Miracleborn Saga

The cold wind brushed against the high roof of the Vanguard Station like an old friend returning in silence. Dawn bloomed quietly on the horizon — pale gold bleeding into lilac, then deep amber. From up here, the city of Prada looked peaceful, its wounds hidden beneath a slumbering fog.

Andrew stood near the iron railing, arms crossed. His long coat swayed in the wind. Alister Neo leaned beside him, one foot on the ledge, coat collar turned up, a half-lit cigarette pinched between his fingers.

Neither of them spoke for a while. The kind of silence that was earned, not awkward.

"Sunrise is ugly," Alister muttered finally.

Andrew raised a brow. "Ugly?"

"Yeah. It reminds me how long I've survived. I never asked for that."

Andrew smirked faintly. "You sound like a man raised by poets and punished by debt collectors."

Alister chuckled dryly. "Close. Raised by ghosts, punished by a mother who thought love came in the shape of broken ashtrays."

A moment of pause. Then, without turning his head, Andrew said flatly, "My father once told me I was born defective. Said I didn't 'cry with soul' when I came out."

Alister blew smoke. "Sounds poetic."

"He was a butcher."

They both laughed—low, tired, real.

Alister glanced over. "No wonder you're so stiff. Raised by knives and silence."

"And you?"

"Raised by wine bottles and apologies that never arrived."

Andrew nodded. "Classic."

"Hey," Alister tilted his head, grinning. "Want to trade childhoods?"

"No, thank you. I'm still paying off mine."

They laughed again, this time a little longer, as the sun fully peeked over the edge of the world.

Alister flicked the ash away. "You know, people say trauma builds character."

Andrew sipped from a tin of lukewarm tea. "And look at us. Absolute masterpieces."

Alister leaned closer. "Tell me, Andrew, if you weren't a Vanguard… what would you be?"

Andrew didn't blink. "A myth people regret summoning."

Alister grinned, tapping his chest. "That's cute. I'd be an unpaid therapist with a gun."

"You already are."

They both laughed again—this time quietly, like two ghosts remembering what it meant to be alive.

The sun finally broke through the mist, spilling orange light over the rooftops.

Andrew adjusted his gloves. "Let's go. Duty calls."

Alister tossed the cigarette over the edge. "Yeah. Let's go pretend we're saving the world."

....

The moon hung low over Prada, casting long shadows through the narrow streets. The Vanguard office sat quietly under the flicker of a single streetlamp, its windows dark and unwelcoming. Inside, the scent of old paper and burnt coffee lingered in the air.

Without a sound, a figure cloaked in a heavy black coat slipped through the back door, hood pulled low, face hidden in darkness. His movements were swift and calculated, fingers deftly rifling through drawers and cabinets. His eyes caught on a stack of files—the ones he wanted.

He pulled the papers free, clutching them tightly. Heart pounding, he turned to make his escape.

But before he could vanish into the night, a sharp voice pierced the silence.

"Not so fast."

Mary stepped from the shadows, eyes blazing with determination. Right behind her, Alister Neo appeared, his calm demeanor betraying the tension in his stance.

The thief's hand flicked upwards, and suddenly, the air around them thickened, a crushing weight pressing down like the pull of a collapsing star. The ground beneath Mary and Alister became an invisible trap, gravity intensified beyond natural limits.

Mary's knees buckled. She fought to stand but was pinned mercilessly. Her breaths came ragged as regret flooded her mind—why had she hesitated? Why now?

Her eyes darted to where Alister had been moments before.

He was gone.

The thief's laughter echoed coldly in the night as Mary lay trapped, heart pounding, senses screaming that the real fight had just begun.

The thief's laughter echoed down the narrow alleyways of Prada like a chilling wind, wild and unhinged. His footsteps pounded against the cobblestone as he darted through the shadows, clutching the stolen papers tightly. The night was his ally—or so he thought.

Suddenly, with a thunderous crack, two spears of shimmering ice plunged into the ground mere inches before him, piercing the earth like frozen sentinels. The thief skidded to a halt, eyes wide in shock.

From the darkness stepped Alister Neo, his presence like a cold storm made flesh. Icy sparks danced around his hands, flickering with unnatural light. His calm, unreadable gaze fixed on the thief.

"You should have stopped running the moment you took those papers," Alister said, voice low but carrying the weight of ice itself.

The thief sneered, shaking off his momentary surprise. "You Vanguard types think you can stop everything with fancy tricks," he spat, sliding two pistols from his coat. "Let's see how you handle reality."

With a fluid motion, the thief fired rapid shots, the bullets gleaming in the moonlight as they tore toward Alister. Without breaking stride, Alister raised a crystalline barrier formed from conjured ice shards. The bullets shattered against it, tiny explosions of frost hissing into the night air.

Alister moved forward, conjuring jagged shards of ice into razor-sharp spears, sending them flying like darts. The thief dodged with a predator's agility, flipping and weaving through the narrow space, firing in quick bursts from his pistols.

But Alister was not just defense. From the air, he summoned heavy blocks of ice that smashed down around the thief, forcing him to duck and roll with growing urgency. The alleyway became a battlefield littered with frozen traps and shards.

"You rely too much on firepower," Alister said calmly, eyes glinting. "Thaum Conviction is more than mere tricks—it's strategy."

The thief grinned, switching tactics. He threw down a smoke grenade, the alley instantly choking with thick grey mist. Alister's icy aura flickered but did not wane.

"Don't hide in the dark," Alister said, voice echoing eerily through the fog.

Suddenly, from the mist, the thief lunged, blades flashing—close combat. Alister parried with an ice-forged sword conjured in a flash. Steel and ice clashed in a deadly dance, sparks flying.

The thief cursed, firing his pistols point-blank, but Alister's frozen blade caught the shots mid-air, melting the bullets into harmless steam.

Alister stepped back, summoning a swirling vortex of frost around them, chilling the air until the thief's movements slowed.

"Your guns are toys," Alister said quietly. "Let's end this."

With a sudden sweep, Alister sent a burst of razor ice slicing through the fog. The thief barely dodged, crashing into a wall, breathing hard.

He smirked despite himself. "You're good. But I'm not done."

The mist swirled thick and cold, wrapping the narrow alley in a ghostly shroud as Alister Neo and the thief danced their deadly dance. Each strike, each dodge, echoed the tension of two wills clashing—one sharpened by Thaum Conviction, the other fueled by desperation and cunning.

Alister's icy blade sang through the air, parrying and slicing with precision, forcing the thief back step by step. The thief's breath came in ragged gasps, sweat and dirt mixing on his face as he struggled to keep pace. But Alister was relentless, his movements fluid and precise, his calm a stark contrast to the thief's frantic energy.

"You're good," the thief snarled, spinning low and slashing toward Alister's side.

Alister twisted smoothly, avoiding the strike by a hair's breadth, and countered with a sharp jab of ice to the thief's ribs. The thief grunted but recovered quickly, eyes flickering with wild determination.

"You're fast," Alister said, voice low but steady, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "But speed without control is just wasted energy."

The thief lunged forward in a desperate gambit, trying to overwhelm Alister with a flurry of punches and kicks. Alister absorbed the blows with practiced ease, deflecting and redirecting energy, turning the thief's aggression against him. A precise strike to the temple sent the thief staggering, dazed for just a moment.

Alister moved in swiftly, closing the distance, his hands ready to bring the fight to an end.

"Got you now," he said softly, eyes sharp.

But the thief had one last trick.

With a sudden, violent shove, he slammed a hidden smoke pellet to the ground. A thick cloud exploded around them, choking and blinding. Alister's sharp senses flickered as the mist curled in tight. In the chaos, the thief slipped free, vanishing like a ghost into the darkness beyond.

The mist cleared just as Alister reached out—and found only empty air.

He exhaled slowly, an amused smirk crossing his face as he straightened, his icy aura dimming to a faint glow.

"Well played," Alister murmured to the night, voice calm as the cold around him. "But don't think the shadows will save you forever."

He turned smoothly, his coat swirling like a shadowed wave, and began walking back toward the Vanguard station. The night was still alive with danger, but Alister's step was steady, unhurried.

As he disappeared into the mist, his voice carried faintly on the wind:

"Some people chase ghosts. Me? I hunt the truth."

There was no bitterness in his tone, only quiet confidence—a man who had long since learned that the sharpest weapons were patience, skill, and the will to endure.

Tonight, the thief had escaped—but Alister Neo was a hunter who never forgot his prey.

....

The quiet of the alley was shattered by a sudden burst of earth—cracks splintered the pavement as the thief exploded upward from a hidden underground tunnel, launching himself at Alister with a wild snarl. But Alister was ready. With a calm flick of his wrist, a blade of ice formed, slicing through the air and meeting the thief's charge with a sharp crack.

"Underground surprise? Amateur hour," Alister quipped, parrying the thief's desperate swings.

The thief snarled, pulling two jagged knives from his belt and slashing fiercely. Alister dodged fluidly, the cold gleam of his eyes never leaving the attacker. "You're going to need better tricks than that."

The thief grinned darkly and pulled a small sphere from his pocket, hurling it at Alister's feet. It exploded with a sharp pop, releasing a cloud of choking smoke and sparks.

"Nice party trick," Alister said, unfazed, weaving through the smoke as it swirled around them.

Gunshots erupted from the thief's other hand—a pair of pistols blazing. Alister raised a shimmering shield of ice, each bullet shattering like glass. He closed the distance with predatory grace, knocking the guns aside and catching the thief's wrist in a brutal grip.

"Ever heard of disarming your problems?" Alister teased with a smirk.

The thief twisted violently, breaking free, then reached into a pouch and pulled out a small snap—a device crackling with volatile energy. He clicked it, and a flicker of light filled the alley as the blast erupted.

But Alister was already behind him.

With lightning reflexes, Alister grabbed the thief's collar, pulling him into a crushing ice grip.

"You're slow, and predictable," Alister said quietly, his breath a frost in the air.

The thief snarled, struggling, but Alister's grip tightened. Just as he prepared to finish it, the thief slipped a hidden blade from his boot, slashing wildly. Alister barely blocked the strike with a shard of ice, the impact ringing through the alley.

Using the moment, the thief twisted free again and bolted into the shadows, disappearing down a side street.

Alister stepped forward, eyes scanning the ground—and there, fluttering like a dark promise, lay a single crumpled piece of paper.

He picked it up carefully, reading the bold title: "The Cull Family's Secret Diary Copy."

A slow, knowing smile spread across Alister's face.

"Well," he muttered, "looks like this just got a lot more interesting."