Kael shoved the door open with more force than intended and stumbled across the threshold, nearly collapsing onto the wooden floor.
The bell above the entrance gave a weak jingle before falling silent.
Mental fatigue gnawed at him. Exhaustion pressed against his bones. In his carelessness, he had failed to suppress his presence. Rank three Aura poured from him unchecked, saturating the small shop like a rising tide.
The air grew heavy.
Cold beads of sweat gathered along the shopkeeper's forehead as he stared at the figure dragging himself upright. Kael looked less like a man and more like something pulled from a battlefield and forced to stand again. Blood darkened his coat. One sleeve hung empty. His skin was pale, stretched tight over sharp features.
Kael adjusted his coat with slow, deliberate movements and let his ice-cold gaze settle on Marcus.
"I need new clothes. And help bandaging myself."
He flicked his wrist.
A small pouch struck the counter and burst open. Mindstones scattered across the wood, ringing sharply as several bounced and clattered to the floor.
Marcus's breath hitched.
Mindstones.
Who in their right mind paid with mindstones?
For a split second, greed flared in his chest, as the sheer value glittered before him.
Then the Aura pressed harder.
It wrapped around his lungs, slid down his spine, making his knees feel weak. The oppressive weight of rank three suffocated any foolish thought of trickery.
"W—Who are you?"
For a fraction of a second, Kael raised an eyebrow. Then he exhaled softly and pulled the blindfold from his pocket, tying it back over his eyes with steady hands.
"I'm Solian. One of those Eiriendaile bastards managed to take my arm off in a surprise attack."
The moment the blindfold settled into place, recognition washed over Marcus's face.
"My… Are you alright?" he asked, voice cautious as he stepped closer.
"I am," Kael replied evenly. "But we need to clean my wounds."
He unbuttoned his coat and let it fall onto a nearby chair. Then he worked open his shirt, exposing lean muscle streaked with dried blood.
"I—I'll grab something to wrap you up with," Marcus stammered.
Kael watched him disappear behind the counter and let out a slow breath, rolling his neck once.
The movement sent a violent spike of pain through his body.
His jaw tightened. Every shift, every small adjustment, caused nerves to scream beneath his skin. He had endured worse, but exhaustion stripped away the comfort of distance. The pain felt closer and somehow sharper.
After a moment, Marcus reappeared carrying an armful of folded clothes and a wooden chair tucked awkwardly beneath the other arm.
"Sit," he said, setting the chair behind the counter.
Kael obeyed without comment.
Marcus moved quickly once he began, hands trembling only slightly as he cleaned away clotted blood and wrapped fresh linen tightly around the wound. The shop was silent except for the soft rustle of fabric and Kael's controlled breathing.
Marcus pulled the bandage snug one final time. The cloth pressed hard against torn flesh, forcing a low breath through Kael's teeth.
Marcus gave him a few careful pats on the back before stepping away.
"I've cleaned the wounds and bandaged them," he said, placing bloodstained scraps of cloth onto the counter.
Kael rose from the chair and reached for a black shirt hanging from the wall. He slid it on, but the empty sleeve hung uselessly, the fabric slipping off his shoulder.
A faint snicker escaped him at the absurdity of it.
Marcus noticed immediately and stepped closer, hands moving to help fasten the buttons. He worked in silence, careful not to meet Kael's covered eyes for too long.
"I'll grab a fitting coat."
He crossed the shop and returned with one of the finer pieces from the far rack, thick wool lined with subtle stitching along the seams. He draped it carefully over Kael's shoulders, adjusting the cut so it concealed the missing arm as naturally as possible.
Marcus stepped back and studied him.
"You look dashing, Mr. Serane," he said with a nervous smile.
Kael sighed inwardly at the title.
"Please," he replied calmly, bending to retrieve a few scattered mindstones from the floor, "Solian is sufficient."
"Is five enough?"
Marcus's breath nearly left him.
Five?
Five mindstones was more than he would see in gold coins over several good months. His hands trembled slightly as he bowed his head.
"Yes—yes, of course."
Kael tilted his wrist and let the stones fall into Marcus's open palms.
He watched him for a brief moment, then turned and walked toward the door.
"Don't tell anyone I've been here."
The words were calm.
"I won't… I won't," Marcus blurted, barely looking up, half-lost in the quiet radiance resting in his hands.
Kael clenched his hand into a fist several times as he stepped onto the street, testing the stiffness in his fingers.
The Luminaires moving through the district were clearly unsettled by Eireindaile's sudden attack, but they were not mortals. Shock did not paralyze them for long. Stalls reopened. Messengers resumed their routes. Conversations continued in hushed but steady tones.
Kael brushed past one Luminaire without acknowledgment and slipped into an empty alley.
He leaned against the cold brick wall and exhaled slowly.
'What to do…'
He pressed his palm against his face, trying to steady the dull, throbbing ache building behind his temples.
On one end, his Thoughts had begun to decline sharply after obtaining Lucian's mote. He would need mindstones to offset the cost. On the other, he stood at a dead end, both literally and figuratively.
He let his arm fall limp at his side and crushed a mindstone in his fist.
He had anticipated a drop in Thought capacity after absorbing another mote. That was natural.
But this?
This was different.
Whether because it was soul-bound or something else entirely, he could not yet determine.
But what he did know was the very reason a headache was building. His Thoughts were declining at nearly twice the rate they had at its worst.
If he wanted to stabilize his Thought production now, he would need to feed two additional motes and maintain them regularly.
Theoretically possible.
Practically absurd.
Kael had spent months studying the Stone Coffin mote to discover its substitute, to understand what sustained it and how to provide it. That alone had exhausted him.
Now he carried two more burdens.
If he wanted to feed them properly, he would need time to study their substitute. And after that, he would need to acquire whatever rare substance or circumstance satisfied them.
All of this took time he knew he didn't have.
Which left him with one path.
Theft.
It was the only solution that could possibly fulfill all of his needs within the time he had left.
Kael studied his hand for a brief moment, flexing his fingers as if weighing what they were about to do. Then he pushed himself off the wall.
"Let's see whe—"
The words died in his throat.
A pale hand clamped over his face and yanked him backwards.
The world tore.
Snow white wood became black void as his body passed through solid wood like mist through cloth.
Kael reacted on instinct. His hand shot upward, fingers locking around the wrist restraining him.
'Point Blank.'
The detonation came instantly.
The blast shattered bone and skin alike. The grip loosened.
Kael twisted midair, boots scraping against unseen flooring. A speck of golden light was already forming in his palm.
A pale one stood before him, motionless, eyes fixed.
Kael did not hesitate.
He clamped his hand over its mouth and released the mote.
The golden arc tore through its jaw without resistance, blowing through the back of its skull in a spray of gray matter and bone fragments. The arc continued, punching through four more pale figures behind it in a straight, ruthless line before dispersing into sparks against something solid.
The smell of burned flesh and blood filled the air.
"Calm down."
The voice echoed through the darkness.
Kael dropped into a low stance, scanning the room.
His breath slowed.
They were everywhere.
More than twenty pale ones stood around him in perfect stillness, arranged in a loose circle.
They neither breathed or moved, they simply watched.
A woman stepped between them.
She closed the distance slowly and stopped a few steps away.
Her gaze studied him.
"Kael?"
Her head tilted slightly as she said his name.
Kael turned toward her, lowering his hand just a fraction.
He dipped his chin and locked onto a pair of hazel eyes.
Syleena.
Her hair spilled over one shoulder as she leaned forward, examining him with open curiosity. Her gaze traced the blindfold tied neatly around his head, then drifted to the coat sleeve that hung empty at his side.
"You've changed," she said, straightening.
Kael's head turned slightly to the left.
"Who's that?"
Syleena followed his line of sight, but only darkness met her eyes.
Silence lingered.
Then footsteps echoed through the chamber.
A bearded man emerged from the shadows, arms slightly outstretched as if approaching an old friend.
"It's Adam."
The man's steps faltered abruptly. His eyes widened.
"Solian?" he blurted, the name slipping out before he could stop it.
Kael met his gaze.
'So that's it…'
Answers began slotting into place the moment he saw Adam standing beside Syleena.
Why had the Pale Ones begun appearing months earlier than expected?
Why had they started coordinating, hunting him in groups rather than wandering mindlessly?
Why had they grown reckless, abandoning their usual caution?
The answer was simple.
Adam.
Kael had witnessed it firsthand the day a Pale One walked calmly toward him on Lake Yunara, moving against every feral instinct that defined its kind.
After that, the pattern had begun.
Day after day. Month after month.
Pale Ones appeared along the outskirts of Velthoria, pressing closer to the border than they ever had before, bold enough to brush against the city's defenses.
The number of Luminaires slain by them had already climbed to nearly half the toll normally claimed during a full Pale Wave. And the wave itself had not even arrived.
It was the equivalent of farmers dying while sowing seeds.
Kael stepped forward and seized Adam by the wrist before he could react.
"Kael—"
The irregular movements of the Pale Ones were not the result of some natural anomaly or divine whim, no.
It was Adam.
A coordinated, concealed assault orchestrated by Eireindaile against Valthorne.
Kael's eyes hardened.
He had always known it, but the truth sharpened with each passing day.
War was never as straightforward as history glorified it to be. It did not begin with banners raised and declarations shouted across battlefields.
It began quietly.
Through trade disputes. Through strained alliances. Through "isolated incidents."
Through catastrophes that could be blamed on nature.
Here, Eireindaile had found a subtler weapon.
They were grinding Valthorne down slowly, disguising attrition as misfortune.