The Absolute Rule
Chapter 3 – Echoes of What Was Lost
Rain slid down the rooftops like silver threads, turning the narrow streets below into shimmering riverbeds. Mana-lamps flickered under the weight of the storm, their blue glow bending through curtains of water.
The nameless man moved through the downpour without sound. Lightning pulsed faintly beneath his bronzed skin, more felt than seen. He followed Raygen and Asa at a distance—an observer, nothing more, and yet more than either of them could grasp.
Raygen kept his hood low as he limped beside his sister, each step tugging aches from deeper bruises. Asa walked with a steadiness that hadn't been there four years ago. Her gait was heavier now, patient, grounded—like someone who had seen too many things she wished she could forget.
"Your place still the same dump above the bakery?" she asked, side‑eyeing him.
Raygen huffed. "Rent went up. Still a dump."
"Good. I'm taking the floor. Been sleeping in ruins for years. A moldy apartment will feel luxurious."
Raygen shrugged. He wasn't going to fight her on it—they both knew she'd win.
For a while, neither spoke. The rain's steady drumming filled the silence.
Asa finally broke it. "Four years, Raygen. I left you here with nothing."
"You left to get stronger," he said simply. "Looks like you did."
"Not strong enough." Her voice tightened. "Not strong enough to stop you from almost dying."
Raygen looked her way. "You came back."
"Someone had to."
They reached the crooked stairwell packed between two leaning buildings. Raygen shoved the sticky door until it groaned open.
Inside: a single room. One mattress. One chair. A cracked window that whistled in every storm. The smell of old bread and damp wood clung to everything.
Asa stepped in, surveyed the place, and let out a short laugh. "Still smells like mold and broken dreams."
Raygen struck a match and lit a stub of candle. "Welcome home."
Asa collapsed into the chair and spun it backward, resting her elbows on the backrest. Her eyes sharpened.
"Talk."
Raygen leaned against the wall. "I already told you—"
"Tell me again. Slowly. And this time don't skip the insane parts."
He inhaled and began.
He told her about the fall through the collapsing stone bridge.
The endless dark.
The pedestal floating in nothingness.
The man sculpted from stormlight—bronze skin shifting with white‑blue lightning like it lived beneath the surface. Hair that moved as if touched by invisible winds. Eyes like the heartbeat before a thunderclap.
A presence older than reason.
A warning he still didn't fully understand.
Asa listened without interrupting. When he finished, she leaned back and let out a breath.
"You hit your head harder than I thought."
Raygen stiffened. "Asa—"
She lifted a hand. "I believe you saw something. But a man made of lightning giving you cosmic speeches? Raygen… that's tavern‑tale stuff."
"I know what I saw," he said quietly.
Asa studied him a moment longer, eyes narrowing. "You're hiding something."
Raygen dropped his gaze.
She stood. "Fine. Keep your secret. For now."
Kicking off her boots, Asa flopped onto the mattress and pulled her cloak over herself.
Raygen settled on the floor with his own cloak. The storm softened outside, but neither of them slept for a long time.
Morning
Soft sunlight filtered through the cracked window. The scent of fresh bread drifted up from the bakery below, warm and sweet.
Raygen woke to Asa nudging him with her toe. "Get up. You're rich now. We're celebrating."
He groaned but rose. Asa shoved her hair back and stretched, joints cracking.
They hit the streets early. The storm had washed the city clean; puddles reflected the sky like scattered mirrors.
Their first stop was the best food stall in the district—actual meat, hot bread glazed with honey, fruit that wasn't bruised or half‑fermented.
Asa devoured it all like she hadn't eaten properly in weeks.
Between bites, she talked. Stories spilled out: a desert sect with rituals older than the empire; an ice dungeon where the dead whispered; a wyvern she brought down alone on a broken cliffside.
Raygen listened, wide‑eyed.
When she finished, her expression turned pointed. "Your turn."
He told her the smaller things—because the small things had shaped him more than the big ones.
Nights spent hungry.
Sleeping in abandoned stables during winter.
Running errands for nobles who wouldn't remember his face long enough to toss a coin.
Asa's jaw tightened.
When he finished, she punched his arm in the same spot as last night, twice as hard. "You should've sent word."
"I didn't know where you were."
Silence hung for a moment.
Then she stood abruptly. "We're buying you clothes that don't smell like dungeon mold."
Market District – Mid‑Morning
The market bustled with noise—adventurers bargaining, merchants shouting, mana‑carts rattling over cobblestone. Between the smells of roasted nuts, leather oil, and alchemical herbs, Raygen felt something he hadn't felt for years.
He felt… normal.
They picked up new boots, a cloak that actually fit, and a B‑rank dagger with a balanced sapphire pommel.
Raygen kept trying to pay; Asa stole the money pouch every time.
"Interest on four years of worry," she said cheerfully.
Their laughter felt easy, almost familiar.
"Asa? That really you?"
A tall, scar‑faced woman pushed through the crowd. Mira—former A‑ranker who had retired two fingers short of full strength.
Asa grinned and punched her arm. "Still alive?"
"Barely," Mira chuckled. "Heard you soloed a wyvern. Thought it was bullshit."
"Believe it," Asa said smugly.
Mira noticed Raygen and whistled. "I'll be damned. The orphan kid. You're taller than last time."
Raygen rubbed the back of his neck. "Hey, Mira."
"Heard you soloed 17‑C," she said, voice shifting serious. "Took down a Sovereign. At C‑rank. People are talking. Some impressed. Some irritated. Watch yourself."
Asa's smile tightened.
"Thanks for the warning," Raygen said.
Mira clapped his shoulder so hard he nearly face‑planted. "Don't die, runt. Asa would haunt me about it."
She disappeared into the crowd.
Asa punched Raygen's arm again. "Told you people notice."
They walked on, only to be stopped by two men—old party members of Asa's.
"Asa the Shadow Blade!" one shouted.
They caught up, reminiscing loudly. One of them nodded toward Raygen.
"This the kid you dragged around back then?"
Raygen gave an awkward wave.
"Kid's famous now," the man laughed. "Sovereign slayer. Who would've guessed."
The other leaned close. "Avoid alleys. Some B‑ranks don't like being overshadowed. And nobles hate when orphans start rising."
Asa's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Raygen tucked the warning away.
The rest of the day blurred into a circuit of shops and chatter—armor stalls, rune‑scribes, stray dogs weaving between legs, vendors shouting deals. People recognized Asa everywhere. And they whispered Raygen's name everywhere too.
Whispers traveled faster than truth.
Asa never stopped scanning the crowd.
Late Afternoon – Near the Guild
The city cast long shadows as the sun sank low. The air cooled. Raygen was laughing at something Asa said when the atmosphere shifted.
Three familiar thugs stepped into their path.
The same ones from last night.
Only this time… they brought friends.
Five tougher, broader figures emerged from behind a wagon. D‑rank enforcers by the look of their enchanted clubs and cheap warded leather.
Raygen felt Asa's posture change beside him—her stance relaxed but dangerous.
The leader of the thugs bowed theatrically toward a short young man stepping forward.
A noble brat, clothes expensive enough to buy a house. Acne‑scarred face arranged into a sneer.
"Young master Lyle," the thug announced. "This is the runt. And his friend."
Lyle Raft.
Raygen had heard the name. A failed branch member of House Raft, sent to the outskirts after too many "incidents" the family didn't want tied to them.
Lyle looked Raygen up and down like inspecting a stray dog. "So you're the little orphan who thinks he's someone now?"
Raygen stayed silent.
Asa stepped forward. "Walk away, noble boy. While you still have legs."
Lyle laughed, high‑pitched and grating. "Four years gone and you're still trying to act important, Shadow Blade? This whole district answers to me."
He snapped his fingers.
The eight thugs fanned out, forming a semicircle.
Lyle smirked. "Teach them their place."
Above them, perched unseen on a rooftop beam, the nameless man watched.
Lightning flickered beneath his skin.
**End of Chapter**