He did not leave the hall.
When Kaelric turned, he moved toward the inner stair instead, stone steps spiraling upward along the wall, away from the chambers of judgment and into the higher silence of Heartspire. His footsteps were unhurried, each one echoing softly as if the palace itself were listening.
No one stopped him.
The farther he climbed, the quieter it became. The heat of Thalen's anger thinned with every level, replaced by cooler air and the faint mineral scent of old stone. By the time he reached his floor, the world below felt distant, muted, as though sealed behind more than walls.
His door recognized him at once. Stone lines softened, mechanisms shifting with a low murmur, and the barrier slid aside.
Inside, the room was dim and orderly. A single lamp glowed near the desk. The bed was untouched. Nothing had been disturbed.
Kaelric closed the door behind him and sealed it.
Only then did he lean back against the stone, eyes half-lidded, and let the weight of the day settle fully into his bones. His head still throbbed faintly. His muscles ached in that dull, pervasive way that spoke of overdrawn essence rather than injury.
"So. That was done."
Aurella's face surfaced in his thoughts, not in anger, not even disappointment. Just clarity. She had chosen the clan. Chosen caution. Chosen to speak.
He had expected it, on some level.
There would be no revenge. No confrontation. No bitterness to nurture in the dark. He simply adjusted an internal boundary and let it harden.
Do not get close again, do not speak unless required, do not forget.
That was all.
Seryn would know now. Her father certainly would. The Lysmar household, merchants, negotiators, collectors of favors, would not forget the reagents, nor the suggestion he had made so lightly, so falsely.
A mistake.
A careless mistake.
He exhaled slowly, then pushed himself upright.
If the pressure in his aperture worsened, Stoneheart would become temporary.
That possibility no longer bothered him. Clinging would change nothing.
Over the following weeks, Kaelric expended more than fifty stones, most allotted under the assumption he would cultivate aggressively like any high A-grade.
He did not.
The resources were diverted instead into refinement attempts, Relic usage, and controlled expenditure, losses absorbed without complaint. His aperture showed none of the usual strain. Vitalis stones dimmed slower in his hands
The Lysmars were influential, yes.
But still tools, in the end. To Thalen. To the council. To anyone higher still.
Kaelric crossed the room and knelt at the center, brushing his palm across the floor. He reached into his storage Relic and withdrew the materials one by one, laying them out with precise spacing.
"I can hide here," he thought calmly, arranging the last material. "refine it slowly. Properly. No eyes. No interference."
He sat, straight-backed, and drew a steady breath.
Essence flowed.
The first contact was familiar, resistance, then alignment. The materials began to warm beneath his control, reacting not violently, but reluctantly, as if testing his resolve. The second sphere stirred faintly in response, not rejecting the process, but pressing against it, demanding balance.
Kaelric adjusted without expression, slowing the cycle, letting time stretch.
Hours would pass like this.
He did not rush.
The lamp burned steadily. The room filled with quiet purpose. And as the refinement deepened, the world beyond his sealed door faded into irrelevance, held at bay by discipline, patience, and the simple certainty that this, endurance without witness, was where he belonged.
Days passed beneath Heartspire's vaulted spires, days of silence. The noise had quieted, but the weight they left behind had not.
Each dawn, before sunlight fully painted the courtyard in gold, Kaelric trained beneath Elder Orven's supervision.
The Stone Gauntlet, the Stonemason, gleamed faintly in the light, charcoal black, traced with faint sapphire veins that pulsed when he struck. Embedded emerald shards at its knuckles caught the glow like tiny watchful eyes.
When he punched, the sound carried a deep echo, power compressed and unleashed, echoing through the hall.
It wasn't a Stone Path Relic. It channeled Earth Path energy, dense, stubborn, wild. Harder to control, but richer in potential. Orven said it could one day let him mold the ground itself. Kaelric said little. He liked the difficulty; it mirrored himself.
Each strike steadied his mind. Each vibration through his arm drowned out the whispers that still followed him, of stolen reagents, of demonic practice, of a boy too talented to be trusted.
He could feel the elders' eyes on him now: Thalen's scrutiny, Orven's tempered patience, even Averith's distant suspicion. He didn't flinch. He just trained.
Aurella stood across the hall, quiet, her posture rigid with restraint. She obeyed her father's every instruction, yet the silence between her and Kaelric was an open wound. She had done what she thought was right, telling Seryn the truth, telling Thalen before things worsened, but the righteousness of it offered no comfort.
Each morning, when Kaelric walked past her, he didn't look once. No glare. No anger. Just absence, as though she had been erased.
That hurt more than any outburst could have.
Once, when she caught his reflection in the mirrored wall, his gaze met hers by accident. He looked away immediately.
"He's pretending I don't exist," she realized. "And maybe… I deserve that."
Later, during one of Orven's private lessons, as Aurella practiced stance control beside him, Kaelric's mind drifted.
"Revenge solved nothing. The outcome already existed. So I will let it go. Clinging to the past, to pain, that is weakness."
He steadied his breathing. The Stonemason Gauntlet pulsed faintly in answer, as if it too approved of his restraint.