In a small hall with a floor of dark blue marble, a silence rare in Lasthold reigned.

  Paintings hung upon the walls, depicting thunderclouds and flashes of lightning, as if the sky itself had frozen mid-storm.

  Amid this quiet luxury, an old man sat calmly at a low table, dressed in a loose blue robe.

  His dark violet hair was neatly tied into a knot at the back of his head, and his face was smooth, almost entirely unlined. Only his eyes betrayed his age and power—sly, foxlike, the eyes of someone who knew far too much.

  He drank his tea slowly, unhurried, occasionally popping a sweet from a golden dish into his mouth.

  This was Elder Zeiran—one of the three strongest mages in Lasthold, the man who effectively ruled the entire Vengeful Thunder Family.

  When a knock came at the door, he wasn’t surprised—only smiled faintly and said: “Enter.”

  The door opened quietly, and into the hall stepped an unremarkable man—of average height, dressed in plain dark clothes, with short black hair and brown eyes. His face was utterly forgettable, the kind one might fail to recall moments after meeting him.

  He stopped a few steps from the table and bowed respectfully.

  “Greetings, Elder Zeiran.”

  The old man did not answer at once—only glanced over the rim of his cup, narrowing his eyes with a sly smile.

  “Get to the point,” he said calmly, setting the cup back on its saucer. “How is my future subordinate doing?”

  The man inclined his head slightly, striving to keep his tone even:

  “Lately he’s done nothing but work and train,” he began in a businesslike tone. “He’s been spotted several times with a merchant connected to Lasthold’s underworld.”

  “Training?” Zeiran echoed, slowly raising a brow.

  “Yes, Elder,” the man confirmed, lowering his voice a little. “That surprised me as well. You yourself said he had almost no capacity for mana absorption. But from what I’ve observed…” he hesitated briefly, “this Kael has already reached the Bronze Mage stage.”

  After a moment’s thought, he added:

  “That boy’s strange… feels like he’s not a teenager at all. And it seems he’s been hiding his strength skillfully. “But what for, I can’t yet tell…”

  The fine porcelain in Zeiran’s hands gave a faint clink as he set the cup carefully back on the table. His foxlike eyes narrowed, and a thoughtful, almost lazily cold smile appeared on his face.

  “So that’s how it is…” he thought. “At the Council of Elders I sensed mana in him too, but it was so faint. How did he advance to Bronze Rank so quickly? “Even with mana elixirs, that kind of progress shouldn’t be possible so fast…”

  He leaned back in his chair, lifted the cup again, took a slow sip, and murmured aloud:

  “If he’s been hiding his strength, why choose to reveal it now? Did he deliberately endure the mockery? Too strange…”

  His voice was quiet, but a clear note of irritation crept into it.

  “Or maybe… he was taken in long ago? If that’s the case, then whoever they are—they’ve decided to act.”

  The man standing opposite frowned slightly but quickly gathered his thoughts and replied:

  “I’ve read about ancient cases where mana aptitude awakened late,” he said carefully. “It could have happened to Kael as well. Sometimes the body breaks through its own block if it gets enough stimuli—elixirs, training, strong emotion.”

  Zeiran listened silently, but his gaze darkened. He took another slow sip and murmured:

  “Or perhaps… someone discovered his talent in early childhood. And all this time, they’ve been grooming him right under our noses.”

  He squinted, thoughtfully touching his chin. The faint smile faded, and a predatory focus creased the old man’s features.

  “Keep watching,” he said, firmer now, looking his interlocutor straight in the eyes. “If Kael truly has the talent to become a mage… then we must be the ones to claim him.”

  The man nodded curtly and asked no questions.

  “Understood, Elder.”

  He bowed and hurried for the door, leaving Zeiran alone.

  When the door closed softly, the hall fell silent again. The Elder lifted his cup, took another sip of tea, and murmured, almost in a whisper:

  “Maybe Elder Duran is muddying the waters. But he hasn’t given me any reason to doubt him before…”

  With a sly chuckle he added:

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll make sure Kael ends up in my hands. If necessary, I’ll use his family as leverage, kheh-heh…”

  ? ? ?

  Kael had just finished another training session with the core and walked over to the washbasins. He crouched down and splashed cold water onto his face. The scrapes burned, his muscles twitched, but a satisfied grin stayed on his lips.

  “Sparring starts tomorrow,” he muttered under his breath, rinsing the sweat from his hair. “I haven’t fully grasped the basics of the Path of Silent Pillar yet, but at least I’ll be able to test it in combat.”

  He quickly washed up, changed into clean clothes from his spatial ring, and headed for the exit of their training complex.

  Passing through the inner courtyard, he stepped onto a wide street where carts rattled past and people hurried about their business.

  Then Kael’s gaze fell on a restaurant terrace. Across the street, a man sat there, leisurely sipping tea.

  “A familiar face…” he murmured, glancing around to spot several more “unremarkable” onlookers. “Good. The Three Families are still watching. Let them keep each other in check.”

  But another thought followed right after: “I should ask Magister Duran whether someone’s been assigned to tail me. Too many people seem to be trailing me lately…”

  Kael was about to turn toward home when a sweet scent drifted through the air.

  A warm aroma of vanilla and caramel hit him—thick, rich, almost pulling him in. He froze for a moment and turned his head toward the source of the smell.

  “There’s always a line at that pastry shop…” he muttered, eyeing the window display where the clerks hurried back and forth. “I wonder what they’re selling that’s so good.”

  And right then, as if called by the fragrance itself, an image of Master Violet surfaced in his mind—focused, stern, yet deeply feminine. He gave a crooked smile and said quietly:

  “Right… I still haven’t apologized to her.”

  He scratched the back of his head for a moment, as if hesitating, then added with renewed certainty:

  “I suppose that’s a sign from above.”

  With that, Kael approached the pastry shop. The line stretched around the corner, but he waited patiently, watching people leave with paper boxes and delighted faces. When at last his turn came, the smiling clerk—a cheerful girl in a frilly apron—recommended a small cake with violet icing and a light touch of lavender.

  “Perfect, I’ll take it,” Kael said simply, carefully accepting the box.

  Stepping back onto the street, he paused for a moment, scanned the market, then, as if remembering something, turned toward a row of jewelry stalls. Among countless trinkets, he chose a hairpin—simple, yet elegant: a steel pin engraved with a flower, a faint violet gem gleaming at its center.

  “I think she’ll like it,” he said with a soft smile, gazing at the ornament.

  He tucked the gift and the cake safely into his spatial ring and set off toward the residential district.

  With those purchases in hand, Kael made his way to Master Violet’s home.

  He had already asked Magister Duran for her address—she lived on the outskirts of the Academic District, away from the noisy streets. The walk took about half an hour, and soon a neat two-story house appeared before him.

  It was modest but well cared for. Near the door stood several clay pots filled with plants—lavender, rosemary, and some flowers with soft silver petals. Vines climbed along the walls, weaving around the entrance and framing the door, above which small bluish buds were in bloom.

  “It suits her quiet nature…” thought Kael, feeling a flicker of nervousness.

  He approached the door and knocked politely.

  A few seconds of silence followed. Inside, all was still—no footsteps, no voices.

  “Not home?” he murmured, and knocked again, a little louder.

  But there was still no answer. Only the soft rustle of vine leaves stirred by the wind near the porch.

  Kael gave a crooked smile and sighed, somewhat sheepishly. Then he drew a piece of parchment and a small charred stylus from his spatial ring to write a note.

  Bending down, he quickly wrote in neat, precise script:

  “May the sweets feed your mind, and the hairpin keep you company through long nights of work. I hope you’ll accept my apology. —Kael.”

  He placed the note carefully on the step by the door, setting the cake box and the one with the hairpin on its corners to keep the note from blowing away.

  For a moment he stood there, studying his little “gift altar,” then chuckled softly:

  “Hope I didn’t misjudge…” he said quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned to leave.

  But he had barely taken a few steps when a faint creak came from behind him. Kael turned instinctively, and froze.

  Violet stood in the doorway.

  Shadows of fatigue lay beneath her eyes; her hair was slightly tousled, as if she’d just gotten out of bed. A simple gray dress fit her perfectly, though it looked as if it had been thrown on in a hurry.

  “Kael?” Her voice was husky. “What are you doing here?”

  Her gaze dropped to the note and the boxes by the door.

  For a few seconds she said nothing, reading the note. Then the corners of her lips twitched faintly, and in her sleepy eyes flickered a hint of genuine curiosity.

  “Is this another one of your pranks?” she asked, looking up at him. “Don’t tell me you filled it with rocks?”

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  Kael couldn’t help but laugh, raising his hands in mock defense.

  “I wouldn’t dare,” he said with a smile. “I meant to apologize earlier, but I’ve been buried in work lately. Though, I see you’ve been busy too.”

  Violet sighed deeply, but there was warmth beneath her weariness.

  “Judging by the note… sweets inside?” she asked, glancing at the box.

  Kael gave a short nod.

  She crouched, carefully lifting the gifts as if they weighed nothing, then waved him in.

  “Come in, you rascal. I want to hear about that new mana-ore compression method of yours.”

  At that, Kael straightened, squaring his shoulders, and as he stepped toward the door, said with a faint smile:

  “So… my apology’s accepted?”

  Violet snorted, pressing her lips together and giving him a tired but sharp look.

  “I forgot about it long ago,” she said with deliberate indifference. “I’ve got better things to do than hold a grudge against cheeky youngsters.”

  “Still, you were offended,” Kael couldn’t resist teasing.

  Violet narrowed her eyes, her tone carrying a warning, but not without warmth:

  “One more word about it—and you’ll be going right back where you came from.”

  “All right, all right,” Kael said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender.

  He stepped over the threshold and entered.

  His first impression: chaos.

  But it was a cozy, deliberate kind of chaos.

  The room felt like an oasis in the middle of a library. Shelves lined the walls, packed with books, scrolls, flasks, and shards of crystal. On the windowsills, pots of herbs and flowers reached for the light, their scents blending softly with the smell of old parchment and ink.

  On the table sat a heap of papers, a half-empty cup of cold tea resting on top. On a chair—a neatly folded blanket.

  Kael stopped by the entrance, taking it all in with genuine curiosity.

  “Even your mess is organized,” he noted with a faint smile.

  “It’s called an organized creative process,” Violet said evenly as she passed by, setting the boxes on the table. “Don’t touch anything, and come with me.”

  She led him further—through a short corridor into a spacious, yet equally cluttered living room.

  The same spirit of ordered chaos ruled here: books and scrolls covered half the furniture, with crystals, inkwells, and a few strange artifacts scattered between the stacks.

  “Sit,” she said, pointing to an armchair by the window. “I’ll be right back.”

  With that, Violet headed to the kitchen, leaving Kael alone.

  He looked around and his gaze immediately caught on the worktable in the corner.

  Unlike the rest of the clutter, it was almost meticulously neat.

  At its center lay an unfurled ancient scroll—a thin, fragile fabric covered in faint lines of symbols.

  Kael stood and moved closer, studying it.

  “I wonder what she’s researching now…” he thought. “Violet’s been working from home for weeks.”

  He leaned in, reading line after line. The script was ancient, its rune patterns woven into intricate knots.

  At first, he merely traced the symbols with his eyes, but soon his expression changed—his eyes widened, and a spark of surprise lit within them.

  Off to the side lay a stack of notes—translations, calculations, diagrams.

  “This is a very complex text…” Kael thought as he scanned the annotations. “But Violet’s handling it. She’s almost at the finish line.”

  As he read further, he suddenly narrowed his eyes. The scroll mentioned words tied to cold, ice, and the binding of elemental spirits.

  “Rituals for summoning ice spirits?” he whispered. “There aren’t any like that in Lasthold right now…”

  He straightened, stepping back a little from the table but keeping his eyes on the scroll.

  “If Violet deciphers this completely… she’ll definitely be rewarded. It’s a major discovery.”

  “The hairpin you gave me suits me quite well,” came Violet’s slightly stern yet warmly restrained voice from behind him. “So I’ll officially accept your apology.”

  Kael turned around.

  Violet had just entered the living room, carrying a tray with a teapot, two cups, and plates neatly arranged with slices of cake. Her hair was now gathered in a bun, fastened with the very hairpin Kael had given her.

  The violet gem in her hair shimmered softly in the lamplight, lending her an unexpected touch of femininity.

  Kael smiled faintly, but Violet, noticing he had been looking at her notes, simply raised an eyebrow and smirked:

  “I suppose you’ve already figured out what I’m working on.”

  He shook his head at once, replying evenly and with sincere respect:

  “Afraid not. The text is far too complex. I’d need several nights with the scroll just to grasp the basics.”

  Violet studied him a moment longer than necessary, as if searching for a trace of deceit. But then the corners of her lips softened, and a flicker of satisfaction crossed her eyes.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” she murmured, setting the tray down on the table.

  Kael only smiled in response, thinking to himself:

  “No reason to poke my nose into her work. If I start offering help now, it’d be as good as stealing the results of her weeks of effort.”

  He stepped away from the desk and sat down in the armchair across from her.

  The air filled with the sweet scent of lavender from the cake, wrapping them both in a rare sense of calm and stillness.

  Violet shifted slightly closer, deftly pouring the tea.

  A thin ribbon of steam rose from the cup, filling the room with the gentle, faintly tart scent of mountain herbs.

  “Try it,” she said simply, sliding a cup toward Kael before filling her own.

  When she settled comfortably, a small fork glinted between her fingers. Violet cut a small piece of cake and tasted it slowly.

  At that moment, a faint trace of surprise crossed her face—and her cheeks, barely perceptibly, turned pink.

  “It’s delicious…” she murmured, as if surprised to have said it aloud.

  Kael said nothing at first—only nodded in satisfaction and tasted the cake himself. The flavor was truly delicate—its sweetness balanced by a gentle tang that paired perfectly with the tea.

  Violet seemed to brighten a little, as if waking from the weariness of the past days. She set down her cup, looked at Kael with lively curiosity, and, narrowing her eyes slightly, said:

  “Well then, tell me. How did your visit to the Council of Elders go? The old men must have tried to recruit you?”

  Kael exhaled heavily and leaned back lazily in his chair.

  “Yeah,” he said with a weary chuckle. “Even now, the Three Families won’t stop spying on me.”

  Violet smirked, taking another bite of cake.

  “Not surprising,” she said between bites. “Even I think you’re far too strange a young man.”

  Kael watched her, noting how different she seemed at home.

  “She’s so much calmer here… even her usual sternness feels like it’s melting away.”

  Violet looked up at him appraisingly and said with a touch of mockery:

  “By the way, what’s going on with your hair? It’s sticking out in every direction.”

  Kael shot back instantly:

  “Yours isn’t looking much better.”

  Violet frowned, and he hurried to add, lifting his hands in mock surrender:

  “Kidding! I just came from training, that’s all. I finally reached Bronze Mage level, so I’ve started training my body seriously.”

  The moment those words left his mouth, Violet froze.

  The fork stopped in her hand, and her gaze—which had been soft and slightly amused—sharpened into focused disbelief.

  “Wait…” she said slowly. “You only just learned how to absorb mana…”

  Kael nodded calmly.

  “Yes. And the process is becoming more stable,” he answered evenly. “And the money I’ve earned let me stock up on mana elixirs—that sped things up a lot.”

  Violet frowned slightly, setting her cup down and intertwining her fingers.

  A shadow of concern crossed her eyes—the professional unease of a mage who knew something about this wasn’t natural.

  “Let me ask,” she said after a brief pause. “Is this change somehow connected to what you discovered about the Soul Form?”

  Kael gave a firm nod.

  For several seconds, Violet simply looked at him, as if trying to read what truly lay behind his words. Then she sighed deeply and took a sip of tea before speaking:

  “I’m very happy for you, Kael…” she said sincerely, though without a smile. “But at the same time, I’m worried. Changes like this are exceedingly rare. Even the archives barely mention them. Sooner or later, the Three Families will start asking questions. And not just them.”

  Kael met her gaze without flinching.

  “As long as I haven’t deciphered anything, I’m not obligated to report to the Council of Elders,” he said evenly.

  Confidence colored his tone, and in his amber eyes burned a strange light—steady, mature. He leaned forward slightly, staring into his cup of tea, then added, quieter now, with a faint, predatory edge:

  “Moreover… even if Magister Duran doesn’t like it, eventually this knowledge will have to be shared with all of Lasthold. The world’s full of dangers. It’s not only the old men who hunger for power…”

  Master Violet blinked in faint confusion. The last part of his statement eluded her, but the first made her smirk—dryly, with a touch of sarcasm.

  “The elites will love that,” she said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Talk like that will make you their golden boy in no time.”

  Kael answered with an ambiguous, almost lazy smile.

  “If mages as strong as the elites start to emerge,” he said calmly, meeting Violet’s gaze, “they won’t be able to keep a monopoly on knowledge anymore.”

  Violet raised an eyebrow. In her eyes flickered suspicion—but also, unmistakably, interest.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quieter now, as if instinctively sensing that the conversation was straying into territory better left unexplored.

  Kael fell silent for a moment, then shook his head.

  “Can’t say yet,” he said curtly, his voice flat.

  He pretended to be contemplating the taste of the tea, though his thoughts were racing beneath the surface. Once again, his mind circled back to thoughts that had surfaced more than once lately.

  When Kael had finally moved past the exhilaration of becoming a mage, he had started thinking about larger challenges.

  “I need to determine Duran and Priscilla’s Soul Forms…” flashed through his mind.

  “Then find them the proper Canons of Magic. If they can reach the level of Jade Mages, the Council of Elders won’t dare to issue ultimatums again. But how to do that… I haven’t figured out yet.”

  He took a slow sip of tea, masking his thoughts behind a calm smile. Yet his thoughts sharpened—for his own safety, and for that of Lasthold, he would have to take a far more active hand in the course of things.

  But a moment later, Kael smiled faintly, as if choosing to break the heavy mood, and said lightly:

  “Enough about the old men,” he said, amusement creeping into his voice. “Master Violet, it’s been a while. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been working on?”

  Violet, still thoughtful from his earlier words, snorted and crossed her arms.

  “Actually,” she countered with a raised brow, “you still haven’t told me about your research.”

  Kael laughed softly, lifted his cup, and took a sip of hot tea. The tension between them melted, giving way to their familiar, easy rhythm of conversation.

  ? ? ?

  And so, amid the scent of herbs, the sweetness of cake, and the gentle flicker of lamplight, a quiet conversation flowed through Violet’s home.

  At first, Kael spoke about everything—the new technique for compressing mana ore, the difficulties of maintaining its structure, and the unexpected discovery that allowed him to stabilize the process without mana loss.

  Violet listened intently, occasionally nodding, sometimes asking short, precise questions—sharp, detail-oriented questions that revealed genuine curiosity.

  When he finished, she set her cup down, thought for a moment, and began speaking about her own project—the deciphering of an ancient scroll, the ice spirits it described, and the forgotten summoning rituals lost since the time of the old cataclysm.

  Kael listened with genuine focus, nodding now and then, asking questions—some technical, others philosophical.

  And for the first time in a long while, their conversation flowed easily, without jokes or teasing—like two researchers, two friends, sharing the subjects that fascinated them.

  It wasn’t until two hours later that their talk began to fade.

  The lamp by the window had nearly burned out, its gentle light dimming, and a comfortable silence settled over the room.

  Kael rose, carefully setting his cup aside, and with a smile said:

  “I’ll look forward to our next meeting, Master Violet.”

  She walked him to the door—tired, yet her face had brightened noticeably. A warm, almost domestic smile touched her lips.

  “If you ever want to talk more about ancient texts, come by again,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “It was nice to take a break from work.”

  Then she smiled and teased:

  “And I’ll admit, when you’re not being sarcastic or causing trouble, you’re actually quite pleasant to talk to.”

  The door closed softly, and Kael was left alone on the porch.

  He drew in a deep breath of the cool evening air. A strange sensation filled his chest—a calm he hadn’t felt in a long time. Peaceful, quiet, like the lingering sweetness of a good dream.

  “What a remarkable woman…” he murmured with a faint smile. “Shame she can’t take me seriously yet.”

  For a moment his expression softened, thoughtful—but then that cold, determined gleam returned to his eyes.

  He turned and began walking slowly down the street, his voice steady now:

  “For now, I need to stay completely focused—on training, on growing stronger.”

  Looking up at the sky, where the first stars were beginning to appear, Kael slowed his pace. The evening air of Lasthold was cool and clean, carrying faint traces of woodsmoke and spices from the night markets. He narrowed his eyes, watching as tiny points of light winked to life above the rooftops, and thought:

  “Lasthold feels like its own world… But the truth is, it’s only a small point in an immense universe.”

  He stopped in the middle of the cobbled street, gazing toward the distant mountains fading beyond the rooftops.

  “Even after the ancient incursion of beasts into the Human Dimension… the Three Empires only partially fell. I don’t know much about the current state of our world, but I know for certain some Gods still have designs on it—and that there are those who serve them…”

  He sighed quietly, clasping his hands behind his back.

  “Lasthold can’t afford to grow complacent. I’ll need to forge a counterbalance to the Council of Elders—for stability, and for the future…”

  His gaze darkened, though there was no malice in it—only a calm, steady purpose.

  “For my parents’ safety. And for the safety of all Lasthold.”

  His footsteps faded into the cool evening air, and high above the rooftops the stars shimmered—silent witnesses to the birth of new resolve.