70 Chapter 70
I lowered his hand, the invisible weight of the rings still pulsing faintly against his skin. Glancing at Kaelor, who was now holding the shard with both hands, its crystalline surface flickering with an inner light that almost seemed alive.
"You should know," Aruno said evenly, "that piece isn't just payment. If you work it right, you could forge with it. Weapons. Artifacts. Things beyond what you already craft."
Kaelor's thick brows arched, his massive hands tightening around the shard's glowing surface. "Forge with… this?" His voice carried both reverence and disbelief. "By the flame… lad, this stone hums like it's alive. You've handed me something men would cross kingdoms for."
Aruno gave no reaction, only drawing his cloak tighter around him. "Then make it count."
The blacksmith set the shard down carefully on a folded cloth, as though even the anvil was unworthy of touching it raw. His gaze lingered on it with a hunger and a dreamer's fire. "With this, I could change the village. No—more than the village. I could build works that last through ages."
Void stirred in Aruno's mind, calm but edged. "He praises a cave fragment as though it were divinity. Do you see, Aruno? Men will always turn belief into power."
Aruno's eyes narrowed faintly, though his face betrayed nothing to Kaelor. "Use it wisely. That's all that matters."
Kaelor nodded, near solemn in his vow. "Aye… I'll use it well. You have my word."
Chains wrapped around him, coiling over his wrists, arms, and legs, holding him firmly to the throne. Each link dug into his skin, a constant reminder of the seal that bound him. He could move only slightly, shift a shoulder or tilt his head, but the world beyond the chains flowed freely, rippling with currents of power he could sense but not touch.
The merge had left traces of energy threading through reality, brushing against him, testing the edges of his confinement. Figures moved through it, purposeful, deliberate. Names did not matter. He sensed intent, the weight of presence, and one among them stood apart—an anomaly, resonant, sharp, dissonant.
A disturbance pulsed in the currents, off-pattern, unaligned with the order he had set. Not loyal, yet he could not reach them. The chains held him fast, the throne anchored him, and still he recorded everything—the deviations, the subtle fractures in intent, the faint echoes of untamed will.
Even the smallest pressures brushed against him, alien and unsettling. He did not know their origin, only that they existed, threading through the ranks like whispers in a storm.
Bound and immobile, he observed and waited. Patience was all he had. And patience was infinite.
The air shifted, sharp and deliberate, as a presence approached the castle. Caelith's chains creaked softly, each link vibrating faintly under the pull of his attention. Even from his throne, he could sense the figure moving through the halls, the subtle signature of someone skilled, careful—but bold.
"You," he said, voice low but carrying through the chamber. "Enter."
The figure paused at the doorway, posture measured, cloak swaying with the motion of the corridor. One stepped forward, bowing slightly—not out of fear, but protocol.
"My lord," One said smoothly, voice even. "I was… patrolling the outskirts. Ensuring security. Nothing more."
Caelith's eyes, pale gold and sharp, flicked to him. "The outskirts? You were away for longer than routine requires. Explain."
One inclined his head, a trace of respect in the movement, but his mind was elsewhere, calculating. "I… encountered unusual activity. Nothing of consequence, though. I handled it."
The chains wrapped around Caelith shifted as he leaned slightly, testing the limits of his confinement. He did not touch, did not rise, yet his presence pressed into the room like a weight. "Unusual activity?" he said slowly, letting the words linger. "Be precise. I do not tolerate ambiguity."
One's eyes remained steady, violet glinting faintly beneath the kasa. "Merely… disturbances. Travelers passing through. A minor threat. Already resolved."
Caelith's gaze pierced him, unblinking, as if trying to read the truth behind the mask. "You waste words. Were you truthful?"
"Yes, my lord," One replied smoothly, his tone unwavering. Every syllable calculated to satisfy, to mask the intent that flickered like a hidden flame behind his eyes.
The chains tightened subtly around Caelith's wrists, as if the throne itself reacted to his concentration. He did not move, did not rise, yet the aura of authority radiated from him, suffocating and absolute. "Very well. Keep your distance, and do not test my patience. I will know if lies walk beneath my gaze again."
"One would not dare," One said, bowing once more. His cloak shifted as he retreated, moving back into the hall. His mind raced, the encounter brief but significant. He had to tread carefully—every misstep, every revelation could undo everything.
Caelith remained, sealed and watching, feeling the residue of presence linger long after the figure had vanished. He did not know the truth, yet the pulse of something unfamiliar throbbed faintly in the back of his awareness.
One walked through the quiet halls of the castle, boots echoing softly against the polished stone. Torches flickered along the black-and-white walls, casting long, sharp shadows that stretched across the corridors. The air smelled faintly of incense and cold metal, the weight of the sealed castle pressing against him like a living thing.
He reached his room and closed the door behind him, the latch clicking softly. Once inside, he sank to the floor in a cross-legged position, settling into meditation. Eyes closed, his mind traced the fight with Aruno, replaying every movement, every clash of steel, every calculated step. He could still feel the ripple of that presence, the way it twisted the air and tested him, leaving him both unsettled and alert.
The focus was complete, the rhythm of his breath steady, until a faint ripple of air brushed across the room. Shadows twisted unnaturally, and the faint hum of power prickled his skin.
"Impressive," a deep voice purred, sharp and amused.
One's eyes snapped open. Before him, flickering slightly like a half-formed image, Lysrael's projection shimmered in the room. He wasn't truly here, but the presence was unmistakable heavy, unnerving, and commanding attention.
"Your prey grows stronger," the projection continued, the figure leaning slightly forward as if inspecting him. "Yet… you managed him well. For now."
One remained seated, mask of calm carefully maintained, though the pulse in his chest quickened slightly. He didn't speak; Lysrael didn't need words in response.
"Necessary is good," One thought silently, "but insufficient."
Lysrael's projection seemed to lean closer, shadowed eyes glinting. "You need more than skill to truly unsettle him. More than speed, more than strength. Subtlety, precision… control of what they cannot see."
One clenched his fists briefly, then relaxed, letting the meditation return—but the seed had been planted. Lysrael's words echoed behind his calm facade, a challenge that no distance, no illusion, could erase.
"Yes," he acknowledged silently, "I understand."
The projection shimmered, fading slowly until the room returned to the quiet crackle of torches and the faint scent of cold metal. One remained in his posture, mind sharpening, planning, waiting for the next move.