"Good. Then that's the contest," Kael said, a grin breaking across his face like he'd just been handed a crown. To him, a drinking match wasn't a distraction—it was a kind of sacred joy.
"Absolutely not." Isara's voice cut through the air, sharp as drawn steel. "The enemy is at our gates, and you're talking about wine?"
Rovan Ashford inclined his head, respectful but unruffled. "Lady Magister, I've kept dry for days. The city's defenses are nearly in place. I thought… a small easing of tension might be permitted."
"You may drink," Isara said coldly. "He may not."
Kael's grin faltered, just a fraction.
Rovan bowed again. "You and Shreve Farrow have been in Mirekeep several days now. I haven't properly hosted you. It weighs on me. Allow me to arrange a modest feast, just to show respect."
Isara's expression softened by a hair, though her tone remained firm. "Unnecessary."
Lyra Farrow smiled faintly, her presence as effortless as it was unsettling. "Ashford, your Lady Magister and I are not fond of noise or crowds. And with the demons pressing this hard, you don't have the luxury of indulgence."
Rovan bowed deeper. "Understood. I'll make it up another time."
Just like that, Kael's grand plan dissolved into nothing.
He masked the disappointment fast, but not fast enough to miss the way Selene glanced at him from across the space, lips twitching as she pulled a face at him—mocking, playful. It took the sting out of it.
Then the moment snapped.
A soldier came running up the slope, armor half-buckled, sweat pouring down his face. He dropped to one knee before Rovan.
"My lord! Urgent report!"
Rovan's expression hardened. "Speak."
"We sealed the north gate as ordered, to receive the imperial envoy. But—there's a man forcing his way in. No arms. Calls himself a wanderer. The guards tried to stop him—he used some strange technique. Locked them in place. Dozens can't move."
"No arms?" Rovan echoed.
Isara and Lyra both shifted, subtle, but unmistakable.
"Did he give a name?" Rovan asked.
"He refused. Said only… something about being a hermit of Lone-Smoke Isle. And—" the soldier hesitated, swallowing—"he spoke your name without title. Demanded you come see him."
"Lone-Smoke Isle…" Rovan's eyes lit with recognition. He glanced at Isara, then Lyra. "Could it be my Sixth Elder-Uncle?"
Lyra considered it, then nodded slightly. "The title fits. The temper, too."
Kael's pulse jumped. He'd never met this man—but he'd heard the stories. The Lone-Smoke Elder. A monster among monsters. A guardian who had slaughtered demon lords by the dozen. A name whispered with awe even among the Covenant's strongest.
Rovan turned sharply to the soldier. "Go. Invite him in—carefully. No offense. No mistakes. Actually—no. I'll go myself."
He bowed once more to Isara and Lyra, then strode off at speed, officers scrambling after him.
Silence settled in his wake.
Lyra glanced sideways at Isara. "Will you see him?"
"No."
The word landed like a stone.
Lyra hesitated. "He is your—"
"I said no." Isara's gaze flicked across the gathered disciples, cold as winter iron. "Not only will I not see him—none of mine will. Anyone who disobeys will be cast out. No exceptions."
Shock rippled through the group.
Auryn stiffened. Sylva frowned. Mira blinked, confused. Selene's eyes widened—and Kael just stared.
Lyra let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh. "Do as you wish. I'll be going."
She turned and followed the path down the mountain without another word.
The group slowly dispersed after that, tension lingering like a bad taste.
Kael waited just long enough.
Then he slipped over and caught Selene's wrist.
"Wait for me," he murmured.
She yanked free immediately, glancing around. No one close enough to hear—but still, she shot him a warning look.
"Hands off when people are around," she hissed.
Kael ignored that completely.
The moment they were alone enough, he pulled her in anyway, arms wrapping around her waist.
"No one's watching now," he said, grinning. "Let me kiss you."
Her cheeks flushed instantly. She made a show of resisting—but her body softened against him all the same.
Her lips met his.
The world narrowed.
It wasn't gentle. It never was with him. He kissed like he meant to claim breath itself, pressing her back, holding her close until her resistance melted into heat and breathless tension.
By the time they broke apart, she was gasping.
"Trying to suffocate me?" she snapped, though her voice had lost its bite.
"I missed you," Kael said easily. "A lot."
She narrowed her eyes. "Did you?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you come see me yesterday? I was dizzy all day."
His expression snapped into alarm. "Dizzy? Why didn't Zaeli tell me? Let me see—"
He reached for her forehead, fingers brushing her skin, checking her temperature like he could read her condition through touch alone.
"It must be those crimson fruits," he muttered. "You know what those things do? People get drunk for days. How many did you eat?"
"Don't change the subject," she snapped, pulling back. "Answer me first."
He scratched his head, suddenly sheepish. "Yesterday… I was helping Shreve Farrow in the back hills. Working on the arbalest bolts. Warding-Vase Bamboo. It got busy. I lost track of time."
Her expression darkened.
"You stayed with her all day?" she said slowly. "There are dozens of craftsmen. Why would she need you?"
Kael didn't even hesitate. "I wanted to learn. Her Artificer's Art is insane. When else would I get that chance?"
"Opportunity?" Selene echoed, her tone turning sharp. "What a precious opportunity."
Something in her voice shifted—cooler, edged with something less rational.
Kael blinked.
Then it hit him.
Jealousy.
His mind flashed—unhelpfully—to that night in the pavilion. Lyra's body, her voice, the things she'd taught him in the dark.
Heat crawled up his neck.
Selene caught it instantly.
"Oh?" she said, eyes narrowing. "Hit a nerve?"
"You're imagining things," Kael said quickly, forcing a frown, playing indignation. "She's a Shreve. I was learning. That's it."
Selene turned away slightly, gaze distant. "Some people get awfully eager when they find an 'opportunity.' Always sticking close."
"You're overthinking it," he shot back. "You know how much I want to master construct-work. That's all this is."
She studied him for a long moment.
Then her expression eased—barely.
"If you're so obsessed with it," she said, huffing, "why don't you just switch to her faction entirely?"
"Hey—" Kael leaned in fast, finger to his lips. "Don't joke about that. If my Master hears it, I'm dead."
"Worst case, she throws you out," Selene said lightly, tilting her head.
Kael actually shuddered.
"Don't say that," he muttered. "If she ever really cast me aside… I don't know what I'd do."
Selene stared at him—then burst into laughter.
"You're unbelievable," she said. "A grown man, acting like that."
Kael looked at her, then suddenly puffed up his chest.
"Hey. Since that night," he said, voice dropping, grin turning crooked, "I'm very much a man."
She blinked. "That night?"
He didn't answer.
Just looked at her.
Slow. Meaningful.
Her face went crimson in an instant.
"You—!" She struck him with her fist, half furious, half mortified.
He took it, laughing, then pulled her close again, tighter this time.
"Come on," he murmured, voice low, teasing. "No one's here. Nice day, quiet, just us… let me prove it again."
"Idiot!" she snapped, flustered beyond words.
Her fingers flicked.
Cold light flashed.
Pain exploded up his arm.
Kael yelped, jerking back. "What the hell—Ice-Pierce Art?!"
His arm burned with freezing agony, skin prickling as if pierced by a hundred needles of frost.
"You deserved it," she said sweetly, already retreating.
He staggered after her once, clutching his arm—but she was faster, slipping away like a startled bird, vanishing down the path.
Kael collapsed onto a nearby rock, groaning.
It took a while—breathing, circulating his Vitae, forcing the cold out inch by inch—before the pain finally faded.
When it did, he just sat there.
Staring down the mountain.
"Was she shy… or mad again?" he muttered.
Two days ago, she'd been warm, soft, close.
Now—this.
He exhaled long and slow.
"Women…" he said to no one. "No one understands them."
The wind didn't answer.
Then something else crept into his thoughts.
Isara's warning.
Don't see him.
Don't even go near.
Kael frowned.
"That makes no sense," he muttered. "He's one of ours. Why would she—"
And that name again.
The Lone-Smoke Elder.
A man who'd slaughtered demon kings like livestock.
A living legend.
Curiosity burned.
Hotter than caution.
"I'll just take a look," Kael decided. "From far away. No one has to know."
Decision made, he sprang to his feet.
The path down the mountain wound through terraces and pavilions, past half-hidden structures tucked into the forest. The deeper he went, the more the estate opened up—gardens, courtyards, entire wings of buildings sprawling across the slope.
By the time he reached the base, the place felt like a city of its own.
Too big.
"Where the hell would Ashford bring him?" Kael muttered, wandering aimlessly.
After a while, frustration started to build.
Then he spotted them.
A bent old woman inside a low fence, white hair thin as spider silk. Beside her, a small child wearing a painted monkey mask.
Kael walked up, smile easy.
"Good afternoon, grandmother," he called. "Watching your grandson?"
The old woman turned slowly, cupping a hand to her ear.
"Who's that?" she asked. "Never seen you before."
"I'm a guest," Kael said, raising his voice. "Staying up on the mountain."
She nodded. "Ah. Important guest, then. Only the important ones stay up there."
"Do you know where Lord Ashford is?" Kael asked quickly. "I need to find him."
She shook her head. "We don't go near his quarters. Not allowed."
Kael exhaled, trying again. "Rough direction?"
She pointed north. "That way. Green-tiled walls. My son goes in there sometimes. He'd know."
"Your son?"
"Gardener," she said proudly. "Takes care of the young lord's inner grounds. Name's Pig."
Kael blinked.
"…Pig."
"He's inside today," she went on. "Big guest coming. Been busy since morning."
Then—
Footsteps.
Heavy. Ordered.
A squad of soldiers rounded the path, halberds gleaming, armor polished.
"Imperial Emissary arriving!" the lead officer shouted. "Clear the area! All non-essential personnel, move!"
The old woman flinched, startled.
The officer spotted her, his tone dropping slightly. "Grandmother Li. Take the boy inside. Quickly."
She grabbed the child and shuffled off in a hurry.
Then the officer's gaze snapped to Kael.
Hard.
"You. Who are you?" he barked. "Move along. Now."
Kael didn't hesitate.
He slipped after the old woman, catching her elbow before she stumbled and guiding her toward the low wooden house. "Grandmother," he murmured, pitching his voice low, urgent, "let me duck inside with you. Just for a moment."
She glanced at him, eyes wide with the kind of fear that had lived too long in a person to ever truly leave. Then she nodded fast. "In, in—quick now. Saints preserve us…"
Behind them, the soldiers' boots hammered the packed earth.
The officer was already turning to march on when something caught his eye. His face changed—drained, sharp with sudden panic. He broke from formation and strode straight for the child.
Before anyone could react, he seized the boy and tore the painted monkey mask from his face. The thin wood snapped in his hands, splintering into shards that scattered across the ground.
The boy froze—then burst into terrified sobs.
For a heartbeat, silence held.
Then the old woman exploded.
"You damned brute!" she shrieked, jabbing a shaking finger at him. "Erhu, you ungrateful little bastard! Have you forgotten who fed you when your father died? Forgotten who kept your family from starving? And now you come here, scaring my grandson like this?"
The officer's armor creaked as he exhaled, sweat already slicking his brow. "Lucky—lucky I saw it," he said, voice tight. "By the gods, lucky…"
The old woman faltered, anger stuttering into confusion. Kael frowned, equally lost.
The officer wiped his face with the back of his hand. "Grandmother Li… have you forgotten? His Majesty forbids masks. No making them, no wearing them. Not for anyone."
The words hung heavy.
The old woman blinked. Once. Twice.
Then she slapped her own forehead. "Ah! Fool, fool that I am—how could I forget…" Her knees bent as if to drop right there in the dirt. "Thank you, Erhu—thank you—"
He caught her before she could kneel. "No time for that. Get inside. Now."
He didn't wait for more. Turning sharply, he barked at his men and drove them onward, shouting for the road to be cleared as they went.
Kael ushered the old woman and the sniffling child into the house, shutting the door behind them with a firm hand. The noise outside dulled to a distant clamor.
Inside, the air smelled of woodsmoke and old straw.
He turned to her. "What was that about?" he asked. "The Emperor forbids masks?"
She stared at him as if he'd just claimed the sky was green. "You don't know?"
"I've been living up in the mountains," Kael said. "A lot of things don't reach that far."
She let out a breath and wiped her damp forehead with her sleeve. "Then listen well. My son told me this—His Majesty, ever since he was a child, loved wearing masks. Couldn't bear to take them off. After he took the throne… he found some strange old mask and never removed it. Not day, not night."
Her voice lowered.
"And because of that… he cannot stand anyone else wearing one. A few years ago, he issued the decree. No one makes them. No one wears them. Break it…" She swallowed. "Your whole family dies for it."
Kael's jaw tightened. "That's madness," he muttered. "He likes them, so no one else can? That's not a ruler—that's a spoiled tyrant."
The old woman glanced toward the door, as if even the walls might be listening. "You're not wrong," she whispered. "But keep your voice down."
She hesitated, then leaned closer.
"They say… he carries things on him. Hooks. Shears. Awls. Even little saws."
Kael blinked. "What for?"
"For sport."
The word landed like rot.
"If the mood takes him," she said, her voice trembling now, "he uses them on people. Cuts them. Makes them scream. If anyone refuses…" She shook her head. "They die."
Kael stared at her, something cold coiling in his chest.
"That can't be real."
Her eyes met his, old and tired and utterly certain. "There's worse."
He didn't want to hear it.
He asked anyway. "What could be worse than that?"
She swallowed hard. "I heard… at a banquet, he went mad. Right there in front of his ministers. Took one of the women serving him—one of his own—and…" Her voice cracked. "…tore her apart. Ate her. Drank wine over her blood like it was nothing."
Silence.
The kind that presses in on the skull.
Kael stood there, unable to speak. The image tried to form in his mind and failed, too grotesque to hold.
"…That's not a man," he said at last, voice hollow. "That's a monster."
The old woman's lips peeled back in something that wasn't quite a smile. "A demon. That's what folks say. Been saying it for years. Just… no one dares say it too loud."
Kael's hands curled slowly at his sides.
A memory surfaced—Elder Velda's voice, calm and distant, speaking of corruption at the highest levels. Of rot that spread downward like poison through roots.
His teeth clenched.
When I reach the capital… I'll see it for myself, he thought. Monster or man—I'll know which.
They waited a while longer.
The noise outside faded. No more shouting. No marching boots.
At last, Kael thanked the old woman and stepped back into the daylight.
His thoughts churned, dark and unsettled, as he walked.
Then—
A flash.
Sharp. White. Like lightning tearing through clear sky.
Kael stopped dead, eyes snapping upward.
There were no clouds.
Another flash—then another, streaking through the trees ahead.
"…What the hell?"
He moved at once, slipping off the path and into the grove.
The deeper he went, the stronger it felt—power crackling in the air, thick enough to taste.
A voice rang out.
"Take this one!"
Sweet. Playful. Dangerous.
Kael's heart jumped. Lyra.
He broke into a run.
Vitae surged down his arm, feeding into the whip coiled at his wrist. The ground blurred beneath his feet as he pushed faster, weaving through trunks and low branches—
A figure streaked overhead.
Cloth fluttered. Hair streamed like a banner.
Lyra Farrow hung in the air like a living painting, every motion fluid and precise. Her hands danced through seals, arms crossing and sweeping in arcs that left afterimages behind.
From her fingertips, spheres of crackling light burst forth—some fast, some slow, some curving, some plunging straight down.
They rained toward a single figure below.
"Watch yourself!" she called.
Kael blinked. Watch yourself? To the enemy?
He turned his gaze—
—and froze.
The man below stood utterly still.
No weapons. No stance.
And no arms.
His sleeves hung empty at his sides, swaying slightly in the charged air.
The first sphere struck.
Or should have.
Instead, it burst just short of his body—like a bubble popping against an unseen wall. Light flared. Power detonated outward in a rolling shockwave.
The next followed. Then another.
Each one shattered before touching him.
The air roared with contained violence.
Kael was hit by the backlash like a hammer. Wind slammed into his chest, tearing him off his feet and throwing him into a tree hard enough to rattle his bones.
He slid down, coughing, eyes wide.
"…That's no enemy," he breathed.
Recognition clicked into place.
No arms. Standing there like nothing matters…
Lone-Smoke Elder.
Varek Smolden.
Lyra hovered above, shifting her hands again. Thunder cracked.
Bolts of lightning—thick as a man's arm—ripped down from empty sky, slamming toward the man's head in a relentless barrage.
They never reached him.
Each bolt broke apart the instant it touched that invisible boundary, splintering into wild arcs that snapped and faded into nothing.
Kael swallowed.
He's not even moving.
Lyra's voice rang again, sharper now. "Don't underestimate me, Elder Frater!"
Wind exploded outward.
The trees bent, branches whipping violently as a gale tore through the grove. Heat followed—sudden, suffocating.
The wind ignited.
Orange fire bloomed within it, spiraling into a massive, roaring dragon that coiled and twisted through the forest. It shrieked like something alive, jaws snapping, body writhing as it surged toward the man below.
Kael's mouth went dry.
So she's been holding back this whole time…
The blazing storm tightened, compressing inward, forming a massive cage of fire and wind that descended like judgment.
Below it, Varek finally moved.
Barely.
His shoulders shifted.
His empty sleeves lifted—and from them poured white vapor, thin as smoke, curling upward to meet the descending inferno.
The moment they touched—
The world erupted.
Flame blasted outward in a violent bloom. Heat slammed across the grove, igniting leaves and branches far beyond the center.
Kael threw an arm over his face, sweat bursting from his skin as the temperature spiked.
Through the haze, he saw it.
The fire cage hung suspended midair.
Held.
Trapped against something it could not pass.
Its rotation faltered, flames lashing wildly as if caught in a snare.
Above, Lyra's face flushed red. Sweat beaded along her brow as her hands slowed, her movements losing their sharp precision.
Below, Varek stood calm.
Untouched.
His sleeves moved as though they were arms of their own, guiding that pale smoke with effortless control.
Kael's chest tightened.
She can't push through him.
Lyra's motions slowed further, her breath visibly heavier now. The fire cage wavered, its structure collapsing inward as its power bled away.
Varek smiled faintly.
"You've improved," he said. "But don't force it, little Lyra."
One sleeve flicked upward.
A simple motion.
Lyra jerked midair as if struck, her body shuddering. The fire cage shattered instantly, collapsing into fading embers.
The wind died.
The grove fell still.
Lyra drifted down, landing lightly—but not cleanly. Her steps staggered, her hair disheveled, her cheeks flushed deep with exertion.
She bit her lip, frustration flickering across her face. "Years of practice… and still can't touch you."
Varek's smile deepened just a fraction. "You spend your time on constructs and formations. Then insist on matching me in raw technique." He tilted his head. "That said… your Lesser Four-Sign Art has come a long way."
Kael, still half-hidden behind the tree, stared.
Up close, Varek Smolden was… not what he'd expected.
He looked like a man in his forties. Strong features. Thick brows. Eyes bright with a sharp, steady light. Even without arms, he carried himself like a mountain—unshakable, immovable.
A master.
Kael's thoughts flickered.
Then why won't Master see him?
Lyra adjusted her hair, letting out a breath. "Even if I threw everything at you—my constructs, my formations—it wouldn't make a difference." She paused, then added, "What brings you to Mirekeep, anyway? Don't tell me you came for the demon outbreak."
Varek shook his head. "You know I don't involve myself in such matters anymore."
Kael frowned. A "small matter"? After everything happening out there?
Lyra blinked. "Then why—"
"Half a month ago," Varek said, voice even, "someone entered Lone-Smoke Isle while I was away. Broke through my restrictions. Hunted a pair of Rhinox Beasts. Took their brain cores."
Lyra's eyes widened. "Someone dared steal from you?"
"They tried to cover their tracks," he went on. "They failed."
Kael's breath caught.
Brain cores…
Memory surged.
Cold unease spread through him.
"I followed their trail," Varek said. "It led me to the Great Verdant Vale. They'd just left. One group headed this way."
Kael's pulse hammered.
No way…
It can't be that simple.
Lyra frowned, thinking. "What would they even want with Rhinox brain cores…?"
Varek didn't answer immediately.
Then: "From the residue they left behind… they weren't human. Spirits. Strong ones."
Kael's stomach dropped.
Verdis.
The name rang loud in his head.
Lyra's gaze shifted, studying Varek. "Rovan mentioned… your Ninth Sister is here too."
He went still.
Just for a moment.
"…She is."
"Does she still refuse to see you?"
A pause.
"…Yes."
The word came rougher than anything he'd said so far.
Lyra sighed softly. "It's been years…"
Varek lifted his gaze, looking somewhere far beyond the trees.
Silence stretched.
Lyra hesitated. "You're still—"
"Enough."
The word cut through the air like a blade.
Kael stiffened.
Too late.
Varek's sleeve snapped toward the tree.
"Come out."
Pressure slammed into Kael from all sides.
His body seized, lifted clean off the ground by an invisible force. Before he could react, he was yanked from behind the tree and dragged into the open.
Straight into the gaze of a master who had never needed arms to be dangerous.