Chapter 6: The First Test
For a long moment, Kairo just sat in the darkness, exploring his new sense. The world wasn't a picture; it was a ghost of one, a fragile architecture of golden lines drawn against an infinite black canvas. The bed was a simple rectangle. The desk, a more complex shape of intersecting planes. He could make out the solid form of the walls and the void of the open window.
It was crude. Crushingly slow. And agonizingly inefficient.
His mind's eye, via the Founder's Codex, showed him the cost.
[Aether-Sense (Prototype) active. AET drain: 1 point per 10 seconds.]
His newly awakened core held a pathetic twelve points. He could maintain this phantom sight for a mere two minutes before he was running on empty. It was a lifeline, but it was a fraying thread.
Elise's warning echoed in his mind. I trust there will be nothing for her to find.
He had to move. Now.
Kairo pushed to his feet, ignoring the protest of his bruised muscles. He focused, sending out another gentle pulse of Aether. The wireframe ghost of the room solidified again. He "looked" towards the spot under his bed.
The echo was messy. A chaotic jumble of lines. But he could distinguish the shapes. The cold, sharp return of metal from the brazier. The dull, earthy echo of the shattered clay pot. He crawled over, his hands sweeping through the darkness, guided by the golden map in his head. His fingers found the jagged pieces of clay, then the bent metal of the brazier.
He worked with a quiet, desperate efficiency. He wrapped the larger pieces in an old, threadbare tunic from the bottom of his wardrobe. The smaller shards and the black, corrosive splatter on the floorboards were a bigger problem. He found a loose stone in the hearth, a minor flaw in the masonry he'd discovered years ago. He pried it open and painstakingly scraped the acidic residue and clay dust into the hollow space behind it before sealing it back up.
Just as he pushed the stone flush, a polite knock sounded at the door.
"My lord? It's Anya. From the laundry service. Head Maid Elise sent me to clean your chamber."
His heart didn't even jump. He was already moving. He shoved the bundle of wreckage deep under his mattress and took a steadying breath.
"Come in," he called, his voice clear.
A young maid, no older than fifteen, entered. He pulsed his Aether-Sense for a single second, just long enough to get her outline. A simple wireframe figure, small and non-threatening.
"Good morning, my lord," she said, giving a small curtsy. She stopped, her head tilted. "It smells... stuffy in here, my lord. Shall I air it out?"
"Please," Kairo said, keeping his back to her as he pretended to straighten his tunic. "I had a bit of a restless night."
He could feel her presence moving around the room, the faint echo of her form sweeping the floors, dusting the furniture. She was thorough, but she was just a maid. She wasn't looking for secrets, just for dust. She wouldn't look under the mattress or behind a loose stone.
Elise had chosen well.
By the time the maid was finished, Kairo was dressed. He had chosen a simple but well-made tunic of dark grey, the formal color of a junior member of House Akashi. He had run a wet comb through his long, black hair, letting it fall naturally to his shoulders. It was still a bit wild, but it would serve its purpose, shadowing his face and making it difficult for anyone to get a clear look at his eyes.
Now came the real test. Breakfast.
He stood before his door, the polished wood an impassive barrier. Beyond it was the Spire, a labyrinth of corridors, staircases, and people. It was a journey of a few hundred paces. For a blind boy, it might as well have been a journey across a continent.
He took a slow breath and activated his Aether-Sense.
The golden wireframe world snapped into existence in his mind. The corridor outside was a long, empty rectangle. He focused on the drain. AET: 12 -> 11. He couldn't afford to waste a single point.
He opened the door and stepped out. The hallway felt vast and empty through his new sense. He began to walk. Each step was a calculated risk. He kept one hand trailing along the cold stone wall, a physical anchor to his non-visual world. His mind was a frantic storm of concentration, constantly refreshing the Aether pulse, rebuilding the ghostly map of his surroundings with every step.
A dull headache began to throb behind his temples. This wasn't a passive ability. It was an active, draining mental exercise.
He reached the first grand staircase. The wireframe became a complex lattice of descending lines. He heard voices from below, the morning bustle of the spire.
"...Lord Tiberius was furious this morning," a servant whispered to another as they polished a suit of armor. "Said someone had been in his study. Nothing taken, but he knew."
"Serves him right, the arrogant pig," the other muttered back, his voice low. "Treats us all like dirt. Did you hear about the new levy from House Gin'u? My cousin in the merchant district says..."
Their voices faded as Kairo descended. The gossip was a river, and he was a stone sinking through it, unnoticed. But the information was valuable. Tiberius knew. He had been right to be quick.
The closer he got to the Lesser Dining Hall, the more crowded the echoes became. The wireframe flickered as dozens of servants moved past him, their golden outlines blurring into a confusing mess. The Aether drain was accelerating as he tried to process more and more information.
AET: 8 -> 7 -> 6.
He held his breath, navigating a cross-corridor where three maids and two household guards converged. He slipped between their ghostly forms, a silent shadow. For them, he was just the quiet, forgotten son of the Archduke, walking to breakfast. For him, it was like navigating a battlefield blindfolded. The mental strain was immense.
He finally reached the archway of the Lesser Dining Hall. He paused, leaning against the frame for a moment, feigning a childish weariness. In truth, he was gathering his strength, focusing his Aether-Sense for the most complex environment yet.
He pulsed his Aether. The room bloomed in his mind. A long, rectangular table, a dozen high-backed chairs. He could 'see' the heavy silk tablecloth, the wireframe ghosts of plates and goblets. And he could see the people.
There were three.
One outline, sitting halfway down the table, radiated a soft, gentle warmth. The echo felt like spring rain and new leaves. His mother, Lady Lyra. She was facing away from him, speaking to the person beside her.
The second outline was larger, more solid. It felt hot, arrogant, and aggressive. The Aetheric echo was sharp, like jagged edges and burning coals. His brother, Tiberius.
Between them sat a third figure. Small, slender, and radiating an unsettling quiet. The echo was like a coiled snake, a being of perfect, watchful stillness. It was his half-sister, Isolde, the Whisper Queen.
It wasn't a breakfast. It was an ambush.
Kairo stepped into the hall, his face a carefully blank mask. He directed his gaze towards the table, mimicking the simple act of looking, while his mind raced to interpret the chaotic lines of his Aether-Sense.
"Kairo! Darling, you came." Lyra's voice was a balm of pure relief. He felt her wireframe outline shift as she turned fully towards him. "Come, sit with us. The chefs made your favorite sweet-bread this morning."
A low grunt came from beside her. "So, the ghost decides to grace us with its presence," Tiberius drawled, his voice thick with condescension. He didn't bother to look up. Kairo's Aether-Sense painted his brother's form as a hulking, aggressive shape, slouched over his plate. "Try not to faint from the exertion of walking, little brother."
Kairo ignored him. His focus was on the path. The empty chair to his mother's right. His designated seat. It was ten paces away. Ten paces across an open floor, with three pairs of eyes on him. His headache flared with the effort of maintaining the golden map.
AET: 5.
He began to walk. His steps were slow, deliberate. He feigned the slight hesitance of a frail child, a performance he knew all too well. His trailing hand left the wall, and for a terrifying second, he was adrift, guided only by the flickering wireframe in his mind. He counted his steps. One. Two. Three.
He passed Isolde. Her wireframe was still as a statue, but the Aetheric echo she gave off was sharp and penetrating, like a thousand tiny needles. It felt like she was dissecting him with her gaze alone.
AET: 4.
Seven. Eight. Nine. He reached the table. His hand found the back of his chair, the solid, real wood a welcome anchor. He pulled it out and slid into the seat, his movements economical, practiced. A small, internal sigh of relief. The first trial was over.
"It's so good to see you at the table, darling," Lyra fussed, her gentle echo leaning towards him. "You've been locked away in your room for days. Aren't the Sun-Petals in the centerpiece lovely today? They just bloomed."
A test. An innocent, unintentional test. Kairo kept his gaze low. "Yes, Mother. They are nice." The vague answer cost him nothing.
A servant, a wireframe of silent efficiency, approached and placed a plate before him. Kairo heard the soft clink of porcelain, followed by the heavier sound of a silver fork and knife. The aroma of warm bread and smoked fish filled the air.
He had to eat. Not eating was one of the signs of his old weakness.
AET: 3.
He couldn't afford to keep his sense active. He let the golden map dissolve, plunging him back into the familiar, total blackness. He waited a beat, then pulsed his Aether for a fraction of a second.
Flash.
The wireframe image burned into his mind. A fork to his left. A knife to his right. A cup just beyond the plate. A piece of fish, a slice of bread. The image was a static blueprint. He reached out, his hand moving with slow, practiced precision. His fingers closed around the cool, heavy silver of his fork.
A small victory, but it felt monumental.
"Still playing with your food, I see," Tiberius sneered without looking at him. Kairo could hear the tearing sound of his brother ripping into his own meal like a starved wolf. "A true warrior eats with purpose. But I suppose you wouldn't know anything about that."
Kairo focused on his own plate, spearing a piece of fish with the fork. He brought it to his mouth, the simple action a triumph of will and control.
AET: 2.
A long silence stretched, filled only by the sound of Tiberius chewing. It was a tense, uncomfortable quiet. Finally, Isolde spoke. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a shard of ice.
"You look pale, Kairo," she said. "Did you sleep poorly last night?"
The question was pointed. It wasn't about his sleep. It was about Alistair's report. It was about the smoke. She was fishing.
"I had a bad dream," Kairo replied, his voice small. He took another bite of fish, keeping his movements slow and measured.
"A bad dream?" Tiberius finally looked up. Kairo could feel the shift as the intense, burning echo of his brother's attention fixed on him. "What could a little mouse like you possibly have nightmares about? A scary book? A shadow on the wall?"
Kairo didn't answer. He took a sip of water, his hand unerringly finding the cup from the mental snapshot he'd taken. The action seemed to bore Tiberius, who grunted and turned back to his food. The danger seemed to pass.
AET: 1.
He was almost out. He had to finish this meal and leave. He pulsed his sense one last time, a final snapshot to get him through the last few bites.
Flash.
He had the map. He was safe.
Suddenly, Tiberius chuckled. It was a low, ugly sound. "Funny," he said, pushing his plate away. He leaned back in his chair, a predator who had finished playing with his food and was now looking for entertainment. "I had a strange report this morning. One of my personal guards mentioned seeing a little rat scurrying around my wing late last night. Near my study, of all places."
The air in the room went still. Lyra's gentle echo froze. Isolde's coiled-snake stillness intensified, every ounce of her attention now focused.
Kairo's hand, holding his fork halfway to his mouth, did not tremble. He finished the motion, calmly placing the bite in his mouth. He chewed slowly, deliberately, his face a perfect mask of childish indifference.
Tiberius leaned forward, his elbows hitting the table with a thud. His crimson Kurogane eyes, which Kairo could feel like two burning points of heat even without sight, locked onto him.
"You haven't seen any filthy little rats running around where they don't belong, have you, brother?"