The cold in Stormvale had nuances. Outside, in the streets of the upper city, it was the clean cold of the sea, salty and honest. Here, in this fortress that didn't appear on the official maps of House Drayvar, the cold was different. It was damp, ancient, the breath of stones that had kept secrets for decades. Kael felt it, not as an annoyance, but as a warning.
He had been walking these corridors for seven days.
Seven days of listening.
The fortress was not a hiding place, not really. It was half a league from the main port, visible from certain angles if you knew where to look. But no one looked. The walls were gray, common, the type of structure the noble eye learns to ignore: a warehouse, a barn, nothing important. The perfection of camouflage was not to become invisible, but to become irrelevant.
Kael appreciated that.
His steps echoed softly on the stone slabs. He wasn't wearing his noble boots, the ones with hard soles that announced every movement, but waxed canvas ones, stolen or borrowed he wasn't sure anymore. Silence was the only thing that still served as his armor.
'Five steps to the corner. Right turn. The antechamber where Xiete smokes those herbs that smell burnt.'
The mental map was forming little by little. It wasn't complete. The missing parts were not forgetfulness; they were dangerous territory, zones he couldn't yet traverse without permission or without taking an unnecessary risk. Kael thought in those terms: risk, benefit, time. At twelve years old, or was it thirteen already? The months in Arven had jumbled his idea of the calendar. He had learned that patience was not a virtue; it was survival.
The antechamber appeared to his right. Empty. The smell of herbs still clung to the stones, as if they, too, inhaled and exhaled secrets.
Kael did not stop.
'I am not invisible. Worse. They see me... and they don't care.'
That was the difference. In Drayvar Manor, among Elyn's silk dresses and Rylan's noisy training, Kael had been transparent. Glass. Glances passed through him without registering, like looking through a window and only seeing the landscape behind. Here, in this fortress of Gareth's associates, the dynamic was different. They saw him. They measured him. And they found... insufficient.
A child.
The Grand Duke's son, yes, but the son not mentioned at banquets. The one who killed his mother at birth, according to the servants' whispers. The one who preferred books while his brothers raised swords.
He barely smiled. It never reached his eyes when he was alone. It was a mechanical gesture, useful for keeping his face flexible. Nothing more.
Turn left. Stairs down. The basement.
His heart gave a stronger beat. It wasn't fear. It was that tension before the leap, the same sensation he had felt before facing Daemon Kladis in Arven, before convincing Lord Torren that war was inevitable. The moment before jumping, when you could still back out, but you already know you won't.
The stairs were of carved stone, worn by decades of use. They were not secret. That was important. In this place, what seemed hidden was often visible, and what was visible often concealed something worse.
Twenty-three steps to the first door. Eight more to the second. He counted without meaning to.
The first door was open. It was always open. an invitation that was a warning: You may enter, but don't forget that we know you entered.
The second was bolted. From within.
He knocked three times, with the irregular rhythm he had agreed upon with Delfino after the madman ignored normal knocking for six hours.
He waited.
The bolt slid back with a metallic screech. The door swung open on its own, pushed by the weight of its own swollen wood.
The smell came first. Not chemical, not entirely. It was something organic that no longer entirely belonged to the living or the dead. Mixed with a sweet, almost floral aroma that confused the instinct: repulsion or curiosity?
Kael entered.
Delfino's laboratory had no official name. Gareth's associates called it the basement, the madman's place, or simply downstairs. Kael, in his head, called it the Aquarium. He liked that one.
Thick tubes, more resistant than common glass, lined the walls. Inside, suspended in a liquid that seemed to emit its own light, bodies floated. Mostly human. Some animals. A northern bear. A couple of wolves. Something that might have been a dolphin from the Nareth coasts, deformed beyond recognition.
The bodies were not dead. That was the worst part.
Sometimes they moved. An eyelid trembling. Fingers curling. Mouths opening without sound. Frozen in that thing Delfino called "ethereal suspension" and which Kael saw as simply waiting. Ingredients stored until their turn.
'I don't think about them. It serves no purpose.'
The rule was born on the third day, when he recognized one of the bodies: a red-haired sailor he had seen laughing at the Stormvale port months ago. Now he floated with open eyes, staring nowhere.
Thinking about him didn't help understand the laboratory. It didn't help control Delfino. It didn't help anything.
Kael walked among the tubes. The liquid in some was bluish. In others, reddish. One, the most recent—Kael knew this by the freshness of the smell—was a sickly yellow that made the skin of the body inside look like melted wax.
At the back, the workbench.
Delfino was facing away. His body moved with a broken precision, like a malfunctioning clock. Too fast in some gestures, too rigid in others. His shoulders rose and fell without matching his breathing. His arms, long and disproportionate, manipulated instruments Kael couldn't identify.
"It really works."
He said it softly, almost to himself. He didn't expect an answer.
Delfino continued mixing liquids in a thick container. One dark red, almost black. The other transparent and viscous.
Kael approached, letting his steps be heard. There was no need for stealth down there.
"What are you missing?"
The question came out drier than intended. Not curious. Not kind. Direct.
Delfino stopped abruptly. First his head turned too far, straining his neck. Then his torso, with an awkward delay.
His eyes.
Kael had seen many things in his thirteen years. Davos' death at the Rusted Anchor, Lord Torren's face when he believed war was inevitable, Elara Voss's eyes when she accepted that her only salvation was a boy who didn't understand half of what he was doing. But Delfino's eyes were different.
They weren't crazy. That would have been simpler. They were... transformed. As if he had seen something that reordered reality and was now trying to drag others into that new order.
"Missing..." His voice rasped.
"Missing the convergence. The synthesis. The..."
He stopped. His long hands—with fingers that seemed to have an extra joint—flailed over the table, searching for something. He raised a tube with green liquid, full of layers that wouldn't quite mix.
"Do you see how they separate?"
Kael looked. The green liquid had stratifications, layers of different density that didn't blend but also didn't fully separate.
"They won't mix," Kael observed.
"Exactly!" Delfino let out a laugh that sounded like a cough.
"They won't mix. But they should. The carrier's blood, the refined Aether, the transfer catalyst... all the elements are there. But they won't fuse."
He slammed the tube against the table. Kael held his breath.
"I need more bodies. More tests. The problem is not the quantity of Aether, it's the receptor structure. The human body is designed to reject the intensity. I need to find a way for the resonance structure to accept the charge without collapsing. For the primary node to expand without fracturing the secondary ones. For the ethereal density to exceed the cellular stability threshold without denaturing the organic matrix."
Kael processed. He didn't understand the terms primary node, cellular stability threshold, organic matrix but he understood the pattern. Delfino sought to transform normal humans into more powerful Aether carriers. Not through training, as martial masters did. Through... rewriting. Forced modification.
"If it works... what does the carrier gain? More Aether?"
"More." Delfino stepped closer, too close. His breath smelled of sweet chemicals.
"Not just quantity. Structural quality. A Master's Aether can destroy a wall. an Archon's Aether can destroy a house. But an Eternal's Aether..."
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
Kael thought of Titus Draconis, his three centuries of reign, the Zorath Sword that cut "everything." That was what Delfino was pursuing. Not improvement. Skipping steps. Creating Eternals in a lab.
"I need more bodies," Delfino repeated, his back already turned. The conversation was over for him.
"Live ones. The dead are useless. Suspension preserves, but it doesn't respond. I need to see how the body responds, Kael. I need..."
His voice trailed off. Kael remained still for another moment, watching the hunched back, the shoulders rising and falling in that rhythm.
'Live ones.'
The word resonated. Not out of horror—Kael had stopped feeling horror somewhere between Arven and here—but out of opportunity. Delfino needed something Kael could provide, or at least promise. That was power. That was leverage.
He turned to leave.
He left. He went up the stairs, counting again. Numbers were stable. People were not.
The main level door opened before he reached it.
Xos.
The man was short, shorter than Kael even though the latter had not finished his growth spurt. But Xos occupied space as if he were a giant. Perhaps it was the posture, perfectly straight. Perhaps it was the hair, cut close to the skull. And that gaze that made you want to confess things you hadn't done.
"The tool."
It was not a question. Kael felt his stomach contract, a physical reaction he controlled by forcing his abdominal muscles to relax. Don't show weakness. Don't show... what? Confusion?
"I don't have it."
It wasn't a question either. Kael had learned that asserting uncertainty was worse than asserting wrong certainty. If you doubted, you were prey. If you were certain, even of your own ignorance, you were... what? A competitor? Not yet. But not prey.
Xos tilted his head. The gesture was almost bird-like.
"Impossible." Xos's voice was flat. "I gave it to you personally. Early. You said you needed it for the project downstairs."
Kael felt something shift in his mind. A slippage, like when you try to recall a dream and the images fade more the harder you struggle. Early? Had he seen Xos that morning? The fortress's schedule was irregular, dictated by the port tides and Delfino's sleep cycles more than by the sun.
"I remember requesting it," Kael said, testing the words. "I don't recall receiving it."
"Impossible," Xos repeated. The word sounded different this time. Not like a denial, but like... an accusation. "I don't forget. I don't... confuse."
The silence stretched. Kael used it to observe: Xos's jaw muscles, tense. His hands, opening and closing once, very quickly. The man was angry, but more than that: he was insecure. And that, in someone like Xos, was more dangerous than any rage.
"I'll look for it," Kael finally said.
"It must be in the laboratory. Or in my room. Or..."
"Or you used it for something I shouldn't know about." Xos completed the sentence in a tone that allowed no reply.
"Look for it. Find it. And if it doesn't turn up, we'll assume it wasn't an oversight."
He stepped away from the door, leaving the hallway clear. But his gray eyes, without any warm color, followed Kael as he passed.
"You are young," Xos said at his back.
"Too young to be here... and even younger to think you can play in this league. Gareth keeps you on your feet. Do you know why? You should think about that for a second. And while you're at it, ask yourself something else: how long do you think that protection will last when it becomes clear this mission is too big for you?"
Kael didn't answer. He kept walking, counting the steps to the next corner.
'Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen...'
But in his mind, the word resonated.
'Impossible.'
Why that word? Xos had said "impossible" twice. Not "you're lying," not "you're mistaken." Impossible. As if the fact that Kael didn't remember receiving the tool was a violation of natural laws, not just a memory error.
'What if it's not a memory error?'
The question appeared out of nowhere. Kael dismissed it. It wasn't useful. Not yet. First, the meeting. Then, the analysis. Always in that order.
The meeting room was circular, designed so no one had a dominant position. An elegant lie. Xiete the seven always sat with his back to the single window, leaving the light in others' eyes.
That night there was only darkness, postponed for reasons no one explained.
Kael arrived last, as usual. It wasn't strategy or anything calculated; he simply lost time looking for the tool Xos claimed. He didn't find it.
And that, more than an oversight, was information. Uncomfortable information.
The "numbers" were sitting in their usual positions. Xiete, the seven, in his place of light. Xuatro and Xinco, twins or just very similar, facing each other in disturbing symmetry. Ocxo, the eight, the youngest of the adults, with hands that never stopped moving on the table as if playing invisible instruments.
And Gareth.
The mercenary was standing, leaning against the wall where the shadows were densest. He didn't usually participate in discussions. He only observed. But his eyes, always on Kael when he entered, were a constant reminder that protection had a price.
"The kingdom of Oakhaven," Xiete began, without beating around the bush.
"They have adopted an unusual tactic. They are delaying the main clash and reinforcing their positions."
"It's a smart choice... for someone who can't win."
"That will force Thailon to take the kingdom piece by piece, instead of getting a quick, decisive victory."
"Time?" Xuatro's voice was rough, like rubbing stones.
"One or two years, if they maintain discipline," Xiete replied calmly.
"The vessels on the coast won't be available all the time."
Xiete looked at Ocxo. He nodded without stopping the movement of his fingers, focused.
"Ocxo is handling that logistics."
Kael listened, but his mind was divided. One part processed the information: Thailon, his father's enemy, the one who had humiliated Varen at the Assembly. Delays in the conquest of Oakhaven meant Thailon would not consolidate power quickly. That was... good? It depended on what this organization was after. The other part of his mind repeated: Impossible. Impossible. Impossible.
"Kael."
When Xiete pronounced his name, all eyes fell on him.
"Do you have anything to contribute? Perhaps about the preparations downstairs. You've spent quite a bit of time with Delfino, haven't you? Enlighten us."
All eyes were fixed on him. Kael felt the weight of the attention... but also the opportunity. They were always testing him. Always.
"Downstairs, there is no progress without living matter. We can continue to pretend we are investigating... or accept the cost and move forward."
Xinco laughed, brief, mocking.
"You can always offer your own neck, boy. Delfino would appreciate the courtesy."
"Because I want him to advance," Kael replied, not looking at the speaker. Keeping his eyes on Xiete, the only one who mattered.
"He has gone decades without significant results. If the price is bodies, I am not useful. I am useful as a... supplier."
The word came out and he knew it was the right one. Not an ally. Not a partner. A supplier. Someone who delivers value without claiming equality. Xiete assessed him in silence. The brazier cracked, consuming a resin that filled the air with the smell of cheap incense.
"Correct," he finally said.
"Stasis is a luxury we cannot afford. Continue."
The meeting ran its course. Kael let it flow over him, registering without intervening. Xuatro and Xinco discussed funds. Xiete mentioned something about the port network. Ocxo promised delivery dates that sounded impossible.
But in his mind, only one thing:
Impossible.
Xos said he had given him the tool. Kael didn't remember receiving it. One of two things: either Xos was lying, or Kael had forgotten.
Both options seemed... impossible. No, impossible was not the right word. Xos didn't lie about things that could be verified; Kael had observed that. And Kael didn't forget. Not the important details. Not when he was in survival mode, which was almost always the case in this place.
Then...
Then there is a third option.
The revelation came just as Xiete declared the meeting over. Kael remained seated, processing, while the others got up.
Near the end, he heard Xinco murmur something about "eliminating him" and "taking his head to Varen." It wasn't directed at him, and perhaps they didn't even mean it seriously, but the words hung in the air. Kael registered them. It wasn't a concrete threat, but it was a sign: there were dynamics he needed to understand. Risk patterns.
Gareth approached as they were leaving, his shadow falling over Kael before he could react.
"They're measuring you," Gareth said quietly, only for Kael.
"It's not personal, they just... don't like to wait. Without me, you wouldn't have survived the Torrens, or made it here. Everything you've done so far, somehow, depended on me being there. That's all."
Kael didn't reply. He observed, calculated, measuring the intensity of the message, even if it was more of a reminder than a direct warning. In this place, every gesture, every word, could be key to survival.
"I'm not well," he said. The admission came out before he could filter it. Strange. He usually had better control.
Gareth tilted his head, with an almost genuine interest:
"Did you make a mistake?"
"Too many hours with Delfino, his curiosity is starting to rub off on me, that's all."
"Your curiosity is going to kill you, don't get involved in what you don't fully understand," Gareth said.
"Sleep. We are just starting and believe me, you don't want to face everything without having rested."
Kael nodded and went up the stairs to his room, small, windowless, near the latrines, repeating to himself:
Impossible.
Not as doubt. As a clue.
The night brought no dreams. Kael was awake when the sounds of the fortress changed: the rhythm of the guards, the creaking of the beams against the port wind, Delfino's silence which meant the madman was finally asleep.
Something didn't fit.
Xos said he gave him the tool "early." But Kael remembered that morning. He had eaten only stale bread and rancid cheese for breakfast, then visited Delfino. He hadn't seen Xos. He hadn't received anything.
Impossible.
The word wouldn't leave him. Xos had said it twice. Not you're lying. Not you're mistaken. Impossible. As if Kael's own memory had violated a natural law.
If Xos wasn't lying, and Kael knew he didn't forget, then... what? An alternative reality? No, that was Delfino's madness, so... what?
Unless...
He remained sitting on the bed even though the meeting was over. The darkness of the windowless room was complete. Better. He saw better with his eyes closed anyway.
They were both right. Xos remembered giving him the tool. Kael remembered not receiving it.
Two truths that could not coexist. And yet they did.
Someone had created a truth where the tool was delivered. And Kael now lived inside the truth where it never arrived.
The understanding fell upon him like ice water from a deep well.
In this fortress, truth was not a fact. It was a negotiation.
And he had been losing without even knowing he was sitting at the table.
Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow he would start creating his own truths.
And in the darkness, for the first time in seven days, he smiled. A genuine smile. With no one to see it. With no use for it. Only because, at last, he had understood the game.