Heartspire rose before Kaelric like a silent sentinel, polished stone catching the thin winter sun. Vaulted ceilings swallowed sound, incense lingering faintly in the air. He entered with robes streaked in mud and ash, a faint smear of dried blood along his arm.
Thalen was absent. Kaelric had known that before he crossed the threshold. The clan leader was away on business, leaving the palace quieter, looser at the seams. Orven's daughter and Hadrin stood down the corridor, voices low over some minor council matter.
Aurella watched him the moment he stepped inside.
She fell into pace beside him as he moved toward his quarters, her gaze flicking to his arm, his stride.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
Kaelric adjusted his sleeve without looking at her. "Hunting," he said. "Saw a three-antlered deer near the outer ridges. I went alone."
"Alone?" There was surprise there. And something closer to concern.
"The area's been cleared," he replied. "Traps mapped. My aperture was full. I'm already proficient with Stone Rock."
He closed his door gently but firmly, ending the conversation on his terms.
Aurella remained in the corridor a moment longer, eyes narrowed.
"Was that... Blood?" she murmured.
...
A day later, the Irondusk Pavilion rose above the Irondusk Clan, its etched glass fracturing the pale sunlight into jagged shards over frozen stone. Beneath it all, furnaces muttered like distant thunder, a slow, restless pulse.
The high table was occupied by the elders, yet the chair usually held by Morvus remained empty. His absence was felt in the deliberate way the lamplight pooled unevenly across the table, highlighting the tension that hummed beneath polite silence.
A day later, the Irondusk Pavilion rose above the Irondusk Clan, its etched glass fracturing pale sunlight into jagged shards across frozen stone. Servants moved through the halls with quiet precision, footsteps absorbed by stone. Beneath it all, furnaces muttered like distant thunder, a slow, restless pulse.
The high table was occupied by the elders, yet the chair usually held by Morvus remained empty. His absence hung over the room like a weight.
Morvus thought: "Two months until the Frostyard Trials. I suppose it would be a lost cause now to send another assassin. When the previous one betrayed me."
A shift in the hall had already occurred. Grimthorn had returned while Morvus was away at the council, moving like a shadow, silent, almost spectral. With no one to meet him, he passed straight to Morvus' desk. By the time the elders noticed, he was gone. A brief, impossible motion, a contract removed, no sound to mark it. No one spoke. The pulse of the furnaces seemed to quicken, and outside, the wind caught the tower bells, hollow notes vibrating thinly across the hall.
Morvus entered shortly after, the doorway swallowing the light behind him. His bulk leaned into the carved armrest, eyes glinting with oil-slick patience.
"Grimthorn will find his reward… and his punishment," he said, voice low, deliberate. "The clan must ensure he does not linger too long in our shadow."
An elder with pale green eyes lifted a brow. "Why?"
Morvus' smile was slight, unreadable. "It is not necessary to know that."
The elder's gaze traveled across the table, pausing at the empty chair that had long been Thalen's. The sum implied, silent, vast, was enough. Enough to make any cultivator consider the risk, especially for a rank-one. The ratio between reward and danger was obscene, and yet the offer hung in the air, irresistible and deadly.
Silence returned, heavier now, pressing against stone and bone. Outside, the wind tugged at the pavilion bells again, and the murmuring furnaces hinted at distant thunder, not outside, but beneath the surface, where unseen gears were turning, and the future of Stoneheart was quietly being wagered.
...
Kaelric had already washed.
Blood scrubbed away. Skin sealed. Outer robes discarded, replaced. He moved through the corridors without haste, knowing the servants' whispers would travel faster than his steps if given reason. Cleanliness was not vanity. It was procedure.
He saw elder Averith him near the inner hall, her presence subtle and unavoidable all at once.
"Elder Averith," he said, bowing slightly. "May I ask something?"
His right arm lagged a fraction behind the motion.
Her silver eyes settled on him. "Speak."
"What can you tell me about Secondary Constructs within the aperture?"
The smallest pause followed. Not surprise. Attention.
"How do you know of such things?" she asked.
"I've been feeling pressure," Kaelric replied evenly. "Persistent. Not painful."
Averith studied him, then lifted a hand.
He tried to shift aside. Too late.
Her perception brushed his aperture and withdrew at once.
"Dark-path residue," she said quietly. "You were warned."
"I know," Kaelric replied. "The relic suited the situation."
Her gaze lingered, weighing. Not approving. Measuring.
"Efficiency is why such paths exist," she said. "And why they ruin those who use them carelessly."
She lowered her voice.
"Mortal clans do not fear these methods because they are immoral. We avoid them because we cannot survive their consequences. Dark and blood paths leave traces. Secondary constructs especially. Once suspicion forms, intent becomes irrelevant."
Her eyes flicked upward, toward arches heavy with age.
"Those above us can endure scrutiny. We cannot. A single accusation is enough to invite intervention. And intervention does not distinguish between control and excess."
Kaelric listened without moving.
Averith continued. "Secondary constructs are condensed through methods that require materials no mortal house can acquire repeatedly without drawing attention. When they collapse, they leave damage behind. And questions no elder can safely answer."
She stepped back.
"For now, I sense only residue. Do not use that Relic again unless forced. Visibility is a cost most cannot afford."
Kaelric bowed. "Understood."
Her gaze lingered a heartbeat longer, protective and wary in equal measure, before she turned away.
Later, winter mist clung to the gardens beneath his chamber window. Frost traced pale lines along red cherry blossoms, fragile against stone.
Kaelric rested his hands on the sill, breathing evenly.
Averith's words replayed without emotion.
Materials no mortal house can source repeatedly.
Dark-path relics were not merely rare. They demanded absences. Every refinement left gaps, questions, patterns someone else might follow. Supply was not limited by knowledge, but by how much attention one could survive.
Something within his aperture stirred faintly. Not pain. Not hunger. Pressure. As if waiting.
If he spoke of it, they would slow him. Restrain him. Protect the clan by limiting the risk.
This was not secrecy born of pride.
It was arithmetic.
His thoughts flicked briefly to the Flame Shield Relic, stubborn and skittish as a spark trapped in ash.
"A rank two Relic," he murmured. "Even if I can activate it now, the cost would empty me."
Not yet.
Outside, Heartspire stood silent, stone heavy with promises it could not afford to break.