The wind on Cygnus X-1 tasted of rust and regret. It was a thin, biting wind that carried the metallic tang of the Aetherium mines and the fine, grey dust that coated everything, including the inside of Kaelen's throat. At sixteen, he was well-acquainted with the taste. It was the flavor of his life.
He stood with his back straight, eyes downcast, a ghost in the bustling courtyard of the Valerius mining outpost. Around him, servants bustled and guards in crimson and black armor—the colors of House Valerius—stood with arrogant stillness. They were wolves, and he was a stray dog permitted to live in the shadow of their den.
"Ashen Son," a voice sneered, dripping with contempt. Kaelen didn't need to look up to know it was Marcus, one of the senior house guards and a man who found particular joy in Kaelen's misery. "Still breathing? A pity. Lord Lucius requires his boots cleaned. See to it. And try not to get any of your filth on them."
Kaelen inclined his head in a shallow, practiced bow. "Yes, Honored Guard."
The words were ash in his mouth. Honored. The irony was a physical weight in his chest. His own house, Voros, had once been honored. Their sigil, the silver hawk against a starfield, had commanded respect across the Orrery of Worlds. They had championed law, duty, and a righteous order that now seemed like a child's fairy tale. Then House Valerius, with their snarling manticore sigil and their philosophy of might, had descended.
He could still see it in his nightmares: the flash of crimson energy arts, the screams of his kin, the smell of burning tapestries depicting Voros heroes. He remembered his mother's face, serene even in her terror, her hand pressing against his chest. A strange, cold energy had flooded him, and then… nothing. He had awakened in a refugee transport, labeled as a nameless corpse, the sole survivor of a Great House, now worth less than the dust on a Valerius boot.
He fetched the cleaning kit, his movements economical and silent. He had learned long ago that to be loud was to be noticed, and to be noticed was to be hurt. As he knelt before the polished obsidian boots of Lucius Valerius, the young master of this desolate rock, the humiliation was a familiar cloak.
Lucius, a youth only a year Kaelen's senior, looked down at him with eyes that held the casual cruelty of a boy pulling the wings off an insect. He was handsome in the sharp, predatory way of the Asura-descended Valerius line, with dark hair and a sneer that seemed permanently etched on his lips.
"Work, you trash," Lucius said, his voice bored. He nudged Kaelen's shoulder with the toe of his other boot. "They say your House Voros prattled on about honor. Look at you now. The last of your line, polishing my boots with your honor. Pathetic."
Kaelen's jaw tightened, but his expression remained a mask of subservience. He focused on the task, his hands moving with meticulous care. Inside, a cold, hard knot of hatred pulsed in time with his heart. It was all he had left. His spiritual meridians, the pathways for Qi, had been shattered since birth. He was cultivation trash, a mortal worm in a universe of aspiring gods. This frailty, this powerlessness, was the cage that kept his hatred from erupting.
He finished one boot and moved to the other. Lucius, growing tired of the silent spectacle, suddenly kicked out. The heavy boot caught Kaelen square in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards into the dust. Pain exploded behind his ribs, sharp and blinding. Laughter, sharp and cruel, echoed from Lucius and his guards.
"Oops," Lucius drawled, feigning surprise. "Slipped. Get up, Ashen Son. I didn't say you were finished."
Kaelen pushed himself up, his body screaming in protest. The taste of blood joined the dust in his mouth. He looked up, just for a second, and his eyes met Lucius's. In that fleeting moment, the mask slipped. The cold, bottomless well of his hatred was visible, a promise of future violence so profound it made Lucius pause.
The young master's sneer faltered, replaced by a flicker of rage. "You dare?" he whispered, his voice dangerously soft. "You dare look at me like that?"
He didn't wait for an answer. The next kick was to Kaelen's head. The world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of pain and flashing lights.