Chapter 15: Father's Judgment
The crystal was cold under Kairo's hand. It felt like touching a block of ice, a stark contrast to the burning intensity of his own Aether. He could feel his father's gaze on him, a physical weight, an anvil of expectation threatening to crush him.
He had one chance to thread this needle. Show too little, and he would be forced to withdraw from the Rite, branded a coward on top of being a failure. Show too much, and his carefully constructed camouflage would be ripped away, exposing him to a level of scrutiny he was not yet prepared to survive.
Codex, he commanded in the silent sanctum of his mind. Initiate deception protocol. Suppress all displayed readings. Target values are…
His mind worked with the speed of a master strategist rearranging pieces on a board. He couldn't just apply a flat reduction. The lie had to be elegant. It had to tell a convincing story. The story of a sickly boy who, through sheer force of will, was finally beginning to recover.
Physical Attributes: Cap display at a 40% gain from my previous state. Show improvement, not mastery. Aether and Output: Display a value that marks me as a promising Initiate, nothing more. A potential late-bloomer. Control… show more of that. Let him think my strength is my mind, not my power. It's a narrative he already believes.
[Deception Protocol: [Veiled Serpent] initiated. Displaying modified ARI values. Executing...]
He took a steadying breath and released a carefully controlled stream of Aether into the crystal. It was like trying to pour a single cup of water from a raging waterfall. The vast power of his core wanted to erupt, to answer his father's challenge with its full, monstrous reality. But he held it back, his Control stat, the one true reflection of his power, acting as an unbreachable dam.
The Resonance Crystal, fed a trickle instead of a flood, responded. It began to glow.
It was not the explosive blaze Kairo knew he could produce. It was a soft, but steady, golden light. A respectable light. The light of a healthy, awakened scion of House Akashi. Bright enough to banish the memory of his pathetic flicker from years ago, but not so bright as to invite suspicion.
A moment later, glowing runic characters materialized on the crystal's surface, visible to the Archduke.
TITLE: Aether Initiate LEVEL: 2
Physical Attributes
STR: 25
DUR: 21
AGI: 30
Aetheric Attributes
AET: 38
OUT: 27
CTL: 55
Archduke Arion leaned forward, his obsidian eyes narrowed as he studied the numbers. He was silent for a long time, his expression unreadable. For Kairo, who stood blind in the suffocating silence, it was a unique form of torture. The lie was out. All he could do was wait for the verdict.
The physical stats were respectable, for him. They spoke of a body that was no longer chronically ill, but still far from the athletic prowess of Tiberius or the sturdy health of a Jukai. The Aether pool was small, but it was awakened and growing. The Output was average for a new initiate. They were not the numbers of a prodigy. They were the numbers of a boy who was no longer a complete write-off.
But it was the Control stat that made the Archduke pause. Fifty-five. It was a high number. An unusually high number for a child who had only just awakened his core. It suggested a level of innate talent, of fine-motor skill with Aether that was rare. It spoke of a mind that was sharp, even if the body was not.
"CTL: 55..." Arion murmured, the first sound in the room for over a minute. He wasn't speaking to Kairo, but to himself. He looked from the crystal back to his son, his gaze analytical, colder than before. "Your body is still weak. Your well of power is shallow. But your ability to command it... is noteworthy."
He wasn't praising him. He was assessing him. A tool that had been deemed useless had just revealed a new, unexpected function.
Kairo remained silent. He pulled his hand back from the crystal, and the light faded. He had passed the test.
"This changes little," the Archduke said, his voice regaining its hard edge as he straightened up. "These numbers are still a world away from Leo Jukai's. His Titan's Grasp is already at the Adept tier. Tiberius's strength, even at your age, was triple this. You will still be outmatched."
"I am aware, Father," Kairo said.
"Do not mistake this marginal improvement for a victory," Arion warned, his voice a low growl. He stepped closer, his immense presence a physical weight. "It is merely the bare minimum I expect from a son of my blood. You have been granted a reprieve from utter disgrace. Nothing more."
He turned and walked back towards the massive window, his back once again to Kairo. "You may attend the Rite. But I want your word. You will not cause a scene. You will take your place, you will accept your result, and you will fade into the background. Your purpose is not to win, but to simply show the other houses that the 'Failed Son' is no longer a complete liability. You are a message, nothing more. Do you understand your role?"
It was a cage, cleverly disguised as a reprieve. He was being allowed on stage, but commanded to stand in the wings.
"Yes, Father. I understand," Kairo said, his voice a perfect mask of meek obedience.
I understand my role perfectly, he thought, a cold, sharp smile playing only in the darkness of his mind. My role is to burn your stage to the ground.
"Good," the Archduke said. "Alistair will show you out."
As if summoned by his name, the heavy iron doors swung open. The Head Butler stood there, his face an impassive mask. He had been waiting just outside the entire time.
Kairo gave a shallow bow to his father's back and turned to leave. He walked past Alistair, his Aether-Sense catching the faintest flicker of curiosity from the old butler, a break in his usual, icy calm.
He had done it. He had survived. He had shown them exactly what he wanted them to see. A small, manageable spark.
They had no idea about the inferno he was hiding. He was a weapon, perfectly camouflaged. And in three days, he would finally be fired.
The journey back from the Archduke's study was a silent trial. Alistair walked a pace ahead, his back a rigid wall of starched fabric and disapproval. Kairo followed, his bare feet making no sound on the polished marble floors. His mind, however, was a whirlwind.
The deception had worked. The numbers on the crystal had told the perfect story: a boy overcoming a lifetime of frailty, his only remarkable trait a sharp mind. It was a narrative Arion could accept because it didn't challenge his own worldview. Kairo wasn't a threat; he was a recovering asset, a tool that might have a minor, specialized use later. He was permitted to exist.
As they reached the less imposing corridors leading to the residential wing, they rounded a corner and nearly collided with Lady Lyra. She was pacing, wringing her hands, her face a pale mask of anxiety. Her eyes, wide with fear, darted from Alistair's impassive face to Kairo's calm expression.
"Kairo! What happened? What did your father say?" she rushed forward, her voice a frantic whisper.
Alistair stopped and gave a stiff, formal bow. "My lady. The Archduke has concluded his meeting with the young lord." Without another word, he turned and glided away, melting back into the duties of the Spire, his part in the drama complete.
"He said I may attend the Rite, Mother," Kairo said, his voice quiet and even.
Lyra stared at him, searching his face. "He is not... displeased?"
"He said my results were... noteworthy," Kairo offered, using his father's own word. It was the truth, just not the whole truth.
A wave of pure, unadulterated relief washed over his mother's face. The tension left her shoulders, and she seemed to stand taller. "Noteworthy," she repeated, the word tasting like a priceless vintage on her tongue. A sob of pure joy escaped her lips, and she pulled him into a fierce, trembling hug. "Oh, Kairo! I knew it! I knew you had it in you!"
Her joy was a sharper pain than any of his father's insults. He was feeding her a carefully crafted lie, and she was devouring it with a desperate hunger. He stiffened in her embrace, the "numb edge" of his control asserting itself, walling off the guilt. This was for her own good. The full truth would terrify her more than any failure.
[Quest Updated: The Mother's Aegis]
[Objective Progress: You have successfully displayed 'tangible improvement'. Your mother's fear has been partially replaced by pride. Keep this momentum.]
The notification was a cold comfort. He had won the battle, but the war for her peace of mind was far from over.
The next three days passed in a blur of focused, final preparations. Kairo did not return to the library. He had gleaned all the knowledge he needed. Now, it was time for application. He sealed himself in his room, feigning exhaustion from his "meeting" with the Archduke.
His nights were no longer a balance of training. They were dedicated to a single, singular purpose: gathering power. Every waking hour that he was not playing the part of the quiet, recovering child, he was deep in a meditative trance. He sat on the cold stone floor, his entire consciousness focused on the Founder's Weave.
The dangerous, intoxicating technique was becoming second nature. He pulled the purest streams of Aether from the air, the golden threads of the Founder's Echo guiding his hands, twisting the raw energy into potent, shimmering cords. He poured the power into his Aether Core, the channels stretching, the pressure a constant, agonizing companion. It was a pain he welcomed. It was the pain of a sword being forged.
His Aether pool grew at a terrifying rate.
AET: 90 -> 100... 110... 125... 150...
He pushed past the threshold of a normal graduate. He was building his reserves, stockpiling the fuel for the firework display he had promised himself. It was a brutal, sleepless grind, a race against the chiming of the Spire's great clock.
On the morning of the third day, the day of the Rite of Covenant, the Spire was alive with a nervous, electric energy. Servants rushed through the halls, their arms laden with ceremonial robes and polished silver. The air smelled of incense and oiled leather. From the courtyards below, Kairo could hear the muffled sounds of noble carriages arriving, the clatter of armored hooves on stone.
Elise herself came to his room to help him dress. She was silent as she laid out the ceremonial garb: a simple, sleeveless tunic and trousers of pure white silk. It was the traditional attire for the Rite, designed for simplicity and to not interfere with the Heartstone's reading.
As she helped him into the tunic, her knowing eyes lingered on his frame. She said nothing, but he felt her assessment. He was still small for his age, but the unhealthy thinness was gone. His shoulders were broader. There was a quiet, solid strength to him now that had not existed a year ago. She smoothed the silk over his shoulders, her touch gentle but her expression thoughtful. She knew a change had occurred, even if she did not understand its source.
When he was dressed, she led him not to the dining hall, but to his mother's chambers. Lyra was waiting, dressed in the formal, dark robes of House Akashi. Her face was pale, but her eyes shone with a fierce, hopeful pride.
She held out a small, velvet-lined box. "I had this made for you," she said, her voice soft.
Inside was a simple silver circlet, unadorned except for a single, small, polished obsidian stone set in the center, the sigil of their House. It was meant to hold his long black hair back from his face.
"So everyone can see your eyes," she whispered, a tremulous smile on her lips. "So they can see the strength in them, just as I do."
Kairo felt a cold lump form in his throat. It was an act of a mother's defiant love. A statement to the court that she was not ashamed of her son. He lowered his head, and she placed the cool silver circlet on his brow, carefully arranging his hair.
When he looked up, his face was clear. His obsidian eyes, now framed by the silver, seemed deeper, darker. They held the stillness of the abyss.
"Thank you, Mother," he said. The words felt inadequate, hollow.
A grand procession of the noble children was formed in the antechamber of the Great Hall. Kairo and Lyra joined the line, immediately becoming an island in the murmuring sea of nobles. The other families, clad in the brilliant colors of their own houses, gave them a wide berth. The whispers were like the rustling of dry leaves.
"Is that the Akashi failure?"
"I heard he was ill. He still looks so frail."
"Look, the mother is with him. How pathetic. The Archduke himself doesn't even bother to attend his own son."
Lyra's hand tightened on his shoulder, her knuckles white. Kairo stood placidly, the whispers washing over him like a gentle rain. They were judging the boy who had existed a year ago. They had no idea who was standing before them now.
His Aether-Sense, which he kept active in short, controlled bursts, painted a picture of the room. He saw the wireframe of Tiberius, standing tall and arrogant among a crowd of sycophants from House Kurogane. He saw the golden, heroic aura of Prince Leo Jukai, surrounded by his own admirers, his laugh warm and easy. He saw Anya Akashi, his politically-appointed fiancée, standing with her father, her expression a mask of cool, aristocratic indifference. She met his empty gaze from across the room, giving a slow, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement. An ally, for now.
Then the great horns sounded. The massive doors to the Great Hall of Balor began to swing open, revealing a vast, cavernous space packed with the highest nobility of the kingdom. The air, thick with anticipation, flooded the antechamber.
In the center of the hall, upon a black obsidian dais, sat the Heartstone. It was a perfect sphere of milky quartz as tall as a man, its core swirling with a faint, dormant light.
This was his stage. This was his battlefield.
A court herald, his voice booming with Aether, began to call the names. "Lord Kaito Gin'u, heir to House Gin'u!"
A stout, confident boy with a cunning smile stepped forward.
"Princess Kaede Jukai of the Royal House!"
A fiery-looking girl with chestnut hair and fierce green eyes marched towards the stone.
One by one, they were called. One by one, they would be judged. Kairo waited, his heart a slow, steady drum. His turn was coming. The serpent, after a year of hiding in the dark, was about to shed its skin.