The sun rested high in the sky, draping Farkath in a golden blanket. With mating season underway, beautifully colored birds danced through the air in elegant displays.
Kael climbed a stone staircase, his cane tapping with each step. Ahead, two towering doors came into view, each twice his height, forged from black iron and engraved with beautiful art. They stood open, held in place by old wooden wedges.
Kael paused for a moment, taking in the scenery before he stepped inside.
Upon entering Kael was met with a lively atmosphere. The vast open space stretched upwards, its ceiling towering tens of meters above, Rovs of market stalls lined the hall, each overflowed with goods as merchants called out to passersby. The air was filled with voices, some engaged in casual conversation, others locked in heated bargaining. Children darted through the crowd without a care, forcing bystanders to step aside as they rushed past.
Kael's gaze drifted through the repurposed church to the towering stained windows lining its walls, their glass dulled but still heavy with meaning. Each one told a piece of a story.
One thing each window shared was the man, and his tears. He wept in every scene, his tears black as the abyss, spilling endlessly down his face like oil sliding over stone. Above him hovered a dark halo filled with thorns, fractured and fragile, its surface constantly splitting with quiet violence. Shards broke away in slow, inevitable descents, and from the cracks flowed a steady fall of black dust, like a silent stream unraveling into the air. Yet despite its breaking, the halo never lost its shape. It held, impossibly whole, as if the fragments it shed did not truly belong to it, as though what broke away had never been part of it to begin with.
'From worship to commerce. Fitting end for a forgotten god.'
Kael threw one last glance towards the windows before pushing through the crowded space, weaving past noise and bodies, until he reached a small stall tucked at the far end of the church. It displayed handcrafted jewelry made from a variety of materials. The vendor, an old man with deep wrinkles carved around his eyes, was carefully shaping a ring from a piece of bone. He noticed Kael's approach and offered a warm smile and a polite nod.
Kael returned the gesture with a nod of his own, then reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, extending it toward the old man. The vendor gave it a brief glance before slipping it into the breast pocket of his shirt. Without a word, he retrieved a small cloth bag and handed it to Kael.
Kael retrieved the bag and weighed it loosely in his hand before turning away and leaving.
—
Tossing the cloth bag onto the table, a few gold coins spilled out, rolling across the surface. Kael made his way to the bathroom, turning on the tap for the bathtub. He sat on the edge, absentmindedly holding his finger under the stream, waiting for the water to reach the right temperature.
As he waited, he let his mind drift, his thoughts wandering to meaningless places, slipping between fragments of memory and idle speculation. The steady sound of flowing water filled the quiet space.
Once the temperature was just right, he let the tub continue to fill before leaving the bathroom and heading toward the kitchen.
Reaching the kitchen, he grabbed a few simple ingredients, intending to throw together a quick meal to satisfy his hunger. As they hit the hot oil in the pan, a rich aroma filled the air, spreading through the kitchen.
As the meal sizzled and cooked, the warmth of the kitchen made the space feel momentarily comforting. He plated the food without much thought, eating in solitude, letting the simple flavors ground him in the present. The clinking of his utensils against the plate was the only sound accompanying him.
Once finished, he set the dish aside, rinsing it briefly before stepping away. The distant sound of running water reminded him of the bath still filling.
'The barista was barely worth it'
Kael sighed and placed his hand on his shoulder rolling it softly before returning to the bathroom.
He turned off the tap, steam curling into the air wrapping around him like a thin veil. Slowly he removed his clothes and stepped into the tub, the heat sinking into his skin, easing the tension from his muscles. Leaning back he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, letting the warmth envelop him as his mind began to drift once more.
Eventually, as boredom began to creep in, he lifted his hand above the water and summoned one of his motes in its true form. At his silent command, a faint, shimmering sensation stirred within him, deep, deeper than his abdomen, as if it resonated from the very core of his soul. The warmth unfurled, spreading from within, trailing up his spine, through his shoulders, and down his arm before finally pooling in his palm.
Within his palm, golden sparks flickered into existence, swirling around an unseen center as if drawn by an invisible force. They spiraled inward, guided by a pull beyond understanding, converging into a single form. The sparks wove together, coalescing into a small sphere no larger than a pea.
'The golden rod's true form.'
Kael tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady on the mote.
This was one of Kael's soulbound motes, a mote that was formed within his soul the moment he awakened as a Luminaire. At first glance the mote seemed to be woven together by thin threads, no thicker than a strand of hair, yet upon closer inspection, the true nature of those threads became elusive, a puzzle beyond comprehension.
"The essence of the world..."
Kael murmured under his breath.
It was how most described motes. Fragments of reality itself, woven from the countless laws that governed the world. Mystical, elusive, powerful. And yet, among all living beings, only humans could wield them.
Unlike beasts, who acted on instinct alone, humans possessed something more. Consciousness, reason and the ability to act on their will. They could reflect, dream, and impose their desires upon the world. It was this very spark of awareness, this defiance against the natural order, that allowed them to grasp the motes and shape their power. Beasts could bear strength, speed, and ferocity, but they could never command the laws themselves. That privilege belonged to humanity alone.
If Kael were to summon the mote beyond its true form, it would take the shape of a golden rod, reaching two arm's lengths in perfect balance. Its surface held a dull glow, not from reflected light, but from something within, a quiet radiance that never flickered. Both ends were flat and smooth as if cut by an impossibly sharp edge.
Faint patterns traced along its length, shifting subtly like whispers caught in metal, their meanings just out of reach. Though it felt weightless in his grip, there was a sense of density to it, as if it carried more than just its physical form. Not quite a weapon, nor just an ornament, but something in between, an object shaped by the unseen forces that governed the world.
Throwing it one last glance, Kael dismissed the golden rod, already willing his second and final mote into its true form. At his silent command, the familiar warmth flared to life, flowing through him like a slow-burning ember before pooling in his palm. Sparks flickered into existence, delicate and erratic, dancing in the air as they obeyed his will, weaving together as the mote slowly began to take shape.
In his hand, a fractured obsidian shard took shape, a jagged sliver no larger than a fingernail, yet impossibly sharp. Its surface was riddled with fine cracks, shifting ever so subtly, as if it existed in multiple places at once, slipping between reality's seams.
'My second soulbound mote…'
Kael didn't dare touch it directly. Instead, he dismissed its true form and summoned it in its bound state.
No physical object appeared in his hand, yet he felt its presence at his fingertips, an awareness that extended beyond mere touch. Every sensation sharpened, heightened, refined to near perfection.
If his fingers brushed against his clothes, he could perceive each individual thread, how they intertwined, how they shifted with the slightest movement. If he rested his palm against the bathtub, he didn't just feel its smooth surface, he understood its density, the resistance it offered, the precise amount of pressure needed to crack it. Had he placed his hand upon his own chest, he would have known the rhythm of his heartbeat, the flow of his blood, the expansion of his lungs with each breath.
After dismissing his second mote, Kael sank into deep thought once again. At a glance, these motes might not have seemed particularly special, but to Kael, they were invaluable. These were the two motes he had received upon awakening, and becoming a Luminaire, his soulbound motes.
Throughout the world, there were countless motes, each carrying unique abilities, each shaping the fate of those who wielded them. But the motes granted at one's awakening were different. They were not chosen, not earned, but bestowed, an intrinsic part of one's being, as if the world itself had whispered its decree into their soul.
These motes were special for one simple reason. While all other motes remained unchanged from the moment they were obtained, these alone had the ability to evolve. As a Luminaire grew stronger, their soulbound motes grew with them, adapting, refining, and deepening in power alongside their wielder. They were more than mere tools, they were a reflection of one's very essence, mirroring their growth, struggles, and victories. Because of this, every Luminaire held their core motes closer than anything else, treasuring them as an irreplaceable part of themselves.
Kael dismissed the mote, lowered his head onto the edge of the bathtub, and closed his eyes once more, losing himself in thought once again.