The light of dawn filtered timidly through the curtains of the Voss residence, painting the living room grey where tension had accumulated all night like dust in an abandoned house. The air smelled of cold tea and consumed candle wax.
Kael sat in the single armchair, the best piece of furniture in the room, in a posture that belied his age. His legs were crossed and his hands were clasped in his lap, his grey eyes fixed on the family patriarch. Beside him, standing like a statue of iron and bad temper, Aldric stood guard, his arms crossed and his gaze lost somewhere on the wall.
Across from them, Donal Voss and his wife, Martha, were sitting on the sofa. They looked terrible. The dark circles under Donal's eyes were deep, dark, and his hands kept moving, smoothing imaginary wrinkles on his trousers. Martha held a teacup that had long since stopped steaming, her red, swollen eyes fixed on Kael with a mixture of devout gratitude and absolute terror.
Elara and Nia were not present. Kael had suggested—ordered, actually—that they rest. The girls didn't need to hear the adults' conversation, especially when the conversation was going to revolve around the systematic destruction of their enemies.
Donal cleared his throat. The sound was harsh in the morning silence.
"Young Lord Drayvar," he began, his voice laden with that respectful, cautious tone that merchants used with dangerous nobility.
"My wife and I have been talking for the few hours we could rest. And... well, the conclusion we reached is difficult, but we believe it is the only correct one."
Kael said nothing. He just tilted his head slightly, inviting him to continue.
Donal exchanged a nervous glance with Martha before looking back at the boy.
"We are... overwhelmed by your generosity. What you did on the road, how you saved our daughters from that animal's clutches... it is something we can never repay. We owe you the lives of our family." He paused, searching for the right words, trying not to offend.
"But, young lord, you belong to a Great House. Stormvale City is your home. Arven... Arven is a complicated place right now. Dirty. Dangerous."
"What my husband is trying to say," Martha intervened in a soft, maternal voice, trying to soften the blow,
"is that you are a young noble with a bright future. You shouldn't be here, in the midst of our misfortunes. This is... a conflict of merchants and usurers. Low people. It is no place for the son of a Grand Duke."
Donal nodded fervently.
"Exactly. We don't want your reputation to be stained by associating with a ruined family. Or worse, your safety to be compromised. The Kladis are... dishonorable people. If they knew you were here, they might try something stupid. And we couldn't live with the guilt if something happened to you because of us."
It was a beautiful speech. Rehearsed. The polite, socially acceptable way of saying: 'Please leave before you get us all killed.'
Kael watched them calmly. He understood their fear. It was rational. A noble boy in their house was a beacon that drew attention, and attention was the last thing the Vosses wanted in their situation. They wanted to hide, duck their heads, and survive.
But hiding was no longer an option.
"I understand your concern," Kael finally said. His voice was soft, almost reassuring.
"You are saying it for my sake. That is very thoughtful of you."
Donal let out a premature sigh of relief.
"Then... shall we prepare your carriage for the return? Marcus can take you back to the Stormvale city borders today."
Kael smiled. It was a small smile, showing no teeth.
"No."
The word dropped into the room like a lead coin.
Donal blinked, confused.
"Pardon?"
"I said no. I am not going back to Stormvale. Not yet."
"But, young lord..." Donal leaned forward, desperation filtering into his tone.
"You don't understand. Nikolas Kladis is not just a moneylender. He is a violent man. And Daemon... Daemon is obsessed. If you stay here..."
"I know exactly who Nikolas Kladis is," Kael interrupted, standing up and walking to the window to look at the empty street.
"And I know Daemon is a problem. But you are making a fundamental miscalculation, Donal."
He turned to look at them.
"You think your problem is a debt. You think if you manage to pay, or if you manage to hide long enough, everything will pass. You think Kladis is the biggest fish in this pond."
"Is he not?" Martha asked, confused.
"No." Kael returned to his seat, leaning back with the confidence of one who holds all the cards.
"Kladis is just the attack dog. The one who barks and bites. But someone else holds the leash."
Donal frowned.
"What are you talking about?"
"Last night," Kael said, glancing briefly at Aldric,
"we had an... interesting conversation with one of Daemon's close associates. A young man with a very loose tongue after a few drinks."
Aldric, leaning against the wall, didn't move an inch. His face remained impassive, a stone mask that hid the memory of the alley and the crunch of the broken neck. To the Vosses, he was just a loyal guard who had overheard gossip.
"What did he tell you?" Donal asked, curiosity battling with fear.
"He told us the truth about your situation." Kael leaned forward, lowering his voice to give the matter gravity.
"Nikolas Kladis does not want your money, Donal. Daemon does not want Elara for love, or even for lust, although that is an incentive. All this... the sabotage, the rumors, the inflated debt... is a commission."
"A commission?" Donal was pale.
"From whom?"
"From the Torren Company."
The name had the desired effect. Donal slumped against the back of the sofa as if his strings had been cut. Martha brought a hand to her mouth, stifling a moan.
"The... the Torrens?" Donal whispered.
"Lord Boros? No... that can't be. He... he was the one who recommended Kladis to me in the first place. He said it was a temporary solution. He said we were friends."
"Friends do not exist in business when monopolies are at stake," Kael replied coldly.
"Lord Boros Torren wants your routes, Donal. The old routes that you re-established. And he wants to make sure no one else competes with him in this district. Kladis is his tool to break you without directly getting his noble hands dirty. Elara's wedding is the legal seal to transfer your assets into the Torren sphere of influence through Kladis."
Donal shook his head, stunned.
"But... why?" he asked, his voice breaking.
"We are small compared to them. Our routes are good, yes, efficient, but... destroy us for that? All this conspiracy for a few simple spice routes?"
Kael watched him intently. This was the moment. The piece of the puzzle that the drunken noble had mentioned between stammers.
"The man we interrogated mentioned something else," Kael said, dropping the bait.
"He spoke of a metal. A 'rare metal' that the Torrens believe you move through those routes. Something valuable. Something secret. They said that was the real reason for Torren's obsession."
Kael waited for a reaction: a guilty look, a nervous tic, the recognition of a guarded secret. He expected Donal to confess to trafficking starmetal, or mithril, or some forbidden alloy that would justify the greed of a lesser Great House.
But Donal only blinked. His confusion seemed genuine, almost painful.
"Metal?" the merchant repeated, looking at his wife.
"What metal? We trade fabrics, spices, grain, and sometimes fine wood. I have never touched rare metals. I am not licensed for that, and the mines are controlled by the Greythorns in the north."
"Are you sure?" Kael pressed.
"Think, Donal. Any special cargo? A favor for a friend? Something that might have been misinterpreted?"
Donal stood up and began pacing the small room, running his hands through his grey hair.
"No! Nothing! I swear it on the lives of my daughters!" He stopped in front of Kael, his hands open in a gesture of supplication.
"Young lord, my books are open. My warehouses are empty now, but the records are there. Spices from the east. Silk from Nareth. Wool. That's all. My routes are valuable because they are shortcuts through the old passes that most large merchants ignore because they are difficult for massive caravans. I use smaller, faster carts. That's all. That is my 'secret advantage.' Speed and efficiency. There is no damned metal."
Kael leaned back in the armchair, processing the information. He observed Donal. The fear in his eyes was real, but it wasn't fear of being discovered; it was fear of the madness of the situation.
"There is no metal," Kael murmured, more to himself than to the others.
"No," Donal insisted.
"It's a fantasy. A stupid rumor."
Kael looked at Aldric. The knight imperceptibly shrugged.
'Interesting,' Kael thought. 'Very interesting.'
The Torrens were chasing a ghost. Or maybe the drunken noble had exaggerated the rumors to make himself look important. Or perhaps the Torrens, in their paranoia and greed, had decided that Donal's efficiency had to be due to something illegal or extremely valuable to justify his profit margins, and had invented the excuse of the metal to rationalize their aggression.
Or they were simply using the rumor of the metal to sell the idea to their own partners that it was worth the effort.
It didn't matter. Reality was not as important as perception. If the Torrens believed there was a treasure, they would act as if there were.
"I believe you, Donal," Kael finally said.
The merchant exhaled, as if he had been holding his breath underwater.
"Then... you see that it's a terrible mistake. They are hunting us for something we don't have. We can't give them what they want because it doesn't exist."
"Exactly," Kael said.
"And that is why you cannot surrender. Because if you surrender, if you hand over Elara and give up the business, the Torrens will discover there is no metal. And what do you think they will do with you then? Do you think they will say 'oh, excuse the mistake' and let you go?"
Donal paled.
"No. They will be enraged. They will feel cheated."
"They will eliminate you," Kael concluded brutally.
"To cover their tracks and out of spite. You will no longer serve them."
Martha sobbed softly. Donal fell back onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands.
"We are dead," he murmured.
"Either way, we are dead."
"No," Kael said. His voice became firm, authoritative, filling the room.
"Not while I am here."
Donal looked up, his eyes full of hopelessness.
"Young lord, I thank you for your bravery, but you are a child. And you only have one knight. The Kladis have mercenaries. The Torrens have political influence. You cannot fight a war against them from my living room. Please, leave. Save yourself. We... we will try to flee tonight. Perhaps we can reach the coast..."
"Fleeing is dying tired," Kael cut in.
"They will find you. They have the resources to track you."
Kael stood up and walked toward Donal. He stood in front of him, forcing the man to look him in the eye. Despite the difference in height and age, in that moment, Kael seemed like the elder imparting a hard truth.
"Listen to me carefully, Donal Voss. You have two options. The first is to keep trying to play by the rules of honorable people, to flee, to beg, and eventually be crushed by men like Torren and Kladis. The second... the second is to stop being the victim."
"And how do we do that?" Donal asked weakly.
"By allying yourselves with me."
"But... I already told you... the danger..."
"The danger is already here," Kael said.
"I am your only way out. Not because I am a Drayvar, although that helps. But because I see the whole board. I know what the Torrens want. I know they are acting based on lies and greed. And I know how to use that against them."
"What do you want from us?" Martha asked, looking at Kael with a mixture of fear and hope.
"I want total access," Kael said.
"I want to see your ledger books. I want the names of every contact your husband has made in the last twenty years. I want to know every route, every shortcut, every secret of your business. And I want that, from now on, when I speak, you listen and obey. No questions. No doubts."
Donal looked at his wife. Then he looked at Kael. He saw the coldness in the boy's eyes, the calculating intelligence that did not belong to a child. He saw Aldric in the background, a mountain of steel and silence that backed every word.
It was a deal with the devil. Donal knew it. He was handing over control of his life and family to a stranger playing dangerous games.
But the devil was the only one offering a sword to defend them.
"Alright," Donal whispered, defeated by reality.
"Alright. We will do what you say."
Kael nodded. There was no triumphant smile. Only the satisfaction of a piece fitting into place.
"Good. First order: act normally. Open the house. Show no signs of panic. If anyone asks, I am a distant nephew visiting with his tutor."
"And if they ask about the incident on the road?" Donal asked.
"No one will ask," Kael said with certainty.
"Daemon will not want to admit he was humiliated by a child. And the noble who... gave us the information, will not speak to anyone."
Aldric moved slightly, the leather of his armour creaking. It was a subtle sound, but to Kael it was as loud as a shout.
Kael looked at Aldric. Their eyes met.
"True, Aldric?"
"True," the knight replied in a deep voice.
No more needed to be said. The Vosses assumed they had intimidated the young man or bribed him. The reality of the blood and the alley remained as an invisible ghost between Kael and his knight.
"Bring the books, Donal," Kael ordered, sitting down again and crossing his legs.
"We have a lot of work to do. We are going to turn that 'rare metal' lie into the rope with which we will hang House Torren."
Donal stood up, moving with the obedience of a man who has accepted his fate, and left the room toward his study.
Martha remained seated, wringing her hands.
"Can he really save us?" she asked in a whisper.
Kael looked at her.
"I am not just going to save you, Mrs. Voss. I am going to make the Torrens wish they had never heard your last name."
Martha nodded, trembling, and lowered her gaze.
Aldric watched Kael from his corner. He saw how the child managed the adults, how he wove the lies and the truths, how he used fear and hope as carpenter's tools. He saw the monster growing.
And yet, a part of him, the pragmatic and dark part that had survived so many things, couldn't help but feel a twisted hint of admiration.
Kael took a pear from a fruit bowl on the central table and took a crisp bite, waiting for the books to arrive. The taste was sour.
The game in Arven had officially begun. And he held the pieces.