris?"
Trevus turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
"Yeah. Ferris Orlean. You know him?"
The masked man leaned forward, shoulders creaking with age—or memory.
"He's our Outpost Commander. Of the Tropico Guild, yes?" Trevus added.
Theseus gave a huff of breath. Not quite a laugh.
"I remember him... Back when he was young... hot-blooded. Fierce. Mouth faster than his sword. Thought he could change the world."
Mina perked up, recalling a piece of their earlier conversation.
"Wait… you mentioned the Tropico sigil earlier. Something about how it hasn't changed."
She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with a new sense of curiosity.
"Did you used to be part of the Tropico Guild too?"
The fire crackled. For a moment, Theseus said nothing.
Only the sound of wind brushing through the trees and Nira's shallow breathing filled the void.
Then, with a quiet grunt, Theseus finally nodded.
"I wasn't just part of the Guild," he said slowly. "I was one of the Four Pillars—under the High Curator, back then."
"The Pillar of Flame."
A stunned pause settled over the camp.
Trevus' eyes widened.
Lotha's hand froze mid-motion.
Harlen blinked, confused but alert.
The silence thickened. Even the wind seemed to hush.
Harlen, eyes wide, blinked. "Wait... what?"
Lotha gasped softly.
Even Trevus, composed as always, straightened slightly. "That would make you—"
Theseus said nothing.
Mina tilted her head, confused. "What's… that mean? Four Pillars?"
Trevus glanced at her, then at Theseus—who said nothing, his masked gaze fixed on the fire.
So Trevus explained:
"The Four Pillars are the Guild's backbone. Each one governs a vital part of Tropico's structure."
He held up four fingers, listing them off:
The Ledger – Oversees commerce, trade routes, merchant guild relations, and regional markets.
The Flame – Handles guild operations: adventurer licensing, quest grading, combat law, and magical contracts.
The Veil – Manages internal affairs: covert ops, diplomacy, neutrality enforcement, and Guild espionage.
The Quill – Controls the Guild's public face: publications, bardic histories, global reputation, and stories.
Trevus stared at Theseus, visibly unsettled.
"If you were the Flame, then you weren't just powerful—
you were one of Tropico's top enforcers. The best."
He looked at Theseus. "And you're telling me you held that position?"
Theseus said nothing.
But his silence confirmed it.
Harlen shook his head in denial.
"But that's... impossible! You're a Null. I've seen it. You don't give off a single trace of mana. You barely give off any mana signature. How the hell did someone like you rise that high?"—"
Theseus interrupted, his voice calm. "Strange, isn't it?"
Harlen tensed, but it was Trevus who looked thoughtful.
Theseus didn't move. But his grip on his spear—tightened.
Mina felt it now. The shift. The danger. The edge.
Even in the warmth of the fire, something about the clearing grew cold.
Trevus's voice broke through, low and suspicious.
"And your name. Alistor. You said your name was Theseus Alistor." His brow furrowed.
"That's close to—no, too close to—House Alistorious."
The fire cracked.
Tension twisted through the group like a sudden chill. Even Lotha stiffened.
Mina blinked, confused. "Alistorious? What's that? Is that... important? Or is it bad?""
Theseus was still. Completely still.
His hand tightened around the haft of his spear.
Trevus stood slowly. His voice was careful now. Controlled.
"The House of Alistorious is—was—a noble bloodline. But not like the others."
"They weren't land barons or royal advisors. They served the Elynthian Crown for generations… as executioners. Assassins. They were Elite, masked, loyal only to the creed of shadows."
He glanced at Theseus, voice low.
"Once a member swore to the creed of blood... they never showed their face to anyone again."
The masked man across the fire made no move.
But the grip on his spear was firm. Ready.
Trevus and Theseus locked eyes.
"You're one of them, aren't you? Noble blooded bastards."
The flames danced between them like the teeth of a blade.
A silence.
Lotha instinctively reached for Nira's body behind her.
Camylle, despite her injuries, gripped the bark behind her, forcing herself upright.
Harlen whispered under his breath, "No one ever sees their face, ever. And they don't remove it—not even in their sleep. You've got to be kidding... That guy just confirms it."
Trevus locked eyes with the iron mask. "That's who you are, aren't you?"
The camp was still.
Mina's breath caught. She stared across the fire, uncertain—watching the old man like a figure from a dream turned monster. Her mind was loud.
Noble blood? A killer family? Assassin creed? But he saved us... He helped us. Who even are you?
Theseus' grip on his long spear flexed, but he didn't move. His red eyes gleamed through the eyeholes, quiet as an old storm.
Then—Theseus answered, voice like distant thunder.
"Not anymore."
"You think I chose that name?" he muttered at last. "You think I kept it with pride?"
He let out a breath. Bitter. Weathered.
"The world remembers blood, not mercy. I left that house a long time ago."
I'm not here to play games," he said. "If I were… you'd already be ash. All of you."
That didn't calm anyone.
Theseus finally rose. Not fast—but with presence.
His movements smooth and absolute, like a blade being unsheathed.
"You ask why a Null like me could bear the title Flame," he said.
"Maybe it's because I fought harder than all of them. Maybe it's because magic wasn't what gave me strength."
The fire flared slightly, catching his mask in a red sheen.
"Or maybe…" his voice turned colder, "because I burned better without it."
Lotha instinctively stepped closer to Nira. Harlen put a hand near his broken sword hilt. Trevus clenched his fists, lips curling.
Theseus raised a hand. Not in peace—but in warning.
"I have no loyalty to any royal house," he said. "Not anymore. Whatever name I had, it died in the last war."
"Still wore the mask though," Trevus said.
"I wear it because I lived long enough to know what showing your face costs."
A long silence.
No...
She stood slowly.
Her voice barely above a whisper, but clear.
"Stop."
Everyone turned.
Mina's eyes were sharp now. Focused. Her posture still, but not afraid.
"I don't know what an Alistorious is. I don't know who or what Theseus used to be. But he saved our lives. All of us. That... has to mean something."
No one spoke.
Mina turned to Theseus. Her tone softened.
"If you're hiding something... I get it. I really do."
She looked toward the fire.
"But whatever this is... let's figure it out after everyone's healed. We owe each other that much."
Theseus's grip loosened.
A soft breath escaped from his mask.
He looked at her—not with suspicion, but with something almost like relief.
"You speak wisely," he said. "For someone so young. But I'm leaving. I've decided it'll be better for all your souls."
Trevus slowly eased back down. The danger passed—for now.
Theseus.
A Null.
A ghost of Tropico.
And perhaps, a sword long buried, unearthed once more.
He walked off into the dark, his spear over his shoulder, the mask glinting in the firelight like a forgotten sigil of war.
-Ashes Don't Stay Buried-
The night was still.
Only the sound of fire crackling, soft wind brushing through high grass, and the wheeze of tired lungs filled the silence left behind by Theseus' words.
Theseus turned his back to them.
"I'll leave," he said again, quieter now. "It's better this way."
Then he turned to leave.
His iron mask gleamed one last time in the firelight, and with the weight of a grave long carried, Theseus walked into the dark—his long spear resting across his back like a cross laid over a tomb.
Trevus stood up.
"Wait—" he called, his voice hushed, but urgent.
He took a step forward, unsure if it was guilt or respect driving him. Maybe both. But something inside him—a soldier's pride, or perhaps something more human—couldn't let Theseus vanish without at least trying.
We owe him. For saving us. For carrying us. For fighting when we couldn't. What kind of man disappears like that without a word?
Theseus didn't stop walking.
Trevus quickened his steps. "We owe you. All of us. You didn't just pull us from the rubble. You saved our lives—"
Still, no answer.
The iron-masked silhouette moved with quiet grace, the edges of his long coat trailing faintly behind him.
He was about to reach out when—
The wind broke.
A blink.
A blur.
Gone.
A gust of cold rushed past Trevus' shoulders—a vacuum, as if the space Theseus once filled had snapped shut.
He froze, eyes wide, heart hammering.
What—?! Where did—?
But his eyes—trained from years of watching swordplay, honed in battle—caught it.
A streak, a flicker, a trace of movement: Theseus, already fifty feet away, perched atop a low boulder like a shadow stitched to the stone.
Trevus turned slowly, in disbelief.
He's a Null... and yet he moves like a phantom. Not even mana was used… not even a single spell. Just raw instinct. Speed like that should be impossible.
Harlen, still seated by the fire, had caught it too. His mouth hung open, his brow furrowed.
"Wh… What was that? That speed—he just disappeared. Like a phantom…"
"Nulls… can't do that," Lotha muttered faintly behind him, shaken.
But they had no answer.
Mina stood frozen. Her fingers trembled slightly, not from fear—but from realization. From awe.
Her voice emerged soft and stunned.
"I'm… like him."
The words hung in the air.
He's like me. No mana. No magic. But that wasn't weakness. That wasn't normal either. Then what am I?
Her thoughts raced. Her breathing shallow. What else had the world hidden from her? What else had she been told that Nulls couldn't do?
But Theseus did it. He slayed the Armored Flesh. He didn't need mana. He didn't need spells.
He was still…
More.
She clenched her fists. Her eyes gleamed—not just with confusion, but determination.
I have to know how. I have to find him again.
Trevus turned back, brows furrowed in a way that said he wasn't just puzzled—he was impressed. Even shaken.
"That man's no ordinary Null."
Harlen exhaled and slumped further against the tree.
"No Shit. He's not. He's a damn monster."
No one spoke for a while.
The wind passed. The fire crackled on.
And somewhere far beyond the reach of sight, a masked man with a long spear disappeared into the wilderness of Apusa—leaving only questions in his wake.
Mina sat down beside the fire once more.
But her eyes stayed locked on the trees.
Theseus Alistor…
You're not just a ghost of Tropico.
You're a path I'm going to follow.
End of Chapter 9...