Kael flipped the page, stretching slightly as he leaned over to read it.
'More than I thought…'
He grabbed three carrots, sliced them into thin slices, and tossed them into the boiling pot. Steam rose as they disappeared beneath the surface.
Next, he picked up a slab of fine red meat and set it on the cutting board, letting the knife work through it with steady, practiced cuts.
It had been a week since his clash with the Weeping Eye. The desk still lay shattered across the floor, splintered beyond repair. The kitchen island had fared no better.
'My soul is barely a fraction of what it used to be.'
The knife stilled as his thoughts drifted.
Everyone knew that losing a soulbound mote caused severe damage to the inner realm. Kael had known it too. Still, the severity had caught him off guard.
The inner realm was, at its core, the union of Soul, Thought, and Will. When the mote was destroyed, all three had suffered. His soul, once a smooth white void, was now riddled with massive cracks drifting through the empty space. The red river of Will had slowed to a crawl, its current barely stronger than it had been at rank one.
'My Thoughts…'
That was what bothered him most.
His Thought generation was crippled. It barely produced enough to maintain three motes in his inner realm at once. He suspected that attempting to hold a fourth would send his Thoughts into decline.
Compared to his peak at rank two, when he could sustain six motes simultaneously, his current state felt worse. Advancing in rank had not made him stronger.
It had made him feel diminished.
"Bad… bad… this is so bad,"
he muttered under his breath as he resumed cutting.
Recently, rumors had begun to spread of the first genuine clash between two groups of Luminaires from Eireindaile and Valthorne, officially marking the earliest signs of a war about to break out. With each passing day, the pressure tightened like a noose around his neck.
He was nearly out of mindstones, and even though he still had gold coins left, they held no real value. Nothing he could use where it mattered.
Syleena was nowhere to be found either. Even when Kael went out searching for her, she remained hidden, as if deliberately avoiding him.
'She must feel the pressure too.'
He tossed the meat into the pot.
Even before Kael had arrived in Velthoria, Syleena had been busy dealing with assassination attempt after assassination attempt. He had no doubt that the ten-thousand mindstone bounty had unofficially doubled by now. If Valthorne truly went to war with Eireindaile, having an Eireindaile heir inside their city would be nothing short of a thorn lodged deep in their side.
Kael lifted a hand and gently touched his eye, fingers brushing against the stitches.
The eye remained his most unpredictable variable. Kael would rather face ten noble families at once than deal with it.
He let out a slow breath and placed the lid over the pot, leaving the food to simmer in the quiet kitchen.
He moved his hand, massaging his temples.
"Waiting never makes things easier…" he murmured.
The words felt hollow the moment they left his mouth.
Kael stepped into the bathroom, stopping in front of the mirror. He studied his reflection in silence.
A young man stared back at him. Long black hair hung loose around his shoulders, framing a face that looked sharper than he remembered. One eye was sewn shut, the crude stitches pulling the skin tight. The other watched him steadily, emerald green, alert and calculating.
He tilted his head slightly, studying the contrast in the mirror. The symmetry that had once been there was gone, broken in a way that felt impossible to ignore. Even standing still, he barely recognized himself compared to a year ago.
His fingers brushed his jaw, then hovered near the stitched eyelid before pulling away.
He turned his head, catching the light at a different angle, noting every detail that stood out, every flaw that could not be ignored.
'I'll at least need to cover the eye.'
He walked out of the bathroom, casting one last glance at the pot simmering on the stove before grabbing his coat and stepping out into the street.
Snow crunched beneath his boots as Kael reached into his pocket, pulled out a pair of leather gloves, and slipped them on.
By now, he had grown familiar with Velthoria, its streets mapped cleanly in his mind.
His steps slowed, then stopped, in front of a small corner shop.
The window display was packed with coats and dresses, each one a different cut, a different color, neatly arranged behind the glass.
As Kael stepped inside, a small bell rang above the door, announcing his entrance.
A man around his age stood behind the counter. He looked up and grinned.
"Solian."
Kael gave a brief, friendly wave and turned his attention to the clothing racks.
As the noose tightened around his neck, Kael had begun using an alias. It was better to start early, to erase tracks before they formed, to make the future easier on himself.
Even though Kael stood in silence and made no effort to speak, Marcus still wandered over, joining him among the racks. He scanned his own merchandise, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as if seeing it for the first time.
Kael said nothing.
After a moment, the shopkeeper could no longer hold back.
"Looking for anything specific?"
Marcus asked, adjusting a coat on its hanger.
Kael glanced at him briefly.
Even though Kael had never made any effort to truly get to know Marcus, they still knew of each other. Kael came by often, either to repair worn clothing or replace what could no longer be fixed.
Marcus was one of those people you saw again and again without ever really speaking to. Familiar enough to greet. Not familiar enough to invite inside.
"I'm in need of a blindfold,"
Kael said casually.
Marcus's hand stilled.
"Blindfold?"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Well… we do have a few in the back. Want me to grab one so you can try it on?"
Kael raised an eyebrow.
Marcus had clearly misunderstood its intended use, but Kael had no interest in correcting him.
"Yes, please."
Marcus gave Kael a single, friendly pat on the back before turning and disappearing behind the counter.
After a short while, he returned, holding a strip of black silk folded neatly in his hands.
"Dare I say this is one of our bestsellers?"
He spoke in an exaggerated tone, stretching it out as he offered the cloth.
Kael took it.
The silk was smooth beneath his fingers, almost delicate. Soft. Comfortable. Clearly designed for aesthetics rather than practicality, and certainly not for concealing something like a sewn-shut eye.
Still, it would do.
"Do you have any cowls?"
Kael asked, holding up the blindfold.
Marcus looked at the cloth, then back at Kael.
For a brief moment, one corner of his mouth twitched upward.
He gave a slow, approving nod.
Without a word, he turned and walked over to a drawer behind the counter, pulling out a black cowl made from thick, durable fabric.
"This one's meant to protect against harsh weather," he said, clearing his throat a little too deliberately. "Extra sturdy."
Kael thanked him and left the shop.
Marcus watched him go for a moment longer than necessary.
Kael slipped the two pieces of cloth into his pocket and continued on with his errands.
—
Kael placed a cup of steaming coffee on the kitchen table and hung his coat on the hanger.
The apartment filled with a welcoming aroma.
He lifted the lid and stirred the pot gently, watching the meat break apart with each slow motion of the spoon. After setting the pot down on the wooden cutting board, he walked into the bathroom.
Kael tightened the blindfold around his head, pulling the silk snug and secure. Then he raised his gaze to the mirror.
Everything should have been pitch black.
Yet it wasn't.
Through the blindfold, he could still make out faint silhouettes and shifting shapes, like shadows seen through thick fog.
'I'm slowly gaining control of the eye.'
He waved his hand in front of his face.
Kael had no concrete proof, only fragments of theory and instinct, but the change was undeniable. Since surviving the last clash with the eye, the darkness beneath the sewn eyelid had changed. It no longer felt empty. Shapes had begun to form. Even when his eye was closed, the silhouettes remained, pressing against his awareness and stealing rest from his sleep.
Annoying, but promising.
One theory suggested the eye had burned through too much energy during its struggle against him. Another possibility lingered, far more unsettling and far more intriguing.
Kael watched the shadow of his hand sway back and forth beneath the blindfold.
Whatever rank the eye truly was, it was without question a mote, or something close enough to one. And like all motes, it was formed from Will and Thought. Those were not infinite. Nothing in this world was.
Wild motes drew their sustenance from the world itself, from nature, from heaven. But motes bound within an inner realm were different. Once sealed inside, they were cut off from the outside completely, locked away behind the soul's walls.
They could not feed on anything but their host.
That fact was undeniable.
Kael lowered his hand, the faint silhouettes fading with the motion.
If the eye was weakening, then it meant only one thing.
It was running out of fuel.
The eye was an anomaly. No mote should have been able to remain within a host for this long, let alone stay active without getting refined or collapsing entirely. Yet somehow, it endured.
Kael suspected the reason lay in its origin.
The Will the mote had once gathered from nature was slowly being exhausted, replaced piece by piece by Kael's own. As that happened, the balance shifted. The eye was no longer sustained by an external source, but by him. And with every fragment of Will it took from him, it lost a fragment of its autonomy.
It was becoming dependent.
That dependency was dangerous, but it was also weakness.
And especially now, after Kael had advanced to rank three.
His River of Will had grown denser. His Thoughts, though damaged, were still his. If the eye was feeding on him to survive, then it was no longer an invader drawing from the world. It was a parasite trapped inside a closed system.
Kael's grip tightened on the sink.
'If that's the case… then this isn't a battle of strength.'
His reflection stood still in the mirror, blindfold dark against his face.
'It's a battle of nutrition.'
He washed his hands, then walked back into the kitchen without removing the blindfold.
His current objective was simple. Boring, even. But it was necessary.
From this moment forward, he would never take it off.
He needed his eyes hidden for what came next, for the plans already taking shape in the quiet corners of his mind. More than that, he needed a sensory mote. And if gaining even a sliver of control over the Eye was possible, then it could become exactly that. Two problems solved at once. Three, if control itself was counted.
Kael moved through the kitchen by memory alone and the faint shadows entering his vision stumbling once as his boot struck broken rubble. He steadied himself and continued, fingers brushing the counter until he reached the pot.
He filled a bowl and carried it to the table, lowering himself into the chair with care. Steam curled upward as he blew on the surface, then took a slow bite.
"Too salty."