Kael did not answer right away.
The word lingered between them. Problematic. Just placed there and left to sit.
He straightened slightly, as if reminding himself where he was.
"He is my son," he said.
Garron shrugged and his gaze slid away, uninterested.
He leaned back in his chair, shifting slightly. One leg slid forward, the boot settling flat against the floor where the light caught it. Dirt clung to the sole, dried deep into the grooves.
Garron looked down at it.
Then back at Kael.
Kael saw it.
His jaw tightened. His hands clenched once at his sides before he forced them still. For a heartbeat, he didn't move.
From above, the pressure behind Ivor's eyes began to rise.
Kael stepped forward.
He lowered himself to one knee and wiped the dirt from the boot with his sleeve, careful and methodical, as if the precision mattered. The fabric darkened as it passed over the leather.
Garron's hand rose to his face, fingers tracing the pale scar along his cheek, slow and absent as he watched Kael clean his shoes.
When Kael finished, he remained there a moment longer than necessary.
Then he stood.
Garron smiled faintly.
"If the boy awakens," he said, "half your wages come to me."
Kael didn't answer.
Garron leaned forward just slightly.
"And if you decide otherwise," he added, voice unchanged, "the wrong people will learn that your child has awakened before he even gets registered."
Kael met his gaze. One beat. Then another.
"I understand," he said.
Garron reached into his coat and produced a small crystal. Its surface was cloudy and uneven, threaded with fine cracks. The light inside it flickered, brightening and dimming without rhythm.
He tossed it.
Kael caught it against his chest. The crystal was warm in his hand.
"A refined impure mana crystal," Garron said. "It should be enough."
"Thank you," Kael replied, and turned away without another word.
Above them, standing silently on Grunty's back, Ivor felt the pressure behind his eyes surge hard enough to blur the edges of the room. His vision sharpened instead of scattering, narrowing until Garron's form felt unnaturally clear.
In the low light of the pen, something pale like a crescent appeared briefly along the outer rim of his iris, no more than a thin crescent before it slipped away again. He stayed where he was for a moment, standing on Grunty's back.
Then slid down from her shoulder and landed lightly on the floor. For a breath, he didn't move. Then he turned toward the opening of the section, already set on leaving.
Grunty let out a small huff.
It was low. But enough to stop him.
She moved then, coming forward until her bulk filled the space behind him. Her nose pressed against his shoulder.
Ivor turned.
Grunty lowered her head and shifted to the side. Her gaze lingered on him for a second longer, then she pointed her head toward the far corner of her section.
There, chained low against the wall, hung a smaller collar.
Two smaller cuffs rested beneath it, their inner edges darkened. The crimson stains on the concrete had dried long ago, ground into the surface where they hadn't been fully cleaned.
Grunty looked back at him and held his gaze.
Ivor drew in a slow breath, trying to steady himself. The pressure behind his eyes tightened instead, sharp and unyielding.
He let the breath out, turned away, and walked out of the section without looking back.
Ivor slipped out of the pen the way he had come in.
The Shrouded district had settled into its night rhythm. Lamps burned weak and far apart. Water trickled through shallow channels along the edges of the road, carrying waste and the smell of rot where the ground dipped.
He moved barefoot through the roofs, feeling the cold through the thin skin of his soles. The wooden boards were familiar. He knew which would creak and which would hold. He crossed without sound.
Voices leaked through roofs as he passed.
"…should've taken the Scar contract."
"…said it was worth the risk."
"…better Shrouded than gone."
He didn't slow. He didn't look toward the houses. These were the nightly sounds of blame and regret, nothing new.
The pressure behind his eyes hadn't eased since the pen.
If anything, it felt sharper now.
As he moved deeper into the district, his path bent without conscious thought, guiding him along routes he already knew. Routes that avoided light. Routes that kept distance.
Soon, he reached his roof and slipped back inside through the opening he had made.
Then he settled back into the attic and waited.
Below him, the house was not asleep. The soft scrape of metal carried up through the floorboards. His mother, Rhea, was still in the kitchen.
Rhea's work never stopped cleanly. Not anymore.
He listened to the rhythm. Steel against stone. Pause. Turn. Again. The sound was careful, practiced. She forged simple things now. Knives that dulled quickly. Tools that bent under strain. What she could make without awakening.
Ivor reached up and loosened the tie at the back of his head. Dark hair slipped free and fell forward, covering his eyes. He didn't brush it away.
He sat cross-legged on the thin mattress and closed his eyes.
The attic felt empty. Thin. Mana here was faint, stretched thin across the district, but it was there. He reached for it without thinking, drawing it in slowly, the way he always had. His breathing settled. His shoulders lowered and he focused, even as the pressure refused to leave.
Below, the sound of sharpening slowed. Then stopped. A chair shifted. Quiet breathing replaced the scrape of stone.
Ivor remained where he was.
Hours passed.
Finally, footsteps reached the door.
He opened his eyes. His father was home.
The ladder creaked again.
Kael climbed into the attic and sat beside him without a word. The space felt smaller with him there. He reached into his coat and unwrapped the cloth in his hand.
The crystal rested in his palm.
"A refined impure mana crystal," Kael said quietly.
He placed it in Ivor's hand and closed his fingers around it.
"You've been diligent," he went on. "For three years you have practiced. Longer than most." His voice softened. "You don't need much more. Just a push."
Ivor's grip tightened.
Kael hesitated, then added, "If you awaken… at least you won't be trapped here for the rest of your life. There are places beyond Shrouded. Domains. Scars. Paths that don't end where this one did. There is danger but hope as well."
He reached out and ruffled Ivor's hair once, then stood. The ladder creaked as he went down.
Ivor didn't move.
The image of Garron's boot scraped across his thoughts. His father kneeling. The silence that followed. He pushed it down and climbed back onto the roof.
He sat cross-legged and pressed the crystal into his palm.
Mana answered immediately.
It flowed out in a thin, steady stream, warm against his skin as he guided it inward, toward the space where a core was supposed to form. He kept his breathing slow, shoulders loose, doing everything exactly as he had been taught.
Time passed.
The district below fell quiet. Lamps dimmed one by one. The air cooled as night deepened, and still the mana continued to drain, steady and unbroken. His hand ached from holding the crystal in place. His back stiffened. He adjusted and continued.
Hours slipped by.
The crystal's light weakened gradually, flickering as the last of its contents bled away. When it finally dulled completely, Ivor was still sitting there, eyes closed, breathing measured, waiting.
He waited longer.
Nothing changed. His core did not stir. No response came back to meet the mana he had fed into it.
He opened his eyes and looked down.
The crystal lay inert in his palm, nothing more than a cloudy shard.
This was what his father had paid for.
The image returned uninvited. Kael lowering himself. Dirt ground into fabric. Garron watching without interest.
Ivor's fingers closed around the spent crystal until the edges pressed hard into his skin.
It wasn't enough. He did not awaken. He understood he needed more crystal.
The pressure behind his eyes did not rise or fade.
Finally, it fixed.