Kael absentmindedly turned the jar of serpent skin in his hand. He had sat at the table for more than half a day, reflecting on his first commission.
"I didn't know… and worse, I didn't know that I didn't know…"
He murmured the words to himself.
After hours of silent reflection, everything finally became clear to Kael. None of his earlier reasoning about why Cain had requested a custom refinement held any truth anymore. It was not urgency, nor fear of failure, nor a lack of knowledge.
Kael snickered under his breath.
In truth, it was not ignorance that had driven Cain to him, but knowledge itself. Cain had known exactly what he was doing when he sought Kael out for the refinement. The realization made so much sense it was almost painful.
The ingredients for the mote recipe were not difficult to obtain at all, especially if you care for mortals. Kill a few humans and you were practically there. And because they were so easily acquired, of course Cain had come to Kael. Why wouldn't he?
By hiring Kael, Cain had not only increased the chances of the mote being successfully refined, he had also ensured that any backlash from the process would never touch his own soul if it failed. And then there was the final detail, the one that left a sour taste lingering in Kael's mind. Once the refinement was complete, Cain could simply summon the mote back to himself, letting it slip into his inner realm. There would be no way for Kael to stop him.
"Sapere aude."
Kael whispered it to himself.
A sudden, rhythmic thud struck the cabin door, dragging him from his thoughts. He lifted his head and turned his gaze toward the sound.
Something pale battered the wood. Flesh sloughed from its frame as it struck again and again, eyes hollow and blank.
'A pale one?'
Kael stood and crossed the room, his movements unhurried, his expression cold behind the blindfold. He paused before the door, then pulled it open just enough to slip an arm through.
His hand closed around the thing's head.
Bone and rot gave way at once. The skull collapsed in his grip with a wet crunch, and the body folded backward into the snow. Blood steamed briefly before sinking from sight, the corpse already vanishing beneath white.
"They're earlier than the noble families predicted…"
Kael wiped his hand clean and returned to the table, sitting down as if nothing had interrupted him.
His finger tapped soft against the table.
The creature itself had not surprised him. What it represented had.
The Luminaire world was divided into five continents: North, South, East, West, and the Central. Each carried its own climate, nature, and history. The West was no exception.
Every seven years, a tide of beasts emerged from the continent's farthest north and began their march south. They moved like a living flood, driven by a single purpose: to devour anything alive. How they came to be, or why, remained unknown. Over time, it had ceased to be an event and settled into something closer to truth.
Kael grabbed a pot and stepped out of the cabin, into the woods.
They slaughtered anything that carried a soul. Animals included. And so, every Pale wave was followed by famine, a year of it, without fail.
Kael crouched and filled the pot with snow.
Records of the phenomenon stretched back millions of years. Humanity, adaptive as ever, had learned to live with it. Still, millions died with each Pale wave, most of them mortals.
"Should be enough."
Kael compressed the snow once more, then turned and walked back inside.
He was not afraid of dying to the wave. He was settled within a city, protected by a rank five, and he himself was capable enough. Still, it warranted his attention.
He had a clear goal in mind: ignite a clash between Eireindaile and Valthorne.
"Luck really doesn't favor me…"
Even if it appeared impulsive, even unplanned at times, every move Kael had made so far followed a strict timeframe. Each step was meant to carve out a single opportunity, one with the highest possible chance of success.
'If I'm truly unlucky, the final clash won't align with the moment the Pale Wave crashes against Velthoria.'
Kael lit the fire in the stove.
The idea itself was simple, yet layered with its own complexity. The battle needed to erupt alongside the wave. Only then would the chaos be thick enough, the field broken enough, for him to disappear amid colliding fists and collapsing lines.
'The reason the families avoid clashing likely has something to do with the wave too.'
Kael thought.
No matter how deep their hatred ran, they were still nobles. And nobles were educated. Reasonable. They understood that a battle meant nothing if the wave arrived and erased them both.
Kael sighed as he watched the snow in the pot begin to melt.
He poured the hot water into a cup and dropped a teabag into it.
"I'd better get going soon, if I want to reach the city before midnight."
He took a sip.
Another hour passed in silence. Then Kael stepped out of the cabin.
He grabbed the Pale one and tossed it into the forest, its body disappearing between the trees, before turning and starting his walk toward the city.
Kael was enveloped by the smell of fresh herbs and boiling meat as he opened the door to the apartment.
He slipped off his coat and hung it by the door before stepping into the kitchen. The pot on the stove bubbled softly as he stirred it.
"What are you cooking?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
His gaze met only a pair of legs, suspended upside down over the back of the sofa, feet idly kicking at the air.
"I'm not really sure it has a name," Mael said, followed by a small, awkward laugh. "It's just something my mom used to make."
She lay sprawled upside down on the sofa, tongue caught between her teeth as she tried to guide a needle through stubborn loops of yarn. Her feet twitched with each failed attempt, the knitting stretched awkwardly above her head.
Kael gave the pot another stir, letting the silence settle back in.
After filling a bowl for herself, Mael walked over and sat down opposite Kael.
"How's your studies going?" she asked, already stuffing her mouth with food.
Kael raised an eyebrow.
She stopped chewing and looked at him. "Relax. I'm not spying on you. I just figured you're the type who enjoys learning. Like me." She smiled, unapologetic.
"I'm trying to learn knitting," she added, almost proudly. "Though honestly, advancing to rank two felt easier." She took another bite, then frowned at the yarn resting beside her. "How does Mom make it look so simple?"
She muttered the last part to herself, poking at the food as if it had personally betrayed her.
"It's going well," Kael finally said.
"Good… good…" she replied, already lost in the taste of the food.
When she finished her bowl, Mael leaned back in her chair and let out a slow exhale. She looked at Kael for a moment, as if weighing something.
Kael ignored it.
After a while, she broke the silence. "Do…" She hesitated. "Do you know how to knit?"
Kael's spoon paused midair.
"Yes."
A grin spread across her face. "I knew it," she said, like she'd just won something.
The chair groaned as she scooted closer to him. "Look at these stitches, and then at this pattern." She placed a sheet of paper on the table, lines and symbols crowded across it. "I get this part," she said, pointing, "but not this." She pointed again.
She dragged the chair closer once more and held up her knitting in front of him.
"How would you fix this?"
What lay before Kael was not the burst of color Mael likely saw, but a muddle of shadows and softened shapes, shades of gray bleeding into one another.
Kael lifted a thumb and scratched lightly at his forehead. He slid his bowl aside and took the knitting from her, drawing it closer to his blindfold. He held it there for a moment, fingers still, then eased it farther away again.
After a pause, he leaned toward Mael.
"If this loop here is too tight," he said, tapping gently, "everything after it pulls wrong. You don't fix it by forcing the stitch. You unwind just enough to give it room, then let it settle again."
He spoke slowly, careful with his words, tracing the path with his finger rather than his eyes.
Mael's brow furrowed as she tried to follow, her gaze flicking between the yarn and his hand, absorbing the explanation piece by piece.
After that, Kael continued.
He spoke patiently and pedagogically, breaking each step into something small and manageable. He guided her through where to loosen, where to stop, and where to begin again.
Mael listened in silence, nodding now and then, her earlier frustration slowly easing. Even when she lost the thread of his explanation, he did not rush. He simply repeated himself, adjusting his words until they settled.
The pot on the stove simmered down to a low murmur. Outside, the city carried on, distant and indifferent.
And long after the food had gone cold, Kael was still explaining.