Chapter Text
The storm over Seoul was made of mana, not rain. It churned in the sky like a wound that refused to close—violet lightning tearing through the clouds, mana-polluted air crackling with heat and static. Below, the hunters fought and fell, their bodies breaking under invisible pressure as their veins lit with blue fire.
And through that chaos walked the Saint.
Lugia’s footsteps left no sound on the cracked asphalt. Her robes, white as sunrise, fluttered in the mana-laden wind as if stirred by unseen hands. Wherever her light touched, the madness stilled. The air cooled. The screaming stopped.
They called her Saint of Hunters. The Light of Humanity. Some whispered her true name only in prayer.
Now, her staff was raised high, the sigils along its shaft flaring open like petals of a flower made of light. A dome of radiance bloomed from her body, washing across the fallen hunters—men and women writhing in agony, their mana cores fracturing like shattered glass.
“Sanctum Lux.” Her voice was calm, almost tender.
Light rained down. The hunters gasped, the corruption burned away from their veins, replaced by warmth and breath. Their eyes cleared, their wounds sealed. They lived.
And as the crowd began to weep and kneel, Lugia’s knees buckled.
Only those closest saw it—the tremor in her hand, the way the halo dimmed for a heartbeat. But before anyone could reach her, the Saint straightened, face serene, as if she hadn’t just traded her own strength for theirs.
“Rise,” she said softly. “The light still has work to do.”
The hunters obeyed. The world believed she had healed everyone with no payment from her own veins. And the storm broke, its energy dispersing like mist.
Later, in the guild infirmary, she sat alone beneath sterile lights. Her robe hung heavy with dried blood—not theirs, but her own. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the faint flicker of mana pulsing there, erratic and thin.
The whispers came then, faint as breath. Thank you… thank you… it hurts less now…
Voices of the healed, the remnants of pain she’d absorbed. They lingered inside her soul, faintly luminous, like shards of starlight under her skin. Each one was a wound she had claimed. Each one, a step closer to the end.
Her fingers trembled. She drew a slow breath and forced a smile.
“It’s fine,” she murmured to the empty room. “It’s fine. I can still save one more.”
The door opened. A young reporter peeked in, bowing hastily.
“Saint Lugia, the press is waiting outside. The Association wants a statement about today’s miracle.”
Lugia rose, concealing her shaking hands in her sleeves. “Then let them have their miracle,” she said, voice gentle but distant.
✧༝┉┉•.¸¸.•´´¯`•✿• .¸¸.•´¯`•┉┉༝✧
Across the city, Jin-Woo watched the broadcast on a flickering screen.
The world adored her. The camera bathed her in gold as she smiled faintly at the questions hurled by reporters.
How does it feel to be called the saviour of mankind?
Is it true your healing light never fades?
Her answer was soft, almost lost beneath the static.“No light is eternal. But while it shines… I will not let it falter.”
Jin-Woo muted the screen. Outside his window, hunters screamed as another wave of the mana plague took hold. And in the bed beside him, his sister Jin-Ah trembled—her mana veins already flaring with the first signs of infection.
He closed his eyes. There was only one person in the world who could save her. Only one light left that had not yet gone out.