Kael leaned against a tree, legs crossed, hands resting on his abdomen. His eyes were closed, his expression calm, almost as if he were asleep. He felt the early summer breeze brush gently against his face, his hair swaying softly with the wind. In the distance, he could hear birdsong weaving through the air, accompanied by the sound of waves crashing against the rocks.
He let out a quiet sigh, and then. The world dulled. The warmth of the breeze faded to a whisper, and the orchestra of sound softened into a distant, muffled hum. Kael had once again split his consciousness, slipping into his inner realm.
As he opened his eyes, the familiar, colossal red river of Will came into view. It slithered like a serpent suspended in the air, oblivious to the laws of nature as it twisted and turned, rising, falling, coiling without sense or reason. The only constant was its forward motion, and the silver specks trapped within it, drifting helplessly with the current. All around, the white void remained as blinding as ever.
Kael stretched out his hand and willed.
The crimson river responded at once. A narrow stream peeled away, guided by his intent. It obeyed in silence, twisting through the white void like a serpent swiming through still water.
Within its flow, silver threads shimmered ,his Thoughts, still bound to the river.
Like a quiet creek glinting under a blood moon, its current laced with strands of silver light, the stream circled him once before gathering in his open palm.
As if responding to Kael's will, the white void, his soul stirred as well. Small glowing particles began to move, drifting toward the crimson river and merging with it. Will, soul, and thought moved in quiet harmony, and soon something began to take shape in his palm.
A small cat-like creature slowly formed, its tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm as it slept.
"Titanwood Stalker Mote…"
Kael smiled to himself as he spoke.
"You're even more impressive than I first thought."
Since the assassination of the family heir's household, he had been forced to lay low for a few days. But he hadn't wasted the time. He hadn't joined the fighting club just to gather information or build connections.
He had a theory. One he had been thinking about for a while.
"Activating this rank two mote in actual combat… it's not realistic. Not for someone like me. I'm still too low-ranked. Just like a mortal, I only produce 250 thousand thoughts per day. That means I could only use it once in a fight."
He paused, eyes fixed on the sleeping mote.
"But this… this works too. Maybe even better."
A few days had passed since his fight with Lucian. Kael had requested more matches than what was required to stay in the club. His win record had climbed to an impressive 17-1, but the attention and reputation that followed meant nothing to him.
In reality, he could not care less if he won or lost.
Each fight was just a test. A test of trial and error.
"I don't need to fully activate the mote to use it," he had realized. "Just like its presence lingers within my soul by simply existing there, I can draw more from it by feeding it thoughts."
Like feeding a fire small pieces of wood, each thought made it burn a little brighter.
Each fight he poured a different amount of thought into the mote, observing how the results varied. Sometimes it made his opponent react just a moment too late, leaving them exposed. Other times they did not even seem to register his punch at all.
"Still," he muttered, "I have only tested this against mortals. But I am fairly certain the effect would hold, or at least remain similar."
One thing, however, was clear. Against someone stronger, they would be forced to focus more. And the longer the fight dragged on, the more thoughts they would burn through just to keep up.
Kael willed it, and the mote scattered. The glowing white soul particles lifted into the air, drifting gently before settling back into the white void, leaving no trace they had ever moved. His will unraveled, and thin crimson streams drifted through the stillness, returning slowly to the great river. The silver specks were absent from them, his Thoughts, completely spent.
He sighed inwardly before drawing his consciousness back. The inner realm faded into stillness, leaving behind only his soul, his thoughts, and his will. Silence settled over the space. The colossal river flowed on, vast and unmoving, without making a single sound.
Slowly, the muffled echoes sharpened into distinct sounds. Waves crashing. Birds singing. Leaves rustling in the wind. What had once felt distant was now clear. He felt the breeze again, brushing through his hair and cool against his cheeks. The rough bark pressed against his back, returning him to the present.
He opened his eyes, rose to his feet, and brushed off his coat with a light touch before turning to walk away.
Kael entered the fighting club. The line was even longer than when he had first signed up, and the club had been forced to turn away more applicants than ever before.
'Looks like the streets have gotten more unsafe lately.'
His expression stayed calm and indifferent as he walked past the crowd.
As he moved through the corridors and different rooms, he listened to the conversations around him. More than once, he passed groups of people talking about him. Only a small number actually noticed he was there.
In the last few days, people had started picking sides. Some supported Kael, others stood behind Lucian. Both were seen as rising stars, and their skills had not gone unnoticed. It made sense that people were talking. This was a fighting club after all. But the talk went beyond casual comparison.
All tier one masters had once started in tier three. And with the benefits that came from reaching the top came the opportunity to mentor lower-tier fighters. It was a way to boost one's reputation, get noticed by noble families, and even earn a bit of coin. Not everyone in the club came from the streets. Some were there purely out of ambition.
Getting information about these top fighters, or better yet, getting to know them early on, could significantly raise the chances of being picked as a disciple. Kael was fairly sure there were whispers about outside investors taking interest in promising fighters too, though he had no way of confirming it.
As he walked, he kept his ears open for more than just gossip about fights. He listened for talk about Velthoria itself. The situation in the city was growing worse by the day. Rumors of the Valthorne heir's family being assassinated had spread quickly. The noble family had tried to keep it quiet, but two people were dead, and too many others knew them.
Much like the atmosphere within the fight club, the public had started splitting into two sides. The rumors had taken on a life of their own.
One side believed the Eireindaile family was behind the murder, using it as a show of strength to remind the city who truly held power.
The other side believed it was retaliation, a direct answer to the failed assassination attempt on Syleena, the Eireindaile family's heir.
What both sides shared was a growing dissatisfaction with the Valthorne family. Some believed they should retaliate with full force. Others thought the city should cut ties with Eireindaile entirely, severing trade and diplomacy.
And the lack of official statements from the Valthorne family only acted as fuel to the fire.
'Both Farkath and Velthoria, along with their noble families, share a long history of bloodshed and drawn-out wars. In the past few hundred years, they have worked hard to repair their relationship.'
Kael's pace stayed calm as his thoughts wandered.
'But no matter how things appear now, the past does not disappear. The loved ones lost in those wars will never return. What remains is a scar, deep and slow to heal. The hatred between them runs deeper than a single assassination, and now it is starting to slowly surface again.'
Before he knew it, Kael had reached his sleeping quarters. He turned the handle and stepped inside, unbuttoning his coat and tossing it onto the bed before leaning his cane against the frame.
At the table nearby, a young woman sat completely absorbed in a book, unaware of Kael's return. It was Talia, once again lost in her favorite story. Absentmindedly, she lifted her head and stared at the empty wall in front of her, a wide smile spreading across her face. Almost a grin.
"You really don't get tired of that book, do you?"
Kael spoke casually as he began to get changed, the question clearly directed at her.
Talia jolted in her chair, startled. Her raven black hair swung with the motion.
"When did you get here?"
Her voice was unsteady, her breathing uneven from the sudden fright.
"Just now."
Kael gave no reaction to her startled response.
Talia pressed her thumb and index finger to her forehead, gently massaging it as she gathered her thoughts.
"You're going to your next fight?"
Kael looked up, raising an eyebrow at her before returning to the task of wrapping white cloth around his hands.
Talia sighed softly.
"You know you've fought enough matches these past few days to stay here for over a month. But... do what you love, I guess."
With that, she returned to her book, letting herself sink into its pages once more. Kael didn't respond, he simply continued, carefully tying off the cloth without rushing.