The bell above the door chimed softly, its sound swallowed almost immediately by the quiet hum of the shop.
To any normal eye, the man who stepped inside was unremarkable—plain cloak, dust-stained boots, the kind of face that blended into a crowd. His aura was muffled, tamped down to the level of a common merchant.
But Jade's dual pupils spun with faint light behind his blindfold. He saw what others could not: the threads of an illusion woven across the man's frame, the deliberate compression of an Alpha's presence, the pulse of an A-rank talent hidden beneath the surface.
Governor Kael Varros.
Jade did not look up right away. He let the man step across the threshold, let the dust of the street settle behind him, and only then set down the vial he had been polishing. His movements were deliberate—calm, measured, respectful without bending.
"Welcome," Jade said, his voice carrying the practiced steadiness of someone far older than seven. "What ailment brings you here?"
The disguised man studied him for a long moment, as though searching for the child beneath the words. "A question," he said at last. "If you have the skill to answer."
Jade inclined his head slightly. "Then ask."
The Governor drew from his cloak a small vial of murky liquid. He set it on the counter with the casualness of one accustomed to command.
"What is this?"
Jade did not uncork it. He did not sniff or stir. He only let his gaze linger a moment, irises shimmering faintly beneath the blindfold's shadow.
"An imitation," he said. "An alchemist attempted to stabilize nightshade with sunroot extract. A flawed pairing. It looks harmless, but given hours, the mixture collapses into a toxin that paralyzes the lungs."
The Governor's brow tightened. "You didn't even touch it."
"I didn't need to."
For a breath, silence filled the shop. Niamh, who had been leaning against the wall with arms crossed, straightened slightly, watching the exchange with wary eyes.
The Governor pulled out a second test. This time, a thin shard of crystal, cloudy and faintly glowing. He held it between his fingers, the illusion of a commoner faltering just enough for Jade to glimpse the strength behind the gesture.
"Suppose a patient suffers from mana corrosion," Kael said, voice cool. "Their veins burning from failed ether absorption. How would you treat them?"
Jade's lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
"Most would try to purge the corrupted mana directly. But that leaves the channels scarred, brittle. I would brew a catalyst of frostleaf and void-marrow, binding the corrupted energy into a dormant state. Then, over days, feed the patient microdoses of pure ether through distilled astral water. Their channels would repair themselves naturally."
The Governor's eyes narrowed. It was a method few even in the inner district would know.
"You speak as if you've done it."
"I speak as if it works."
For the first time, Kael Varros allowed his disguise to slip fully. His presence swelled, not menacing but undeniable—the weight of a Dominant Alpha filling the small shop like a storm rolling through. Customers still inside stiffened, some even retreating instinctively.
But Jade sat unmoved. His dual irises shone faintly, drinking in the man's essence, seeing not just the aura but the sickness that clung to it like a shadow.
A tether. Not on Kael himself, but on someone bound to him. Their life-force fading, tethered by poison threads of mana imbalance.
"You are no ordinary boy," Kael said at last, his voice deep and steady, edged with both awe and suspicion. "What are you?"
Jade tilted his head, blindfold casting a soft shadow across his face. His answer came like mist curling through the air—neither denial nor confirmation.
"An alchemist."
Something in Kael's eyes shifted. He had come to test, to measure, to dismiss or recruit. But instead, he found hope—dangerous, fragile hope.
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "Tell me, boy… could you heal what others cannot?"
Jade let silence stretch between them. He could see the desperation in the Governor's soul, the unspoken plea that lingered beneath the disguise. But he also knew the danger of revealing too much too soon.
"I heal what I choose," Jade said finally. "And I choose only what is within reach."
Kael's gaze sharpened, as though weighing every word for hidden meaning. For the briefest of moments, he almost asked the question: Are you an Alpha child? But something in Jade's tone stopped him. Ambiguity was a shield, and Jade wielded it with precision.
The Governor straightened, cloak rustling. His expression settled back into one of careful neutrality.
"I see," he said quietly. "Then I will return."
He left as quietly as he had entered, but the weight of his presence lingered like the echo of thunder after lightning.
Jade exhaled slowly, fingers brushing the counter where the vials still rested.
...
The door shut with a soft click, and with it the storm of presence that had weighed on the little shop dissipated. The shelves, the counters, the faintly glowing vials—all seemed to exhale at once, as though the room itself had been holding its breath.
For a while, there was only the quiet hum of the alchemy burners at the back.
Jade reached for a cloth and began polishing the vial he had set aside, movements steady and unhurried. To anyone watching, it was the picture of calm routine, the boy returning to his craft as if nothing had happened. But behind the veil of his blindfold, his dual irises still shimmered faintly, threads of lingering energy mapping themselves across his vision.
That tether… it wasn't on the man himself. Whoever was bound to him, their channels were fraying, life leaking slowly through poisoned seams.
Niamh moved at last, pushing off from the wall with a rustle of cloth. She didn't speak right away, only paced a few steps closer, eyes narrowed. The stiffness in her shoulders betrayed her unease, but she forced her tone light, almost casual.
"He wasn't ordinary."
It was not a question, and Jade didn't treat it as one. He only set the vial neatly on the shelf, fingers brushing dust from the rim.
"Few people are," he murmured.
That earned him a sharp look. Niamh had lived more than sixty years, long enough to have seen Alphas rise and fall, Guilds tear each other apart, even cities collapse under their own greed. But never had she seen a seven-year-old speak to a Dominant Alpha without flinching. To her, Jade was still a child—her child, even if he wasn't of her blood—and the calm with which he received that man unsettled her more than the Alpha's presence itself.
She didn't press. She knew better than to corner him when he grew quiet. But she stayed close, arms folding again, her gaze never leaving his small form as he resumed work.
The customers who had lingered shuffled nervously. A woman clutched her purchase tighter and slipped out the door without a word. A pair of men whispered to each other, voices low, and soon followed. By the time the silence returned, only Jade and Niamh remained.
The blindfold hid his eyes, but Niamh could feel them turn briefly toward the door—thoughtful, distant. Then he reached for another vial, uncorking it with care, and the soft clink of glass replaced the weight of the moment.
Life in the shop resumed. But Niamh knew, as surely as Jade did, that nothing about this encounter had been ordinary.
-------------------------------------------------------
The carriage wheels whispered against the cobblestones as it pulled away from the narrow street. Inside, Kael Varros sat with his cloak folded neatly beside him, the faint illusion of a merchant dissolving as though it had never been.
He leaned back against the cushioned seat, eyes half-lidded, and let silence settle.
Across from him, his aide—an old retainer who had served the Varros household for decades—watched with the patience of a man who had learned when not to speak. Only after several blocks had passed did he venture a quiet question.
"Well, my lord?"
Kael's fingers tapped once against the armrest. His mind replayed the boy's words, the precise diagnoses given without hesitation, without even the pretense of study. Not a whiff of arrogance, not a shred of uncertainty—only truth, spoken plainly.
"He didn't touch the vial," Kael said at last. His voice was low, carrying more to himself than to the retainer. "Didn't even lift it. Yet he knew."
The aide inclined his head, though his brow furrowed. "Perhaps a trick?"
Kael's lips pressed thin. "No. If it was, then it is one no alchemist in this city has ever managed."
The weight of that thought pressed heavier than he cared to admit.
Outside the carriage window, Nexus City spread in tiers of light and shadow—the crowded market streets giving way to the cleaner avenues of the inner district. But Kael's gaze was turned inward, toward chambers far darker. He thought of the bedroom where his wife lay, her breaths shallow, the burn of mana imbalance consuming her veins little by little.
Every alchemist, every healer, every charlatan with a tincture had failed. Even the Guild, with its proud masters and gilded halls, had only shaken their heads.
And yet a boy—seven years old, blindfolded, his voice steady beyond his years—had spoken the solution as if describing how to mend a cracked cup.
Kael's jaw tightened. Desperation was a dangerous thing, but hope—hope could be worse.
Not yet. He would not gamble his wife's life on a single meeting, nor would he risk drawing eyes to the child too soon. The Guild already sought to choke out rivals before they grew roots. If word spread that he, the Governor of Nexus, had gone crawling to a boy in the slums…
No. He would test again, carefully, under another guise if need be. And only when he was certain would he extend the hand of trust.
For now, he folded his thoughts as he folded his cloak, tucking them neatly into silence.
"That child," Kael said softly, more to the shadows than to his aide. "He is not ordinary."
The carriage rolled on, leaving the slums behind, but his mind lingered in that dim little shop, on a blindfolded boy whose answer had struck like lightning across a storm-dark sky.