Fallen from Grace | Claymore

TEASER

Clare’s eyes snapped upward, her body stiffening as a cold, creeping sensation slithered up her spine.

Someone, or something, was watching them. Her gaze swept across the clearing, catching the attention of her comrades.

“Clare, what is it?” asked a calm voice. It belonged to the woman with spiky, light blonde hair, her silver eyes serene but slightly puzzled.

“Yeah, you’ve been acting strange!” teased another. Her silver eyes glinted with mischief, a sharp contrast to her short, silky blonde hair.

The last woman remained silent, her silver eyes fixed on Clare, cold and unreadable.

Despite their distinct beauty, it wasn’t their features that set them apart—it was their silver eyes, marking them as something other than human.

Clare shook her head, the sensation of being watched fading as quickly as it had appeared, yet a deep unease gnawed at her. She was certain the feeling had been real.

“I thought we were being watched…” she muttered, knowing how ridiculous it sounded. As expected, laughter erupted from the short-haired woman.

“Haha, you almost had me there, Clare!” she said between gasps, slapping Clare’s shoulder with a hearty pat. Clare ignored her.

“Helen, that’s enough,” the calm blonde-haired woman scolded softly, exasperation tinging her tone. Then she turned to Clare, her silver eyes clouded with thought. “We have Miria.”

At the mention of their leader, Helen stifled a chuckle, while Clare reluctantly nodded, her gaze lingering on the treetops.

Miria, the leader in question, hadn’t reacted to the exchange. Her voice cut through the moment with quiet authority.

“As I was saying, there are warriors you must avoid at all costs. If you encounter them, do not engage—flee. These warriors are beyond the Organization’s control.”

She knelt by a cluster of stones, where she had drawn crude symbols in the dirt. “These are their marks. Memorize them,” Miria instructed, her finger tracing each symbol with deliberate precision.

“No. 1—Alicia.”

“No. 2—Beth.”

“No. 3—Galatea.”

“No. 4—Ophelia.”

“No. 5—Raphael.”

“And this one…” Her voice trailed off at the final symbol, drawing the group’s attention. A heavy silence fell over them, their expressions hardening as they focused on the last mark.

Even Miria’s tension was palpable, sending ripples of unease through them all.

Clare stared at the unfamiliar symbol—an upward half-circle bisected by two lines. Its strangeness unsettled her. She memorized its shape, her silver eyes flickering with uncertainty.

“Neria…” Miria’s voice dropped as she uttered the name, her brow furrowing deeply. The mere mention of it sent a chill through the group.

“Neria?” Helen’s voice wavered, disbelief written across her face as she exchanged a glance with the woman beside her, whose brow was also knitted in concern.

“Yes,” Miria confirmed, her voice slow and weighted with caution.

Clare’s confusion grew. The fear and awe in their voices when they mentioned Neria were different—this name stirred something deeper in them than any of the other warriors.

“Who is Neria?” Clare finally asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Helen looked at her like she had just spoken something absurd. “You don’t know? Have you been living under a rock?” she exclaimed, frustration edging her voice.

She turned to the silent woman beside her. “Deneva, tell her!”

Deneva hesitated, glancing at Miria, who remained lost in thought, staring at the symbol as if it held a deeply personal meaning.

With a sigh, Deneva faced Clare. “Neria was the former No. 1. She had an ability like no other—the power to control yoma with nothing but a thought.”

Clare’s heart skipped a beat. Control yoma? “You mean she could control more than just her own yokai?” Clare asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

It was unthinkable, managing one’s own yokai was difficult enough, but controlling others?

“Yes,” Deneva replied quietly.

“Former…?” Clare whispered, barely audible, her mind racing with questions.

Miria finally spoke, standing tall as she fixed Clare with a cold, silver stare. “Yes, former. She was demoted to Rank 27. Now, she is known as Neria of the Fallen.”

Clare’s breath hitched. A fall from No. 1 to 27 was unheard of. Ranks changed frequently, but such a drastic demotion was staggering.

Before Clare could voice her shock, Miria continued, her tone laced with gravity. “She was a traitor. She sided with a yoma.”

The air around them thickened. Clare could scarcely breathe as the weight of Miria’s words sank in. Neria, once the strongest, had fallen so far.

Miria’s gaze hardened as she glanced at the symbol once more, her voice low but firm. “Each of these warriors is a monster in their own right. If you encounter any of them, do not engage. Avoid them at all costs.”

The gravity in her tone left the group in a cold, tense silence, the weight of their leader’s warning sinking into their bones.