Kaelric detoured through the courtyard to training. Elder Orven was already there, waiting beside the stone pylons, hands folded behind his back.
The session was functional. No commentary beyond corrections to stance and timing.
"Your force is collapsing inward. Earth Path doesn't like being compressed that way." Orven corrected him, sternly.
Kaelric adjusted. The feedback lessened, but not cleanly.
"I can't stack another Earth Path Relic." He thought.
He had been reassigned to the far archway, posture casual, eyes tracking Kaelric's movements with professional disinterest. Another waited near the stairwell.
Supervision had begun.
The corridor outside the upper hall was quiet, lit by tall windows that let in thin bands of afternoon light. His steps slowed as voices reached him through the stone, unmistakably deliberate. Not raised. Not heated.
That alone told him who it was.
He passed the doorway once, unhurried, as if he had not noticed anything at all. A male servant stood nearby, posture straight, hands folded, eyes carefully lowered, waiting. Kaelric stopped beside him.
"Leave," he said.
There was no edge to it. No authority forced into his tone. Just certainty.
The servant did not answer. He bowed quickly and withdrew down the corridor at once, footsteps measured, as if relieved to be dismissed before drawing further notice. The hall emptied. Only then did Kaelric step back, placing a hand lightly against the cool stone wall. He leaned closer, careful, precise, until his ear rested against the surface.
The voices inside were clearer now—still muffled, but enough.
"…Reckless," a calm male voice was saying. Smooth. Controlled. Used to weighing every word before it left his mouth. "Not malicious. But intent does not erase consequence."
Lysmar lord.
Kaelric's expression did not change.
Thalen answered, his voice firm but moderated. "I do not deny the error. I take responsibility for it. The boy acted without foresight, not malice."
A pause.
"And yet," Lysmar said evenly, "my household lost two rare reagents. Tenwood Blossoms. Moonwood Ash. Items not gathered lightly, Elder Thalen. Nor replaced easily."
Kaelric's fingers curled slightly against the stone.
"He implied future ties," Lysmar continued, tone still polite, still composed. "Marriage. Stability. A promise of alignment between our families. I will be clear, I do not believe he intended deception. But intention does not soften impact."
Thalen exhaled slowly. "Seryn was not harmed."
"No," Lysmar agreed. "But she was placed in a position she did not choose. And my family was asked to trust a future that does not exist."
Silence stretched.
Kaelric listened without blinking.
So Seryn knew. And her father knew everything that mattered.
A thought slipped past his detached guardedness, fleeting and unwelcome.
"I shouldn't have hurt such a… gentle soul." Not regret over consequence. Not fear of reprimand. Simply recognition.
Seryn had done nothing to warrant the disruption of her life, and he had placed her there anyway. That fact pressed against him quietly, like a shadow at the edge of perception, reminding him that some things deserved more than efficiency could ever give.
He pushed it aside as quickly as it came.
Compassion was a luxury, rarely useful, almost never safe. But the thought lingered, just long enough to remind him why precision mattered, not just for power, but for the ones who could be destroyed by its carelessness.
"Stoneheart values your house," Thalen said at last. "And I value your restraint. Kaelric will remain under my supervision. His movements are restricted. His access to Relics curtailed."
Another pause.
"That is sufficient," Lysmar replied. "For now. The boy is gifted. Dangerous, if mishandled. I do not wish to see him ruined, but neither will I allow my family to be collateral in his ambitions."
A faint shift of fabric. A chair moving.
"My daughter will not be involved further," Lysmar added. "Whatever attachment she thought she felt will fade. I will see to it."
Kaelric closed his eyes briefly.
That was expected. And correct.
"I will speak plainly," Lysmar said. "If this happens again, if my house is misused, even subtly, I will not come to you privately. I will speak to the council. And others will listen."
Thalen's reply was immediate. "It will not happen again."
The conversation wound down after that, words turning formal, diplomatic, emptied of sharp edges. Kaelric straightened silently, stepping away from the wall. He did not linger. There was nothing left to hear.
He walked on, footsteps soundless against the stone, climbing the spiral stairs toward his quarters.
The room welcomed him with stillness.
Orven would not be able to do this for long. Personal oversight like that cost an elder more than it appeared.
He closed the door behind him, slid the latch into place, and stood there for a moment, letting the silence settle. No accusations here. No scrutiny.
Seryn came in his mind, softer. Gentler. And wounded by a lie that had never needed to be spoken.
He crossed the room and knelt.
The Vitalis Amplifier Relic rested in his hand, inert and plain. Not damaged, unfinished. Its internal channels were open, incomplete, waiting to be filled, as if the Relic itself expected patience rather than force. No resistance. No hostility. Almost welcoming.
That alone made him wary.
Power that resisted forced respect. Power that yielded invited mistakes.
His fingers shifted minutely around the sphere, testing the faint warmth inside its shell.
Threads of essence brushed the internal channels, recoiled, returned again, mapping the pathways like someone walking an unfamiliar room in darkness.
Each adjustment revealed another imperfection in his control. Each correction demanded patience he did not naturally possess.
Refinement was not his strength. He had little attainment in the path, no instinctive insight. Even so, this Relic had been designed to be forgiving.
That did not mean carelessness.
Kaelric sat cross-legged and set the Relic before him, steadying his breath. Essence flowed slowly, deliberately, guided with patience rather than force. He listened to its response, adjusted, withdrew, tried again, careful not to complete what was still forming too quickly.
Hours would pass like this.
No rush. No bravado.
Only quiet persistence, shaping something incomplete into something whole, one cautious thread of control at a time.