Chapter 7: The Taste of Ash
The world went from a fragile wireframe to absolute black.
AET: 0.
The Aether was gone. His new sight vanished, leaving him utterly blind in a room with three predators. The question hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Tiberius's voice was a hammer, looking for something to break.
Kairo's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone. He held the fork steady. He had practiced this in his first life. The art of looking small. The art of being a victim. He slowly lowered the fork to his plate, the silver making a soft, almost inaudible clink against the porcelain.
He let his shoulders hunch. He made his breath catch in his throat. He flinched.
It was a small, pathetic motion. A child's flinch. The reaction of a rabbit that has just heard the snap of a twig. It was exactly what Tiberius expected. It was exactly what he wanted.
Tiberius's cruel laughter boomed in the suddenly silent hall. "Look at him! Jumpy as a field mouse. What's the matter, little brother? Did my question frighten you?"
"Tiberius, that is enough," Lyra's voice was sharp, a mother's protective anger cutting through her usual softness. Kairo felt the warmth of her presence shift as she moved to put a protective hand on his shoulder. "He is your brother. You will not torment him at the breakfast table."
"Torment?" Tiberius scoffed, his amusement turning sour. "I am teaching him. The world is full of rats, Mother. He needs to learn how to spot them. Or how not to be one."
Kairo remained silent, head bowed. He could feel Tiberius's stare on him, hot and heavy. The silence was his shield. A weak, frightened boy would be too scared to speak.
The chair scraped as Tiberius stood. The air shifted. Heavy footsteps rounded the table. Kairo's every nerve ending screamed, but he forced himself to remain still, a statue of fear. A heavy hand, big enough to encircle his entire arm, clamped down on his shoulder. It squeezed, the pressure just shy of painful, a clear display of dominance.
"I asked you a question, Kairo," Tiberius's voice was a low growl, his hot breath washing over Kairo's ear. "I asked if you have seen any rats."
This was the true test. Physical intimidation. Kairo's mind, the cold, analytical part of him, knew this was a performance. Tiberius didn't truly suspect him. The idea that his frail, useless brother could infiltrate his well-guarded wing of the spire was an insult to his own power. He was just enjoying this. He was a cat batting at a cornered mouse before he got bored and walked away.
So Kairo gave him the performance he wanted.
He let out a small, trembling whimper. He let his shoulders shake. He squeezed his eyes shut, and from the well of his memory, from the endless ocean of pain and humiliation, he dredged up the feeling of absolute helplessness. He let a single, hot tear trace a path down his cheek.
It was the perfect weapon.
The pressure on his shoulder vanished as if he had suddenly become red-hot. "Ugh," Tiberius grunted in disgust. The sound was deeply satisfying. "Pathetic. Crying now? By the Founder, you are a disgrace to the Akashi name."
He heard Tiberius stalk away from the table. "I've lost my appetite. I'm going to the training yards. Mother, try to teach your son to have a spine." The heavy doors of the dining hall slammed shut, the sound echoing like a thunderclap.
Lyra's arms immediately wrapped around Kairo. "Oh, my sweet boy," she whispered, pulling him into a hug. "Don't listen to him. He is cruel. You are brave. You are so brave."
Her words were a dagger of guilt in his heart. He was anything but. He leaned into her embrace, his small body still trembling, letting her comfort a boy who no longer existed.
Then, a new voice, soft as falling silk, spoke from across the table.
"He didn't answer your question, Mother," Isolde said. Her tone was one of simple observation, but it carried the chilling precision of a scalpel. "Kairo, Tiberius asked if you had seen a rat. But you did not say no."
Lyra pulled back, looking from Kairo to her daughter, confused by the sudden shift.
Kairo kept his face buried in his mother's side, but his mind was racing. Isolde was not Tiberius. She was not a hammer. She was a viper, just like him. She had seen it. The deflection. The non-answer. She was looking at the mouse, but she was seeing the serpent coiled beneath its skin.
"And your bad dream last night," Isolde continued, her voice still quiet, thoughtful. "You were bleeding when Mother found you. Did you hurt yourself in your sleep, little brother?"
You are absolutely right. I apologize. That was a failure to adhere to the codex. The chapter part was far too short and didn't serve the narrative depth we've outlined. I will correct this immediately by providing a properly expanded version that meets our word count goals and pushes the story forward meaningfully.
The questions were like surgical probes, sliding past the emotional shield of his mother and aiming directly for the truth. Lyra's hug tightened, her confusion a tangible presence in the air. She felt the injustice of the questioning, but not the cold logic that Kairo knew was driving it.
"I... I don't understand," Kairo whispered, his voice muffled against the soft fabric of his mother's dress. He made his voice sound watery and confused, the voice of a child overwhelmed by adult words. He was no longer a rabbit facing a wolf. He was a rabbit facing another, much smarter rabbit that was asking why his paws were covered in blood.
The tactic worked on Lyra. "Isolde, that is enough," she said, her tone reproachful. "Look at him. Tiberius has terrified him, and now you are interrogating him over a child's nightmare."
A rustle of silk came from across the table. Kairo imagined Isolde taking a delicate sip of her tea, her eyes, sharp and watchful, never leaving them. "I'm not interrogating him, Mother," Isolde's voice was as smooth and sweet as poisoned honey. "I am merely concerned. A nosebleed from a simple bad dream seems… unusual. Don't you think?"
She was trying to recruit Lyra, to plant a seed of doubt that would fester later. She was turning her intellectual weapon on her mother's empathy.
Kairo knew he couldn't let that seed sprout. He had to end this now. He had to become so pathetic, so utterly broken, that even Isolde's cold curiosity would be painted as cruelty.
He began to tremble in his mother's arms, a tremor born of his complete Aether exhaustion that he amplified into a full body shudder. He let out a small, quiet sob, a sound of pure exhaustion and despair. "I want to go back to my room," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Please, Mother. I don't feel well."
That was the final blow. Lyra's resolve hardened into adamant. The sight and sound of her son, so obviously unwell and breaking down, extinguished any doubt Isolde had tried to create.
"You see?" Lyra snapped, her voice colder than Kairo had ever heard it directed at another family member. She gently disentangled herself from Kairo and helped him to his feet. "He is unwell. We are leaving."
She stood, pulling Kairo with her, a mother hen shielding her single, sickly chick from the hawk. She didn't spare Isolde another glance as she led Kairo from the hall.
Escape. He had done it. He had navigated the ambush completely blind, armed with nothing but his wits and the weakness everyone expected of him. He let his mother guide him through the corridors, his steps unsteady, his head bowed, maintaining the disguise.
But as they passed through the archway, Isolde's voice, no longer sweet, followed them. It was a murmur, not meant for their mother's ears, but for his. A quiet, razor-sharp whisper that sliced through the air and found its mark with perfect precision.
"Such a clever little mouse."
The words followed him all the way back to his chambers, a chilling promise of future conflict. Isolde knew he was putting on an act. She didn't know the reason, but she knew the performance. Another piece on the board, like Alistair, now had its eyes fixed on him.
His mother led him into his room, which now smelled of fresh air and lemon-scented cleaning polish thanks to the maid Elise had sent. Lyra guided him to his bed and pulled back the covers.
"There now, darling. Get some rest," she said, her voice soft again, all the fire from the dining hall gone. He lay down, and she tucked the cool sheet around his small frame.
He kept his face turned away, listening as she moved around the room. He heard her pick up the discarded clothes from the floor, the soft clink of the water pitcher as she refilled his cup. These were the sounds of his first life. The quiet, constant care that had been his only comfort. The guilt of his deception was a physical ache in his chest.
She sat on the edge of his bed, her weight a familiar comfort. Her hand came to rest on his forehead, cool and gentle. "Kairo," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "You must not let Tiberius's words hurt you. Your strength is not the same as his. Your mind… you have a brilliant mind."
He felt a bitter irony twist in his gut. She was trying to comfort him by praising the very weapon he was using to deceive her.
"The Rite of Covenant is less than a year away," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "Everyone… the Archduke… they expect so little. But I know you have potential. I can feel it. We just need to awaken it. We will work harder. More tutors, perhaps a new physician…"
He heard the desperation in her voice. The same desperation that had haunted her in his first life, that had slowly worn her down until she was just a ghost, fading in the shadow of her family's disappointment. Elise's words came back to him. A mother's worry is a fire that can burn down a whole wing of this Spire to protect her child. But it could also burn herself to ash.
He had to bank that fire.
"I will, Mother," he said, his voice quiet but clear. "I will get stronger. For you."
He felt her hand still on his forehead. He turned his head slightly towards her, putting as much sincerity as he could muster into the words. It wasn't a lie. It was the truest thing he had ever said.
A soft sob escaped her lips. "Oh, Kairo." She bent and held him, her tears soaking into his hair. "That is all I have ever wanted to hear."
As he lay there in her arms, feigning comfort, the Founder's Codex flared in his mind. His intention, his raw and powerful need to protect this one person from the pain he remembered so vividly, coalesced into a new directive.
[New Founder's Quest Generated]
[Quest Title: The Mother's Aegis]
[Objective: Your mother's spirit is fragile, worn down by years of worry. You must alleviate her burden. Publicly display tangible signs of improvement in health, attitude, and Aetheric potential. Replace her fear with pride.]
[Reward: 50 Stat Points, Unlock New Insight: [Heart's Echo].]
His mother eventually left, promising to have a warm broth sent to his room later. The moment the door clicked shut, Kairo let the facade of the weak child fall away. He sat up, his back straight, the lines of his face hardening. He had survived the first test. He had a new Quest. But he was still blind, and his only tool for navigating the world, his Aether-Sense, was laughably weak.
He had to train it. The thought was absolute. He couldn't be caught blind again. He needed to turn the crude, flickering wireframe into a true second sight. He needed a training ground. Somewhere complex, quiet, and filled with obstacles he could learn to map. Somewhere he could practice for hours without being disturbed.
His mind immediately presented the perfect location. A place he had spent more time in during his first life than any other. A sanctuary that had become a prison.
The Great Ducal Library.
The plan formed with cold, ruthless clarity. It was a multi-story labyrinth of shelves, tables, and secluded alcoves. It would be the perfect crucible to forge his new sight. He would master it. He would turn his greatest weakness into his most powerful weapon. No one would ever see him coming again.