Chapter VIII: Around the Fur – Part III: Sol Niger
Interlude—King Kadavar's POV: Medical Bay
Both androids' ocular visors contracted, emitting a faint whirring sound, and responded through their vocal speakers.
"A PATIENT ATTEMPTED TO OPEN THE DOOR AND REQUESTED PERMISSION TO LEAVE THE ROOM FOR A THIRTY-MINUTE MORNING JOG. REQUEST WAS DENIED. PATIENT WAS INSTRUCTED TO RETURN TO BED."
"Ugh…" Nyla murmured in pain, an unconscious response to the brief commotion inside the room.
Arika recognized the sound immediately, she therefore signaled the two sentinels to resume their previous station, while she quickly went inside the bathroom to check the water sink.
Kadavar stood near the window, resting one hand briefly on the, currently, vacant bed as he looked through the window observing the ground outside of the medical bay.
He watched for a moment without moving.
Below, the grounds were mostly still—too early for real activity. A few lights burned in isolated pockets: breakfast stalls beginning their day, a pair of civilians moving with the unhurried pace of routine, several uniformed personnel commuting midway through morning drills. The people were scattered, distant from one another, each absorbed in their own quiet purpose.
Then Kadavar noticed the interruptions.
A jog that slowed where it shouldn't. A head turning too sharply, too late. A food stall operator frozen mid-motion, fingers slackening as a pot threatened to tip. The reactions were small, disconnected—yet repeating.
His gaze traced the pattern upward.
High above the walkways, a cluster of security drones altered course. One by one, they slid into echelon formation—tracking something, or someone. The King followed the breadcrumbs in silence, tracing the invisible line shared by civilians, soldiers, and machines alike, allowing their collective attention to guide his own.
Only then did the shape resolve.
Kaodin's idea of a "morning jog" was anything but ordinary. The boy was already on his return sprint, covering ground at a speed that demanded attention. Running beside him was no tiger cub—it was a tiger, pale blue in the dim light, its sleek black stripes cutting sharply across its form. From a distance, the blue fur washed into white as it tore through the path, shadow slicing along its body—too large, too fast, too real to dismiss.
The pattern snapped into place.
Arika emerged from the bathroom moments later. The sink was still wet.
She understood immediately. The boy had found a way out. Still, she did not dare to speculate how a ten-year-old had managed to leave a fourth-floor medical bay simply to exercise.
As Kadavar raised his hand to signal their departure, Nyla stirred again. Dizzy and half-awake, she lifted her hand weakly toward Arika, who had just stepped back into view.
"Commander…? King…?"
Her voice was weak, clogged, but understandable.
She blinked hard, trying to steady her vision, but the painkillers still lingered. Sedation tugged at her thoughts, pulling them backward before they could settle. Faces and voices registered, then slipped away again.
Moments later, her strength faded.
Her shoulders eased back into the pillow. The weight of her stabilized limb shifted, and her consciousness blurred into pale streaks at the edges of her vision before she slipped back into sleep.
Kadavar acknowledged the situation with a subtle gesture and extended his hand to Arika—signaling that it was time to leave the room.
Interlude – Kaodin POV: The Final Stretch
Kaodin's breathing steadied as he kept its rhythm at the back of his mind, freeing his attention to scan the surrounding environment so he wouldn't collide with anyone—just a simple, casual jog, a routine exercise that hardened both mind and body at the same time. The cold morning air bit at his cheeks as he ran past rows of buildings, following the circular track across SAI's surface grounds, with Wawa's transfigured body kept at a smaller, not fully grown size—Kaodin deliberately avoiding drawing unnecessary attention from SAI's residents.
The SAI campus was only beginning to wake.
The residents were unprepared to see a boy running faster than their own militia's morning physical training along the main circuit path—much less one accompanied by a teenage-sized pale blue tiger pacing beside him.
Sensors chimed in muted surprise as servos clicked.
Nearby security drones initiated facial recognition sweeps and immediately flagged a certain individual under a classified data. Several units adjusted their vertical pitch, downward thrusters spooling with a low, rising whine as they transitioned into hover. Central security was alerted automatically as the drones lifted from the nearest outpost, exhaust wash rippling dust and loose debris before they settled into an echelon formation to track the subject.
As their optical arrays closed in, secondary systems registered an anomalous presence—an adjacent transfigured tiger running in parallel. The tiger's unfamiliar mass profile and irregular heat signature disrupted standard classification parameters, forcing the drones into adaptive tracking rather than engagement while flagging the encounter as an unclassified biological entity to central security personnel.
A group of engineers froze mid-stride as Kaodin streaked past them, coffee mugs still suspended halfway to their lips, steam curling upward in the cold air. Two groundskeepers instinctively stepped aside, eyes widening as Wawa's partially manifested tiger form shimmered beside Kaodin's shoulder. Farther down the path, a cluster of junior researchers whispered in hushed urgency, following him with wide, unsettled stares—the kind reserved for things that should not exist, yet were unfolding in plain sight.
Kaodin didn't break rhythm.
He kept his focus on his breath and the surrounding environment, the world narrowing into motion and cool breeze as the morning mist closed in.
At central security, military personnel noticed the alert pinged by the security drones and immediately checked the details, identifying a non-hostile, unclassified heat-signature entity accompanying the specially tagged individual under the name 'AS-07-K' listed as Commander Arika's authorized visitor. The information was immediately forwarded to Commander Arika.
SAI at dawn unfolded around him like a waking titan.
A century-old SAI white-blue tower rose elegantly at the center of the settlement, emerging from the mist beyond the industrial quarter. Its composite surface reflected the dawn sunlight like distant crystal spires. Two-way road paths, walkways, and elevated service tracks wrapped the complex in layered rings of reinforced steel and state-of-the-art composite structures. Even the smallest details—guardrails along the stairways leading up to the entrance, still slick with condensation after centuries—reflected SAI's guiding philosophy: the pursuit of impeccable solutions.
Together, they stood as a testament to the facility's paramount role in supporting allied nations during the prewar strategic space race—an era defined by ambition that would later leave Earth to reckon with its consequences.
Magnetic trams whispered along overhead rails, gliding past in smooth intervals, their low hum drifting down into the open corridors below, where Kaodin and Wawa ran as if racing each other—not in a quest for space, but in a test of resolute command over mind and body.
The path beneath his feet was firm and resilient—engineered pavement designed for load, not comfort— Running along the edge of the structure where the city fell away in tiers of rooftops, vents, and stacked utility blocks, Kaodin and Wawa raced across the reinforced walkway. Far below them, maintenance crews and early-shift workers moved like scattered points of color toward the labor-based thorium extraction site, their figures dwarfed and overshadowed by the scale of the structures above.
High overhead, auxiliary wind turbines turned lazily, their blades cutting through the rising thermal currents with a deep, resonant thrum that settled into the bones more than the ears.
Holographic direction pillars flickered out of night mode one by one, their glowing panels gradually dimming as the automated systems recalibrated for the day cycle. Across the curated gardens, leaves trembled with morning condensation, and the air—faintly scented with cooled metal and ionized mist—quietly reminded residents that reality had returned from sleep.
Kaodin surged forward, his silhouette cutting through the moving layers of fog and light. Wawa kept pace beside him, his transfigured form saturated with Qi energy. With Kaodin and Wawa fully in sync—and unbeknownst to either of them—Wawa's presence subtly swelled, leaving faint streaks of blue Qi-heat like a comet's residue trailing along the running path. The resulting heat spikes along the route had already been flagged by the jet-powered tracking drones flying in echelon formation since earlier, their constant reports throwing Arika into disarray.
Up ahead, three familiar silhouettes moved through synchronized warm-up drills on one corner of the open ground, among a scattering of others who had risen early to exercise.
Ken. Han Xiao. Albert.
Focused.
Breathing in unison.
Eyes locked on their routines.
They didn't notice him approach.
Kaodin slowed slightly, instinctively respectful of their discipline, and raised a hand in greeting.
"Morning—and thanks for yesterday, Albert Aniki," he called out, recalling how he'd been told during last night's dinner that Albert—despite his Western appearance, with short blond hair, light skin, prominent brow ridges, and blue eyes—was the son of a Japanese father and a Western mother, and often favored being addressed or spoken to in Japanese. His words were timed between steady breaths despite the run.
Albert spun first, nearly dropping into a defensive stance before breaking into a wide grin.
"Whoa—! Kid, you got cleared from the medical bay already?!"
He glanced after Kaodin, his grin lingering for a brief moment as his hand remained firm on the hilt of his greatsword, continuing his swing count without breaking rhythm.
A little farther along the two-way road track, Kaodin noticed Ken and Han Xiao practicing together by the small garden area to his right, the sound of their swords striking echoing in the background.
Kaodin approached, his eyes meeting Ken's gaze.
"Morning—brother Ken."
Ken's eyes widened as he hurriedly glanced Kaodin over.
"K-Kaodin—?! I didn't even… hear you. How did you—? I mean—good morning!"
He spoke between breaths, still panting lightly as his hand remained locked on his sword, mid-training exchange with Han Xiao.
Han Xiao held her combat stance, right hand gripping the hilt of her short sword as she faced Ken across the training space. When he reacted, she followed his sudden shift in attention, turning her head toward the figure approaching from behind her.
She spotted Kaodin a few paces away. Her empty left hand rose instinctively to her chest as she exhaled, tension easing from her posture.
"You startled me… but good morning, Kaodin. And Wawa—you look lovely today."
Kaodin met her gaze and replied immediately, a little louder than intended,
"Thank you—Hanxiao Jie."
The address came naturally, recalling what he had learned during last night's dinner—that despite their different origins, he and Han Xiao shared a familiarity through language and upbringing. Kaodin, of partial Chinese-Thai descent, had been taught Chinese as a second tongue since childhood, while Han Xiao was descended from post-war Chinese refugees who had fled the mainland's extreme scarcity generations earlier with the aid of Aerospace-specialized merchant connections to SAI.
Wawa glanced between them as well, then skipped playfully to keep pace beside his master.
Han Xiao smiled, watching the young boy and the tiger sprint past.
Then it hit them.
The reminder landed almost simultaneously—the commander's earlier notification, the weight of its implications. The realization cut through the morning ease, and the smiles faded.
Without a word, all three exchanged glances—quiet, unsettled, a shared understanding settling in. Even Albert, training alone on the far edge of the small garden, slowed his movements as the significance caught up to him.
For a moment, beneath the shadow of SAI's main tower as the sun gradually rose, Kaodin felt a warmth he rarely experienced—even in his original time among senior disciples and peers of similar age. There was nothing about them that set one apart from another. Just people striving to survive. Not an unknown variable. Not the boy who fought the impossible.
He was simply part of the team.
The warmth lingered for a moment—until a faint, putrid note carried on the morning air, just long enough to cut through it.
The acidic, curdled stench of dead flesh brushed his senses, striking straight at his most sensitive faculty—his nose. With an empty stomach, the reaction didn't rise from his throat. Instead, a cold shiver ran up his spine and settled deep behind his eyes.
The barren, spherical structure at the far edge of the territory intruded into his vision. It stood apart from the rest of SAI, colorless, its presence an unsettling suggestion.
Kaodin didn't hesitate. He raced past the shadowed curve and pushed onto the cleared path he recognized as leading back toward the medical bay. The final stretch of his morning jog came fast—breath steady, body and clothes soaked with sweat.
Wawa bounded alongside him, fluttering up to meet his gaze. Kaodin smiled as their eyes met, holding onto his rhythm—and his dignity—for a little longer.
As the path curved past the long shadow cast by the towering spire, he saw him.
His hair was silver-white, long, and tied neatly into a low knot at the back of his head. He wore sleek, oval-shaped glasses with a faintly flickering golden frame—unlike the floating display visors Kaodin often saw on CSDS teenagers. The man's attire was simple: a zipped navy-blue jacket over a fitted work suit familiar to what Kaodin had seen earlier in SAI's industrial sectors—dark, layered, practical, cut to move with the body rather than to decorate it.
A few loose strands of hair drifted around his face, catching the pale morning light. A thin beard traced his jawline—well kept, uneven in a way that felt intentional.
His skin bore the marks of age: fine creases around the eyes, shallow lines shaped by sun and wind—the texture of someone who had spent most of his life under open sky rather than behind protective walls.
At the bamboo-lined edge of the medical bay courtyard, he moved with slow, deliberate grace. His arms rose and fell like drifting silk, each shift of weight flowing into the next in a continuous circle.
As Kaodin drew closer, he gradually slowed, circling the area just long enough to cool his body—a routine taught by his father and practiced since childhood. But even in the cool-down phase, his gaze kept returning to the old man, as if afraid the figure might vanish if he looked away, taking with him the chance to understand what he was doing.
Kaodin stepped closer, still panting lightly from the run. He slowed instinctively and gave a silent cue to Wawa to revert to spectral form. Wawa responded at once—leaping up and spiraling into a tight, circular motion before compressing back into his pale-blue spectral shape, black tiger-stripes settling along his form.
Kaodin kept his pace measured as he approached, careful not to startle or disturb the old man, mindful even now of causing no unintended harm.
"Sir… what is that technique?"
The old man noticed the question. He removed his glasses and turned to look at Kaodin more closely. When their eyes met, Kaodin froze for a heartbeat. They were a calm, crystalline blue—steady, sharp in a way that felt like it could see straight through him. Not his muscles. Not his breathing. Something deeper.
The boy swallowed. It was a gaze he had only ever felt from his father,
The old man tilted his head slightly.
Kaodin worried he hadn't spoken clearly enough. Gathering a bit of courage, he repeated himself, more carefully this time.
"Good morning, sir,… could I please ask what technique you were doing?"
Slowly, keeping his breathing in sync with his movements, he replied, "It's called—the 'Eight-Form Taiji Fist'— 'Bashi-Taiji-Quan' (八式太极拳)."
The old man finished his final form, palms sweeping outward before folding behind his back. His voice came out hoarse and fragile—perfectly disguised.
Kaodin knew at first glance that there was something within the style the old man practiced. It resonated with memories of the intense fascination he once felt after watching kung fu films with his senior disciples. Despite his partial Chinese heritage—and despite Chinese being his second tongue—kung fu had always felt distant to him, especially when compared to his grounded understanding of Muay Boran.
"You are interested?" the old man asked.
Kaodin's brows furrowed. "It feels nostalgic, somehow."
"I was taught by a long-time friend," the old man said. "Post-war. Of Chinese descent. He preferred seclusion—eventually left SAI to live on his own."
His jaw tightened slightly, a quiet effort to keep something restrained, as his gaze drifted toward the bamboo-lined edge of the courtyard. There, amid low clusters of wildflowers catching the morning light, Wawa had wandered off—his pale spectral form darting playfully as he chased a butterfly through the grass, circling the bamboo stalks with quiet fascination.
The old man returned his attention to the boy and continued, "I saw you earlier. You ran a full circle around SAI territory. Did you enjoy it?"
Kaodin froze, eyes widening. He hadn't expected that. How could the old man know, if he had only been practicing here in the courtyard?
"Yes—well—no, sir," Kaodin replied quickly, scratching the back of his head. "It wasn't a proper run. Just a simple morning jog I usually had with my family. I'd be completely exhausted if I actually ran the entire territory. You must be joking."
He gave a sheepish smile.
"You must be very strong to call that simple," the old man said, amusement soft but genuine. "Impressive indeed. Have you ever considered joining our knightly units?"
"Oh—no, sir," Kaodin answered immediately. "I'm not that impressive. I'm just… average. My father scolds me all the time for not controlling my emotions properly." He hesitated, then added honestly, "I don't think I could ever be as elegant as Brother Yuri, or Albert Aniki, or Commander Arika."
"You seem to know a lot about our impressive lieutenants under Commander Arika—and speak of the devil."
The old man smiled, a trace of quiet amusement in his eyes, as his gaze shifted past Kaodin.
Kaodin followed the old man's gaze and turned quickly—
but before he could respond, Arika was already approaching.
Her stride was brisk, controlled. Yuri followed half a step behind, posture straight, eyes forward. Above them, the low, restrained roar of jet-powered VTOL drones cut across the courtyard air—three units circling in a loose overwatch, vector nozzles adjusting in short, precise bursts as their sensors tracked Kaodin's residual heat signature.
The old man contemplated in silence before speaking.
"Boy," he said, his voice like a faint morning breeze—cool, tinged with sadness and unfinished resolve. "About the 'Eight-Form Taiji Fist'– 'Bashi-Taiji-Quan' (八式太极拳). I can see your honest interest. My own understanding is limited—but an old friend of mine is the one you would wish to learn from, should you truly seek it."
Kaodin turned back to the old man quickly as he heard his call, looking surprised and barely able to register the words. As they sank in, his chin tucked toward his chest, his posture closing in on itself—an unconscious, defeated hunch.
Arika stopped several steps away and immediately glanced upward at the three drones hovering overhead in standby mode. She didn't hesitate. Lifting two fingers briefly, palm angled inward, she swept them down and outward in a short, decisive arc—an encoded command gesture drilled into every SAI security system's automated visual recognition.
Arika did not need to speak. The drones responded instantly.
For a fraction of a second, their hover remained unnaturally still—then vector nozzles rotated, and the quiet suspension shattered. Jets flared. Air burst outward in sharp, concussive pulses as the units transitioned from vertical hold to forward thrust, peeling away in clean arcs toward the nearest security outpost.
The roar faded as quickly as it came, leaving the courtyard abruptly calm again.
Only then did Arika straighten fully.
"Your Majesty."
She inclined her head.
Yuri followed in perfect sync, fist to chest, his gaze meeting Kaodin's awestruck, surprised expression. He gave a quick nod and a small smile, as if to reassure him that it was alright.
Kaodin froze, still.
His breath caught—not from exertion this time, but like he'd just tried to swallow sticky rice and roasted pork all at once.
The old man returned Arika's greeting with a slight nod, hands folding behind his back, as though this gesture had always been understood by all closed aides.
Wawa, hovering beside Kaodin, went completely still. The playful shimmer in his spectral stripes dimmed, ears lifting, body drawing closer to his master's shoulder.
Kaodin swallowed, his eyes glow widened.
Your… Majesty?
Arika turned her attention to the boy.
Her eyes swept over him once—efficient. Sweat-darkened clothes. Steam lifting faintly from his skin in the cool air. An experienced soldier's assessment. Fatigue was already setting in. Left untreated, he would get sick—strength notwithstanding.
"You left a secured medical ward without authorization," she said evenly. "Ran a full circuit of SAI territory. And returned drenched in sweat."
Kaodin opened his mouth.
She raised a hand decisively while keeping her sharp look at the boy in front of her.
"That explanation can wait."
And then her gaze softened briefly, a swift grin can be seen as the corner of her lips slightly rose upward.
"You're soaked. If you don't wash and change now, you'll be sick by midday."
She glanced to Yuri. "Escort him back to the medical bay. Priority laundry cycle."
Then back to Kaodin.
"We'll issue you a temporary SAI work suit. Light insulation, and most importantly, it's Clean."
A pause—measured.
"I'm grateful for your assistance, young man. But have you heard the ancient idiom—when in Rome, do as the Romans do? So next time," she added, eyes steady on his, "you ask."
Kaodin nodded quickly, still dazed and struggling to reconcile the quiet old man with the weight of the title spoken aloud. And what's more, he couldn't even think of an excuse—about the locked door, about being refused earlier.
This wasn't home. Here, mistakes didn't end with a few spanks, a scolding, or a handful of hard drills.
When it finally sank in, his face heated up—not from anger, but from how tightly he was suppressing his emotions. He answered softly, "Yes, Commander. I'm sorry."
Wawa drifted closer, pressing lightly against Kaodin's shoulder while his gaze still kept on the King.
The old man and Arika watched them depart—an unspoken, mutual understanding settling between them amid the morning's accumulated alerts they received. Especially, Arika's interface kept continued to ping with reports from her team, all circling back to Kaodin. She sighed.
But before either of them could return to their thoughts or discuss how to handle the growing list of issues raised by the morning's witnesses, the boy suddenly turned back. He bowed twice—once toward the King, then again toward Arika—each motion soft, restrained, and clearly uncommon for him to manage.
Yuri noticed the boy had stopped and turned at once, catching the awkward yet earnest gesture of respect.
And the courtyard returned to stillness—as though something irrevocable had not just been set into motion.