The defiant ember that had ignited in Kael's chest lasted only a moment before the cold, hard reality of his new body snuffed it out.
A sharp, stabbing pain began to pulse behind his eyes, a sensation utterly foreign to Arga's robust constitution. It was not a normal headache, but a deep, resonant thrumming, as if his very skull was vibrating from an internal shockwave. The afterimage of the extinguished light-orb swam in his vision, and the opulent room seemed to tilt on its axis.
"Young Master?" Elara's voice, filled with sudden alarm, sounded distant. "Your face… it's as white as parchment."
He tried to form a word, to reassure her, but his tongue felt heavy and useless. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and a violent, uncontrollable tremor seized his hands, making them rattle against the silk sheets. The last thing he saw was the profound worry etched on Elara's face as she rushed toward him, her hands outstretched. Then, the world dissolved into silent, welcoming darkness.
———
He returned to consciousness to the sound of scorn.
"...looks even more pathetic than usual, doesn't he, Lysander?"
The voice was languid, dripping with a casual cruelty that was worse than any shouted insult. Kael's eyelids fluttered open. The headache had receded to a dull ache, but the profound weakness remained, pinning him to the bed.
Leaning against the doorframe was his older brother, Cassius. He was everything Kael was not: broad-shouldered, radiating a healthy vigor, his fine clothes tailored to accentuate a body accustomed to wielding power, both physical and magical. A smirk played on his lips as he surveyed the scene.
Beside him, his attendant, Lysander, stood with his arms crossed. A young man with sharp, ambitious features, his eyes held none of the noble detachment of his master; they were pure, active malice. It was Lysander who held the dead light-orb, tossing it idly in the air and catching it.
"It would seem so, my lord," Lysander sneered, his gaze flicking from the orb to Kael's prone form. "Perhaps the strain of simply existing proved too much. What do you suppose he did to this? Tried to taste it?"
Elara was on her feet, positioned protectively between the visitors and the bed. Her posture was rigid, a clear, silent defiance. "Young Master Cassius," she said, her voice strained but respectful. "The physician was most insistent. He requires absolute rest."
Cassius's smirk didn't falter. He pushed off the doorframe and took a single, deliberate step into the room, his eyes never leaving Kael. "The physician serves this House, woman. And this… thing… is a drain on its resources. A Valerius who can't channel mana is less than a common soldier. He's a flaw in our bloodline." He let the words hang in the air, cold and absolute.
Lysander chuckled, setting the dead orb back on the table with a definitive thud. "A fitting end for it, then. To be killed by the family defect."
The humiliation was a hot coal in Kael's gut, but Arga's mind, the engineer who had faced the condescension of lesser men, was cutting through the fog of weakness. He observed them dispassionately: Cassius, the spoiled heir; Lysander, the vicious attack dog. They were variables in a new, hostile equation.
Cassius's gaze swept over Kael one last time, a look of pure dismissal. "Stay in your room, little brother. The halls are lined with enchantments. It would be a genuine tragedy if you had another… episode and didn't wake up." The threat was delivered with a brotherly smile, making it all the more chilling. With a final, lazy wave, he turned and left, Lysander following in his wake like a shadow, his mocking laughter echoing in the corridor.
The room was plunged into a heavy silence. Elara's shoulders slumped, the tension draining from her. She moved to the bedside, her expression a mix of anger and sorrow. She didn't speak, simply pouring a cup of water and helping him drink.
The cool liquid was a balm. As his senses fully returned, the memory of the orb's failure crystallized in his mind. The intricate, flawed structure. The single point of pressure.
"He was wrong, you know," Elara said softly, following his gaze to the inert orb on the table. "You did do something to it. When you touched it… it didn't just break. It died. I have never seen magic simply… cease like that."
Kael looked at his own trembling hands, then back at the orb. The taunts of his brother faded into background noise, replaced by the sharp, analytical voice of Arga.
This is not a power. It is a failure of methodology.
The realization was as humbling as it was illuminating. He had been like a caveman seeing a computer for the first time and smashing it with a rock to see what was inside. He had identified a critical flaw, yes, but he had applied force without any understanding of the system's underlying principles, its material tolerances, or the laws of energy conservation in this world. He had caused a catastrophic, uncontrolled system failure. The backlash had nearly broken the system—and in this case, the system was his own body.
He had been thinking like a vandal, not an architect.
He needed the blueprints.
He looked up at Elara, his grey eyes now clear and sharp, devoid of their usual haze of sickness and confusion. There was a new intensity in them, a focused will that made her blink in surprise.
"They think I'm ignorant," Kael said, his voice low but steady. "And they are right. But not about what I am. They are ignorant of what I can become." He pushed himself up, ignoring the protest of his muscles. "Elara, I don't understand the physics of this world. I acted blindly, and it almost killed me. I cannot be blind again."
He met her gaze, his decision solidifying into unshakable resolve.
"Take me to the library," he commanded, the order firm yet laced with a plea. "I need to see the foundation. I need to learn the language of this world, so I can learn to rewrite it."