Dawn was a bloody smear on the horizon when Kaelen clawed his way out of the Carrion Pit. He was caked in grime and dried blood, his servant's rags little more than tatters. To any observer, he would have looked like a corpse that had refused to stay dead. But beneath the filth, his eyes burned with a new, cold light. The world felt different. Sharper. He could feel the faint traces of Qi in the air, a sensation previously denied to him. He could feel the strength humming in his muscles, a stark contrast to the perpetual fatigue that had been his companion for five years.
He moved with a stealth he hadn't possessed before, his senses preternaturally sharp. Slipping back into the servant's quarters was easy. He cleaned himself as best he could, his mind a whirlwind of thought. He was no longer powerless, but he was far from safe. A single misstep, a single hint of his newfound strength, would bring the full wrath of Lucius Valerius down upon him. He had to be smarter, more patient. The dog had grown fangs, but the wolves still ruled the den.
He resumed his duties, his demeanor unchanged. He was still the quiet, subservient Ashen Son. He bowed his head, kept his eyes downcast, and endured the casual taunts and shoves. But now, it was a performance. Beneath the mask of the victim, a predator was watching, learning, and waiting.
He observed the guards, their movements, their cultivation arts. He saw the flicker of Qi as they practiced, the way they channeled their energy. What had once been a mystery was now a language he was beginning to understand. He saw their arrogance, their sloppiness, the gaps in their defenses. They were strong, but they were complacent.
His first target was a man named Jax, one of Lucius's personal guards who had held him down during the final, brutal beating. Jax was a bully who enjoyed his work, a man whose cruelty was born of his own insecurities. He was also lazy. Every evening, Jax would shirk his patrol duties to sneak a flask of potent liquor behind the northern slag heap.
Kaelen planned it for three days, his mind a cold, calculating machine. He noted the timing, the position of the other guards, the geological instability of the slag heap itself—a mountain of mining waste piled high over decades.
On the third night, under the faint light of Cygnus's twin moons, Kaelen moved. He was a shadow, his steps silent. He didn't use any flashy techniques; he didn't know any. He used only his newfound strength and a lifetime of suppressed rage.
He found Jax leaning against the slag heap, already half-drunk. Kaelen picked up a heavy chunk of iron-laced rock, his grip firm. He didn't hesitate. He moved in a silent rush, a wraith of vengeance. Jax turned at the last second, his eyes widening in drunken confusion. The rock slammed into the side of his head with a sickening crunch. The guard dropped without a sound.
But that wasn't the plan. Killing him was too simple, too direct. It would raise alarms. Kaelen looked up at the towering slag heap. He remembered seeing the mining foremen complaining about its instability. With his enhanced strength, he struck the base of the pile, again and again, targeting a key support point he had identified. He channeled the barest trickle of his new, chaotic Qi into the blows, not as an attack, but as a vibration.
A tremor ran through the mountain of waste. Small rocks began to slide, then larger ones. A low groan echoed in the night. Kaelen dragged Jax's unconscious body and placed it directly in the path of the impending collapse.
He was gone, back in his cot in the servant's quarters, before the first true roar of the rockslide echoed through the outpost.
The next morning, the official story was a tragic accident. A foolish, drunk guard caught in a slag heap collapse. A cautionary tale. Lucius was annoyed at the loss of a guard, but nothing more. No one looked at the quiet, worthless Ashen Son.
No one but Kaelen. In the privacy of his own mind, he replayed the moment. The crunch of bone, the roar of the rockslide. There was no elation, no joy. Only a cold, grim satisfaction. This was not honor. This was not justice. This was vengeance. And it had only just begun.