Kaelen walked through the iron gates of Aethelgard just as the final sliver of the sun vanished. He had dirtied his tunic, smeared gravel dust into his hair, and walked with a pronounced, painful limp. To the guards at the gate, he looked exactly like a "Dull Root" who had narrowly escaped a bandit raid. He delivered his breathless, stuttering report: Bandits on the Low Path... Master Grok told me to run... I didn't look back.
The guards had laughed, mocking his cowardice, and waved him through. They didn't notice that beneath the grime, Kaelen's skin didn't have a single scratch.
Once the bolt of his cell clicked shut, the mask of the victim fell away. Kaelen's breath was hot, his Spirit Sea churning with the volatile energy he had siphoned from Grok. He didn't wait. He pulled the third and final Meredian Opening Pill from the box.
He swallowed it.
The reaction was instantaneous. The pill acted like a catalyst for the stolen essence, fusing the raw power of Grok's 3rd-stage remnants with Kaelen's own silver energy. The Primordial Eclipse technique went into overdrive, spinning the mixture into a dense, polished core.
A muffled thud resonated within his chest. The second great seal on his central meridian didn't just crack—it vanished.
Skin Tempering, 2nd Stage.
His muscles felt like tempered cables, and his skin possessed a hidden, metallic density that made the straw of his mattress feel like soft silk. He spent the rest of the night stabilizing the breakthrough, pulling the silver light deep into his bones until his aura was once again a silent, invisible void.
The next morning, the canteen was hushed.
The absence of Grok's heavy footsteps had already begun to set the rumor mill turning.
Kaelen walked into the line, his head no longer bowed. When he reached the front, Hobb the cook didn't even look up, his hand automatically reaching for a piece of stale bread to toss into the bin.
"I told you yesterday, rat," Hobb grunted, his voice habitual. "Extended fast. No—"
Before Hobb could finish, Kaelen's hand snapped out. It was a motion so fast it was nearly invisible. He didn't grab the stale bread; he gripped Hobb's wrist.
The cook let out a yelp of surprise, his eyes bulging as he felt the crushing strength in Kaelen's fingers. It felt like being caught in a vice of cold iron.
"I'm done fasting, Hobb," Kaelen said, his voice a low, dangerous hum.
With his other hand, Kaelen reached over the counter and snatched a bowl of thick, meat-laden stew—Hobb's personal breakfast. He didn't stop there. He reached into Hobb's hidden stash beneath the counter and pulled out two thick slabs of salted pork and a fresh white roll.
"You... you can't!" Hobb stammered, his face turning a ghostly white as he tried to pull his arm back. He realized, with a jolt of terror, that he couldn't move an inch. "Grok will—"
"Grok isn't here," Kaelen interrupted, leaning in close, his silver-flecked eyes boring into the cook's. "And if you ever withhold my food again, I'll find out if your neck is as soft as your dough."
Kaelen released him, and Hobb collapsed against the soot-covered wall, trembling.
The rest of the servants watched in stunned silence as Kaelen walked to a central table and began to eat with the calm grace of a lord.
By noon, the silence of the palace was shattered.
The disappearance of a Head Overseer was one thing, but Grok was no ordinary servant.
His daughter, Lira, had recently been elevated to a Consort of the Third Prince.
What started as a missing persons report quickly escalated into a Royal Inquiry.
A squad of the Prince's personal guard, led by an investigator in high-collared blue robes, descended upon the servant's wing.
The atmosphere turned frigid. This wasn't a routine check; this was an interrogation.
"Total lockdown!" the lead guard bellowed.
"No one leaves the block until the Overseer is found."
The pressure was too much for the weak-willed. Morg, still clutching his bandaged, broken ribs and terrified that Grok's disappearance meant he no longer had a protector, was the first to break. When the investigator's cold gaze landed on him, Morg's knees hit the floor.
"I... I know where he went!" Morg shrieked, his voice cracking with desperation. "Master Grok... he had a plan! He followed the 'Dull Root' to the Low Path! He said he was going to settle the score once and for all! He wanted what the boy was hiding!"
The investigator's eyes sharpened like flint. He turned his head slowly toward the corner where Kaelen sat, looking as small and unassuming as possible.
"Is that so?" the investigator whispered, a predatory smile touching his lips. "It seems our 'boot-thief' has a very interesting story to tell."
Kaelen sat in the shadows, his hand resting lightly on the iron nail in his belt. The hunt had moved from the cliffs to the heart of the palace.