By the time Kaelric returned to the Heartspire, lanterns glowed along its carved balconies, their light reflecting softly off polished wood and pale stone.
He headed for his room, but before reaching the door, memory tugged him backward, not sharply, just enough to linger.
The mornings had begun the same way.
Before dawn, before the Heartspire stirred, he slipped from the second-story window, dropping lightly into the frost-coated courtyard below. The cold always bit first, sharp against skin, then dulled into something familiar as his body adjusted. The town at that hour felt unfinished, as if the world itself had not yet decided to wake.
It had been three weeks since the awakening ceremony.
An A-grade like him should have been halfway to stability by now. Middle stage within a few months at most. Kaelric was not even close. The pressure beneath his ribs never faded. It pressed inward, patient and constant, a reminder that talent did not negotiate.
Kaelric moved north, into the Fire Fang Cougar territory. The guards were easy to avoid at that hour, not careless, but predictable.
Few dared tread this far into the Fire Fang Cougar territory, which made the northern guards fewer, the cougars themselves were the first line of defense.
He traced shadowed walls, vaulted low fences, and used the Dark Claws Relic to scale trees whose bark still held the night's cold. Each movement was quiet not because he forced it, but because he let the forest decide where sound would matter.
Beneath him, roots and frost twisted, snagging at his boots. Fire Fang Cougars did not waste energy. They hunted hard, then rested deeply. In the early hours, their muscles held memory more than readiness. Kaelric learned their patterns by heat lingering in the soil, branches bent but unbroken, scents that warned just long enough to notice without letting him be tracked.
At one point, molten aura flared too close. He froze, one foot braced against bark, breath shallow. The cougar moved beneath him, deliberate and heavy. Kaelric waited, then slid sideways, never crossing its path, never challenging its awareness.
Later, he found the hunters' signs: pawprints too wide for a single beast, branches forced aside rather than avoided. He traced paths that narrowed into traps, paths that opened into escape. By the deeper edge of the territory, danger no longer needed to be sought—it announced itself in absence: smaller beasts avoiding clearings, the air heavier near the ridge.
That was where the four-antlered deer was said to roam. He never saw it, but he understood why it had never been taken. The deer skirted danger by habit, not fear, moving close enough to cougar territory to discourage pursuit, vanishing before attention sharpened into action. He did not follow. Not yet.
When he finally turned back, it was always before the town woke. Always before anyone thought to notice a boy missing from his bed.
Back at the Heartspire, the nights passed quietly.
On one such morning, after returning and eating, he stepped into the streets as the town began to stir. Caravans rolled in. Merchants shouted greetings. The smell of spiced meat drifted from street stalls, warm and grounding.
Kaelric bought a steamed bun, its heat seeping into his fingers as he walked. For a moment, he thought "This did more for me than most Vitalis stones being used in cultivation lately." The idea amused him enough that his lips curved faintly as he finished it and wiped his hand clean.
At the northern edge of Stoneheart, the Lysmar family store stood bathed in soft enchantment light. Inside, shelves lined with relics gleamed quietly, most of them practical things. Storage tools. Measuring devices. A few simple defensive charms. Nothing flashy.
The clerk looked up as Kaelric approached. He was broad through the shoulders and middle, beard neatly kept, eyes sharp in a way that suggested comfort earned through repetition rather than risk.
"Good afternoon," he said. "Looking for something specific?"
"A storage relic," Kaelric replied. "For hunting."
The man nodded and led him to a squat, dark object etched with a stylized toad. Faint green veins pulsed beneath its surface.
"Fat Toad Storage Relic," the clerk said. "Stable. Modest capacity. And doesn't strain the aperture."
Kaelric turned it once in his hand, feeling the restrained hum beneath the surface. Enough space for his needs. No excess.
"Fourty stones," the clerk said, then paused. "Thirty, for you."
Kaelric looked up. The man's expression did not change.
"Accepted," Kaelric said, and counted the stones out neatly.
As he left, the thought lingered "That such generosity would not repeat itself. Tools like this were long-term investments. Once bound, they served quietly until they failed. The profit lay in patience."
That evening, after eating, Kaelric sat cross-legged in his room and began the refinement.
Only two Vitalis stones were required. Their energy flowed smoothly as he guided the engraving, the symbol forming at the base of his neck with a warmth that was steady rather than sharp. The Fat Toad dissolved into light as it settled, leaving behind no physical trace.
Not pain. Just focus.
When it was done, the space it offered felt present but restrained, a container that would not forgive abuse. Overfill it, stress it too often, and it would collapse. A limit he could work with.
People feared permanent relics more. Single-use ones were treated like tools you burned and forgot, that was why they slipped past caution so easily.
A knock came at the door.
Kaelric rose and opened it to find Thalen standing there, leaning lightly on his staff, eyes calm and observant.
"Which Relic did you buy today?" Thalen asked.
"A storage Relic," Kaelric replied, inclining his head. "For hunting efficiency."
Thalen nodded once, gaze flicking briefly to the base of Kaelric's neck, then away. "Good."
He turned and left without another word.
Kaelric closed the door and returned to his seat. The faint warmth of the relic lingered against his skin. Outside, the Heartspire settled into its night rhythms, servants moving softly, guards pacing familiar routes.
Thalen's footsteps faded down the corridor.
Kaelric understood why the answer had sufficed.
Edran had taken him hunting before. Safe routes. Controlled zones. A habit that looked ordinary from the outside.
A storage Relic fit that pattern neatly. He didn't need to hunt for stones the way others did, but no one questioned a boy who still did.
He had noticed the stares earlier. Too long. Too careful.
The question wasn't whether the clan was watching, it was who had spoken first.
He placed a handful of Vitalis stones into the new space. Forty in total. Not enough. But enough to matter.
The pressure beneath his ribs remained.
Soon, it would be time to stop turning back.