[Volume 1 | Chapter 34: Siege]

Fire met wind in a catastrophic dance.

Malleus's opening salvo—a wave of flames that turned air itself incandescent—should have incinerated anything in its path. Instead, it scattered against Elias's hastily casted windstorm, splitting into a thousand blazing ribbons that painted Windsor's outskirts in hellish light. The young knight emerged from the conflagration, sidesword gleaming with the promise of retribution. Malleus greeted him with a smile that could cut, her hands already weaving the next incendiary spell.

But Elias was faster.

He surged forward, riding currents of his design. The distance between them vanished in a breath—close enough that he could see the fire reflected in her golden eyes.

[Roa]!

The spell came without calculation—without the typical Integration Sequence that other Thaumaturges required. That was Windwaker's first boon—the ability to cast stronger Base Order Air spells through pure instinct, bypassing the normal computational requirements.

A compressed bullet of air shot from his free palm, forcing Malleus to break her casting stance, yet she recovered gracefully as flames already danced between her fingers.

"[Fiamma]!"

The fire that erupted wasn't the straightforward blast from their first encounter. This was something far more refined—a concentrated inferno that turned the very moisture in the air to steam.

Elias barely had time to react, casting [Ventus] by conjuring a barrier of swirling air that deflected most of the blaze. But some still reached him, licking at his exposed skin with hungry tongues. He gritted his teeth against the pain and pressed forward.

"Is that all?" Malleus's taunt carried over the roar of her flames. "Base Order spells might come naturally to you, but they're still just parlor tricks!" More fire gathered around her fingers, condensing into a spear of solid flame that she hurled at him with the force of a catapult.

"[Ignis]!"

Elias's eyes narrowed, his focus razor-sharp. He didn't need the power of higher-order spells. He just needed to use what he had more efficiently. As the flaming spear approached, wind swirled around his sidesword, coating its length in compressed air. With a single slash, he bisected the flaming spear, leaving scorched earth in its wake.

Malleus's eyes widened fractionally. She wasn't expecting him to be so precise. Most Thaumaturges who relied on instinct would lack the finesse for such a maneuver, but Elias wasn't most Thaumaturges. He had spent years honing his skills, pushing himself beyond what others considered his limits. He pressed his advantage, closing the gap between them with his currents until his blade could reach her. But Malleus wasn't one to be underestimated. As his sidesword arced toward her, she vanished out of his sight, only to slam her boot into his ribs from the side.

Pain lanced through the area, but the aspiring knight used the momentum of her kick to spin away, wind cushioning his movement. His ribs protested; even with Fließen active, that strike would leave a mark. But pain was secondary to the realization that struck him: she had used his own currents against him, riding his wind to enhance her speed.

"What's wrong?" Malleus straightened, flames coiling around her like serpents ready to strike. "Isn't this what you wanted? A real fight?" Her golden eyes gleamed with predatory delight. "Or did daddy dearest never teach you how to handle someone who can actually hit back?"

The taunt struck deeper than her kick had. Elias's grip tightened on his sword as wind began to gather around him, responding to his rising anger. The careful control he'd maintained his entire life—the perfect form, the measured responses—began to crack.

[Roa]! [Roa]! [Roa]!

Three compressed bullets of air shot toward her in rapid succession, each following a different trajectory. It wasn't elegant or calculated, but there was raw power behind each strike, his emotions bleeding into his Birthright's natural affinity.

Malleus's smile widened as she wove between the wind like a snake, dodging every last one of them until the air third bullet whizzed past her head.

The last one was a feint.

In the moment it passed her by, Elias closed the distance with a wind-enhanced lunge. His blade flashed in the firelit night, aiming straight for her core, but Malleus wasn't there. Again, she rode the wind, this time using it to boost herself over him. Airborne, she twisted gracefully and spread her right hand out. Elias's eyes narrowed—recognizing the spell she was about to cast, and it wasn't one he could dodge in the slightest.

"Gran—"

But before she could complete her Integration Sequence, she saw the gleam in his eyes.

Another bait?

He predicted her spell, and soared with the wind dozens of times faster than sound. Before she could finish her words, she had to duck before her throat was slashed. Elias's blade had missed by a hair's breadth, forcing her to abort her own spell. Her desperate attempt to reach safety was stopped short by a sudden punch to the stomach. Malleus fell backwards, her body smashing like garbage into a nearby wall on the edge of the perimeter with a loud thud. Elias wasn't far behind with a fierce expression, quite a few meters of space dividing them.

"Good move," Malleus coughed, wiping the trickle of blood from her lips as she stood up. Her voice was hoarse, but her smile was as bright as ever. "No one has managed to get me in such a way before besides the boss. It's too bad it's from a one-trick pony."

"Maybe." Elias raised his sidesword, its point leveled at her and ready to slice once he would notice a weakness in her guard. "But it's one trick I bet I can do again and again, as long as you keep underestimating me."

"Oh, is that so? Then, let's test that theory, little knight!"

Suddenly, her prana shifted—not in the usual way that preceded a spell, but in two distinct patterns simultaneously. The air around her hands began to vibrate at frequencies that made Elias's teeth ache, while flames coalesced into something denser, more focused than her usual attacks.

She's casting two spells simultaneously? No—something else. The Integration Sequences are merging, creating—

"Cross—"

Malleus's voice carried an echo, as if two spells were being spoken as one.

"[Fiamma's Edge]!"

The resulting manifestation defied conventional thaumaturgical theory. Where [Prana Edge] should have created a blade of pure vibrational energy, and [Fiamma] a surge of flames, this was something altogether different. Fire condensed and compressed until it achieved an almost solid state, then began to oscillate at impossible speeds. The blade extending from her hand burned with such intensity that it left afterimages in the air—an edge of concentrated inferno that hummed with destructive potential.

She lunged forward, and the hybrid blade carved through reality. Where it passed, air ignited and atmospheric particles melted, leaving glowing trails of superheated matter in its wake. Elias barely managed to redirect its course with a hasty [Roa], but even that glancing deflection sent shockwaves of heat through his defensive winds.

Their elemental blades met with a sound like thunder—wind-infused steel against vibrating fire. For a moment they were locked together, close enough that he could feel the dizzying heat radiating from her, making the air between them shimmer.

"Better!" She broke away first, spinning into a kick that he barely managed to block with his blade. "But still too controlled! Where's that anger I saw earlier? Show me what happens when the perfect little knight finally loses his temper!"

Elias gritted his teeth as he parried another strike, his sidesword's wind infusion barely holding against the oscillating flames. She was right—his Base Order spells, even enhanced by Windwaker, couldn't match the raw destructive potential of her fusion. Each clash sent tremors through his arms, the heat threatening to overwhelm his defenses entirely. Yet, he refused to give in. He couldn't. Not here, not to her.

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"You want anger?!" he spat, channeling more prana into his Birthright. His winds grew stronger, whipping around them with enough force to tear at their clothes and hair. "You want me to stop holding back?!" His voice rose with each word, carrying on the tempest he'd created.

She sneered, swinging into the rising winds like they were an invitation to dance.

The fusion blade swept toward his neck in a glowing arc.

This time, Elias didn't try to block or deflect.

He smiled.

"[Gran...Tempesta]!"

The City of Windmills' evening air on its valleyside carried an electric charge, though Acacia couldn't tell if it was from the perpetually rotating windmills or his own nervous energy. He'd spent the day moving between shadows in the outskirts, careful to avoid the few maintenance crews that still ventured this far from the city proper. The clothes in the storage room were just some pants and a long sleeved white shirt—plain enough not to draw attention, but well-made enough not to mark him as suspicious. 8 PM, and his ribs still ached from the morning's escape. Dr. Amherst would probably have several choice words about patients ignoring medical advice, but Acacia couldn't afford to waste time convalescing—not with the telecommunications blackout growing worse by the hour.

He shifted position behind a defunct storage container, wincing as the movement pulled at his bandages. The outskirts stretched before him like an industrial maze—perfect for staying hidden, terrible for keeping watch. Every shadow could be a threat, every distant sound a potential enemy. The constant whir of windmill blades didn't help, masking smaller noises that might have warned of approach.

Where is she?

He hated to admit it, but he was panicking. As if summoned by his thoughts, a figure detached itself from the lengthening shadows. Acacia tensed until he recognized Leila's distinctive gait—elegant and measured like every step was part of a perfect system.

"You look terrible," she greeted him, emerald eyes scanning their surroundings. "Those bandages need changing."

"Later. Did anyone follow you?"

"Please. I'm not an amateur." She produced a small package from her coat. "Fresh bandages, painkillers, and the complex schematics you'd probably ask for. Big Sis Dora wanted to have lunch today—probably to keep an eye on me after everything that's happened."

Yet she never visited me once while I was hospitalized.

He pushed that bitterness down. There'd be time for personal issues later.

"Does she suspect anything?"

"If she does, she's hiding it well." Leila began unpacking medical supplies. "She spent most of lunch asking about my latest Mystic Gear projects. She almost seemed relieved when I started rambling about particle acceleration theory. I might have gone into excessive detail about quantum harmonics just to make sure her eyes glazed over."

"Leila, are you sure—"

"That she bought it? No. That she knows our actual plan? Also no." She began replacing his bandages with efficient movements. "Big Sis Dora is brilliant, but even she can't read minds. As long as we move quickly, we should be able to—"

A distant sound like thunder interrupted her, making them both freeze, but the sky remained clear, and after a moment Acacia realized it had come from the far side of the outskirts.

"It's probably just maintenance work. The windmills sometimes create sonic booms when they're being serviced." Leila estimated, though her hands had stilled on his bandages.

Acacia nodded, but something about the sound nagged at his memory. Like the echo of a storm he'd heard once before, in a darkened alley with flames painting the night.

He pushed the haphazard thought aside, because there was something far more pressing…

"...Your hands are really soft."

"What?"

"Nothing. Forget I said anything." Acacia looked away sharply, cheeks flushing. "Tell me everything about the warehouse." He began walking, and Leila followed beside him, a small blush appearing on her own.

"The telecommunications warehouse is mostly just a backup hub." Leila withdrew a folded blueprint from her coat, careful to keep it shielded from the evening wind. "It's Windsor's primary redundancy system. If the main networks fail, everything routes through here. Dad helped design some of the infrastructure, so I had access to the original schematics. It's not really a fortress. There's just a few security and multiple layers of physical and digital protection."

They walked in silence for quite a while as they almost reached their destination, their footsteps masked by the endless rotation of windmill blades. The industrial district loomed ahead, a maze of steel and concrete painted orange by the setting sun. Another distant boom echoed from somewhere beyond the perimeter, but neither commented on it.

"Three buildings make up the complex," she finally continued, pointing to different sections of the blueprint. "The main facility houses the routing systems. There's a storage building for maintenance equipment, and a bunker for the security personnel." Her finger traced a series of lines connecting the structures. "Underground passages link all three, but they're normally sealed except during emergencies."

"Which this probably qualifies as...." Acacia studied the layout, memorizing entry points and possible escape routes. "How many guards usually patrol this sector?"

"Let me check." Leila's eyes flickered coquelicot as she activated her Empyrean, scanning the area. The world transformed before her, dissolving into patterns of light and energy that only those blessed with her Birthright could perceive. Prana signatures bloomed like flowers in her vision—the steady pulse of the windmills, the rhythmic flow from distant Thaumaturges, the complex weave of active spells throughout the city.

Then she saw it. Or rather, saw nothing at all.

Where Acacia stood, there was only void. It was a perfect absence in her otherwise complete perception. No prana signature, no flow of energy. Not even the faintest glimmer of potential that marked those with sealed or dormant abilities.

Just...nothing.

The realization stole her breath.

Irregular.

She almost wanted to vomit hearing that word. That's all he was. An abnormality that didn't belong. A human who couldn't be called a human.

The word echoed through her mind, carrying the weight of a thousand whispered prejudices. How often had she heard it at noble gatherings, dripping with disdain from painted lips? How often had she seen children at school move away from those branded with that title as if weakness were contagious? How often had the church claimed such "defective" souls were unworthy of love, and it was their fate to carry the sin that was their existence if they were to find salvation and not damnation? Even her own thoughts had been colored by those assumptions—that Irregulars were somehow less, somehow broken, somehow cursed by the very Convergence that blessed others with power.

But those assumptions shattered against the reality before her.

This boy—who had survived assassination attempts, who had decoded patterns in Windsor's chaos that others had missed, who stood here now despite injuries that should have kept him bedridden—was supposed to be defective? He, who had given Elias a reason to smile again, and who had made her own heart race with emotions she couldn't begin to name? He was meant to be pitied?

The falseness of it all struck her like a physical blow.

He's not less, she realized.

After all, wasn't it his very lack of prana that had let him see through the Bloodhounds' schemes? While everyone else focused on tracking thaumaturgical signatures, he had followed the austere, human logic that led them here.

Her traitorous heart denied his weakness.

"Leila, what do you see?" His voice brought her back to the present, colored with concern she didn't deserve.

She blinked away the coquelicot glow, but the truth remained, as irrefutable as logical deduction. And yet, looking at him now—at the determination in his stance despite his obvious pain, at the sharp intelligence in his eyes as they scanned their surroundings—she found that truth changed nothing.

Or rather, it changed everything, but not in the way society had taught her it should.

"Hostages, probably." Her voice emerged steady, carrying none of the revelation thundering through her mind. "The Bloodhounds aren't exactly known for their gentle touch. But that's not the worst part. Look at this." She produced the prana density analysis, watching as he studied it with the same careful attention he gave everything. No mystical shortcuts, no thaumaturgical aids—just pure, human focus.

"The warehouse complex," he breathed. "It's completely dark."

"Someone's using a massive Bounded Field to mask whatever's happening inside." Her emerald eyes held an understanding now that went far deeper than mere strategy. "The amount of prana needed to maintain something that size... it has to be him. Nemesis."

Acacia's hands clenched involuntarily before replying, "Then we know where he wants Pandora to go."

"We're going to get there first." She didn't allow even a fraction of hesitation to enter her voice. There was no room for prejudice here, no space for the artificial barriers society had tried to build between people like him and people like her. "Are you sure about this? Your injuries—"

"I'm sure." He cut her off, perhaps more snappily than intended. Then, more delicately: "Thank you for helping me…for believing me."

If only you knew how much I believe in you now.

"Don't thank me yet." She smiled, pouring all her newfound understanding into the expression. "We still have to figure out how to get past whatever security systems they've left active. Even with my Empyrean, we're going in practically blind."

"Good thing you've got someone who's used to fighting blind then." He matched her smile with one of his own—sharp and determined. "What's the matter? Scared?"

"Of course I am." She started walking again, this time taking the lead. But as she passed him, her hand brushed his arm—a gesture he would take as casual encouragement, but which carried the weight of her silent promise.

A promise to see him for who he was, not what he lacked.

"But I won't let fear stop me. You coming?"

And with that, he followed her devoid of hesitation, leaving the safety of the shadows behind. Ahead, Windsor's telecommunications reserve warehouse waited like a steel labyrinth with secrets hidden behind walls of metal and malice.

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