They came for him three days later.
Not with the casual cruelty of guards who enjoyed hurting children, and not with the clinical calm of assistants carrying instruments. This time it was a procession—measured, deliberate, almost ceremonial. Their footsteps were synchronized, their torches held high, their expressions composed.
Aurelian stood before the cell door as it opened, shoulders squared the way Lucien had demanded, hands relaxed the way Elenora had taught—neither submissive nor provoking.
His heart was not steady.
But his breathing was.
In. Four.
Hold.
Out. Four.
Still Blade.
A guard grabbed his arm.
Aurelian didn't flinch.
Elenora's hand shot out and closed around his wrist. Her fingers were thin now, trembling, but the grip was fierce.
"Remember," she whispered quickly. "Room. Blade. Hand."
Lucien stepped closer, eyes like sharpened ice. "Do not give them your fear," he said softly. "Fear is information."
Aurelian nodded once.
He let them pull him away without resistance, not because he accepted it—because resistance was wasted motion.
He had learned the cult's rules.
Tonight wasn't about punishment.
It was about proof.
They didn't take him to the chamber with the restraints on the floor.
They took him deeper.
Past corridors that smelled cleaner, past rune-etched doors that hummed with heavier suppression. The air grew colder as they descended, until each breath felt like inhaling metal.
The room they brought him to was wide and circular, with a raised platform at its center. The stone beneath his feet was polished, stained faintly with old marks that never fully came out. Runes ringed the space like a boundary line, their glow sharper, almost eager.
Aurelian recognized mana-work here—more advanced than the crude provocation setup.
This was designed by people who understood what they were doing.
On the far side of the room stood Director Voss, book in hand, eyes bright with anticipation. Beside him were three assistants, their faces hidden behind half-masks. And—standing just behind a barrier of glowing runes—were his parents.
Lucien's hands were bound in front of him. Elenora's wrists were chained to an iron ring set into the wall. Both looked exhausted, thin, but their eyes were awake—and fixed on Aurelian with the kind of focus that made his chest tighten.
For a heartbeat, the Still Blade wavered.
Not because of fear.
Because of the need to reach them.
To be held.
To be told this wasn't real.
He steadied himself.
In. Hold. Out.
Aurelian lifted his chin slightly and met their gaze.
Elenora's eyes widened at the sight of him standing tall despite everything, as though she could see the discipline holding him upright.
Lucien's expression shifted—tiny, but visible to Aurelian. Approval. Pride. And something darker beneath.
This is the one, Lucien's eyes said. This is the test you survive.
Voss spread his hands as if presenting a lecture.
"Tonight," he announced, "we conclude our evaluation."
One of the assistants stepped forward with a black metal collar—thicker than the one Aurelian already wore. Its surface was etched with intertwined runes, more complex, layered, almost beautiful in a cruel way.
"A compatibility collar," Voss said with satisfaction. "Designed to test whether the subject can properly channel external mana into structured pathways—specifically those aligned with higher bloodline resonance."
Aurelian's stomach tightened.
This wasn't provocation.
This wasn't brute force.
This was an attempt to prove what he was.
Voss continued, voice smooth. "Many bloodlines imprint faint patterns upon the soul. When exposed to certain resonant mana fields, they respond—like a tuning fork to sound."
He tapped his book. "If he carries anything of value, we will see it."
Aurelian understood the stakes.
If the collar lit up—if his eyes flashed purple again, if his hair betrayed its true white—then the cult would stop treating him as an inconvenient stray.
He would become property.
A relic.
A bargaining chip.
A weapon.
And his parents would become leverage forever.
The assistant approached.
Aurelian didn't move.
Still Blade.
The collar clicked into place over the suppression collar, locking around his neck with a cold finality that made his skin crawl.
Voss gestured toward the platform. "Stand in the circle."
Aurelian stepped onto the platform.
The runes beneath his bare feet flared.
The room's air shifted.
Mana—real mana, thick and pressurized—began to fill the space like rising water.
His body reacted immediately.
His scars prickled. Old cuts burned. His core—sealed, suppressed, wounded by provocation—shuddered like something asleep being shaken awake.
Aurelian's vision blurred at the edges.
But his breathing remained steady.
In. Hold. Out.
He pictured his room.
Sunlight across white stone. A courtyard he had never seen, but remembered in fragments. A blade at the center, perfectly balanced, perfectly still.
I am the hand that holds it.
The runes pulsed again.
Mana surged.
Aurelian felt the compatibility collar searching—probing for resonance patterns, trying to pull his bloodline into response.
For a moment, his hair at the roots lightened.
A single strand went white.
His eyes flickered—grey shifting toward something deeper.
Elenora gasped behind the barrier, hands straining against chains.
Lucien went still, blue eyes burning.
Voss's pen paused.
The assistant leaned forward, breath catching.
Aurelian forced his mind deeper into the Still Blade.
He didn't fight the surge.
He acknowledged it.
Mana is present.
It passes.
He imagined the blade cutting cleanly through the wave—not resisting, not absorbing—simply dividing it, letting it flow around him.
The collar flared—
Then sputtered.
The runes beneath his feet flickered uncertainly.
The strand of white dulled back into grey. The purple in his eyes receded like a tide pulled away by force.
The search pattern in the collar reoriented, tried again, pressed harder—
And met nothing but suppression and stillness.
Voss's mouth tightened.
Again, the runes surged.
Again, the collar searched.
Again, Aurelian's mind held steady, refusing to react, refusing to resonate, refusing to give them anything to seize.
After several minutes, the runes began to dim.
The mana pressure eased.
Aurelian's knees shook slightly, but he remained standing.
Voss stared at his notes, expression darkening with frustration.
"…Incompatible," he said finally.
One of the assistants blinked. "But the earlier provocation—"
"Transient response," Voss snapped. "Probably a stress-induced anomaly. Perhaps a minor affinity flare."
He looked at Aurelian with newfound contempt.
"So," Voss concluded, voice cold, "our stray is just that. A commoner-born specimen with unusual resilience."
Aurelian lowered his gaze, hiding the surge of relief that threatened to make him collapse.
Commoner.
Worthless.
Ordinary.
Let them believe it.
Let them discard him.
It was safer that way.
Voss waved a hand. "Remove the collar. Return him."
The assistants moved forward.
Lucien's eyes met Aurelian's for a brief, razor-sharp moment.
Not relief.
Not comfort.
A message.
Good. They think you're nothing.
Elenora's lips trembled, but she nodded faintly.
Aurelian exhaled slowly as the collar was unlocked and removed, leaving only the suppression collar behind.
He was dragged off the platform.
But he didn't feel defeated.
He felt like a blade that had passed through fire and come out sharper.
Kael saw the test from the shadows.
Not inside the chamber—he wasn't permitted that close during formal evaluations—but from behind a half-open service door, watching through the thin gap with eyes that missed nothing.
Incompatible, they said.
Commoner, they said.
Useless stray.
Kael's chest loosened with something like grim relief.
It was the best result they could hope for.
If the cult believed Aurelian had no bloodline value, they would loosen their grip. Experiments would slow. Oversight would decrease. Resources would be redirected to more "promising" subjects.
And in a system built on control, neglect was opportunity.
Kael slipped away before anyone noticed.
He moved through side corridors only older staff knew, keys and passphrases acquired through years of survival among monsters wearing scholars' robes.
His destination was not the cell.
Not yet.
First, he had to reach the parents.
Because an escape plan built only on one man's guilt would fail.
It needed three wills.
Three minds.
One timing.
Kael found them hours later in a smaller holding chamber adjacent to their cell—a place where cult officials sometimes questioned them separately, trying to pry information from royal blood and noble pride.
Lucien sat chained to a ring in the wall, back straight despite exhaustion. Elenora leaned against the stone, eyes half-lidded with pain but awake enough to sharpen when Kael entered.
Lucien's head lifted instantly.
For a heartbeat, Kael saw the old academy Lucien—the man who had laughed and sparred and promised brotherhood.
Then the weight of years fell back over him.
"Kael," Lucien said quietly, voice flat. Not friendly. Not hostile.
Just a name carved with history.
Elenora's gaze narrowed. "You're alive."
Kael swallowed.
"I don't deserve to be," he admitted softly.
Silence.
Then Lucien spoke, calm as steel. "Why are you here."
Kael stepped closer, lowering his voice. "They think he's incompatible. They think he's a commoner stray."
Elenora's breath caught. Relief and fear tangled in her expression.
Lucien's eyes sharpened. "That's good."
"It's the only opening we'll get," Kael continued. "If they stop paying attention, I can move things. I can… create gaps."
Lucien leaned forward slightly, chains clinking. "Explain."
Kael forced himself to meet Lucien's gaze. "I have access to lower-level logistical routes. Supply tunnels. Waste passages. The old sections beneath the compound—the ones nobody uses except maintenance."
Elenora's voice was barely a whisper. "We're sealed down here."
"I know," Kael said. "But seals are maintained by systems. Systems need people. People get complacent."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "And the boy?"
Kael's guilt flared again at the way Lucien said it—the boy—as if afraid to speak Aurelian's name too loudly.
"They'll keep him alive," Kael said quickly. "Now that he's 'worthless,' they'll stop testing his blood. They'll focus on resilience metrics instead—pain tolerance, regeneration. Horrible, but less… revealing."
Elenora's hands trembled. "He can't go back to that room."
"He won't," Kael promised, then hesitated, correcting himself. "I will try to ensure he doesn't."
Lucien stared at him for a long time.
Then, finally, he spoke in a voice that carried both threat and hope.
"If you betray us again, Kael, I'll kill you even without my core."
Kael nodded. "Fair."
Elenora's purple eyes softened just slightly. "What's the plan."
Kael exhaled slowly.
"We build toward a single night," he said. "A scheduled transfer. A routine inspection. Something that looks normal. I'll arrange for Aurelian to be moved through a maintenance corridor—under guard that I choose."
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "You can choose guards?"
"I can influence assignments," Kael said. "Not directly. But I can create reasons—illness reports, rune recalibrations, staffing gaps."
Elenora's voice sharpened. "And us?"
Kael hesitated. "You're harder. Your seals are deeper."
Lucien's smile was humorless. "Then we make them open it."
Kael met his gaze. "Yes."
Elenora leaned forward, pain etched into her face. "How?"
Kael lowered his voice further. "They want control. If they believe you're useful—if they believe you'll comply—then they'll move you. Not free you. But move you."
Lucien's eyes glittered with understanding.
"You want us to pretend," Lucien murmured.
Kael nodded. "Pretend to break. Just enough to change their handling procedures. Just enough to get you closer to an exit point."
Elenora's lips parted in disbelief. "They'll know."
Lucien's voice was cold. "They'll think they broke us."
Kael swallowed. "And when the opportunity comes… we run."
Silence filled the chamber.
Then Lucien spoke, low and steady.
"Aurelian can't run yet."
Kael nodded. "He doesn't need to. Not fully. He needs a path—one step at a time. And when he turns fifteen…"
Elenora's gaze flickered. "Academy."
Kael's expression tightened. "Yes. If we can get him out, even alone, he can be placed somewhere visible. Protected. He can survive."
Lucien's chains rattled as his fists clenched.
"We go together," Lucien said.
Kael's eyes darkened. "I'll try."
Elenora closed her eyes briefly, then opened them with fierce resolve.
"Then we start now," she whispered.
Lucien's gaze met Kael's like a blade meeting a whetstone.
"No more hesitation," Lucien said. "No more guilt. You either save us… or you die with us."
Kael nodded once.
"I understand."
And somewhere beyond stone walls, beyond runes and cult halls, fate shifted—subtle, restless—as if the story had finally found a crack wide enough to breathe.