It is dangerous to give a child a reason for everything.
It is more dangerous to give a soul the taste of a single, absolute aim.
Outside, the Vitalis river threw light like scattered stars. Trees sighed in the valley wind. Merchants loaded wagons at the crossing. Stoneheart would survive another season; the elders would plan their spending, count their years.
A little earlier, in a quiet corridor away from wandering ears, Averith leaned toward Hadrin.
"Caravans arrive today," she said, voice low. "A trader from the east passes through. He carries rank-one relic lots."
Hadrin's brows furrowed. "What path?"
"Dark," she whispered. "Handle it through the servants. Only those who leave no trail. No prints. No ledgers. If Irondusk catches wind, the accusation will be loud."
Hadrin exhaled slowly, recalling the unspoken errands, the chores that needed doing without questions asked. "Very well. Tonight, quietly."
...
The Stoneheart Clan's inner hall gleamed with veins of pale silver mineral, light refracting along glasslike pillars. Runes pulsed faintly along the walls, containment wards designed for accidents the clan prayed would never come. Outside, drizzle became a thin mist drifting through the open arches.
Kaelric stood at the center, facing four elders. The air smelled faintly of wet stone and ozone.
Thalen spoke first, gray eyes steady, voice calm but carrying weight. "It has only been a week since your awakening, Kaelric. Extraordinary progress or not, you must not overreach. The fifteen Vitalis stones we gave you were to be used gradually. Three for the Stone Rock refinement was impressive enough, but do not exhaust the rest so quickly. An aperture torn at rank one never mends."
Kaelric bowed lightly. "Yes, Clan Leader."
Inside, his thoughts churned. "He's just praising for nothing. To get closer. I already used them. All but five in two days."
The memory burned sharp: his aperture swallowing the stones' essence like a starved beast. "Still slow. Still crawling. A-grade talent should soar… yet I move like a crippled D-grade."
"And the pressure. Always that pressure.
Except… when the Stone Rock refinement happened. The second sphere settled, like something finally at rest. Why? Why help only then? Why sleep now?"
Averith's gentle voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "You seem tense. Breathe a little."
Kaelric lost in thought, heard her voice and looked at her "Huh?" Then he realized and immediately inclined his head. "Oh, yes, Elder."
Hadrin stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Kaelric's shoulder. "You've done well. Now, let us see the relic the caravan brought. The one Thalen approved."
Orven's eyes narrowed. "All the more reason for caution. Even my daughter would not handle such a relic unsupervised."
A ripple of silence passed over the hall.
Kaelric raised his hand, and the elders quieted.
He held the Dark Claws Relic, it looked like an obsidion fang, palm sized. Drawing a slow breath, he let the remaining Vitalis stones dissolve into threads of pale essence that sank into the relic.
Its surface drank the light.
The chamber dimmed. The floor throbbed once, as though answering a buried heartbeat.
Obsidian claws unfurled from his fingertips, shimmering like moonlight drowned in oil. Air bent subtly around them, pressure warping. A flick of his wrist sent a claw slicing outward, vanishing into vapor before reaching the wall. Another regrew instantly, flawless.
Averith gasped. "Refined already? He is… attuned to it?"
Hadrin stepped back, awe breaking his composure. "At rank one? Impossible."
Even Thalen's calm mask faltered. "Perfect refinement…"
Kaelric opened his eyes. Calm. Controlled. But inside, something shifted. The same faint pressure, his "second sphere". It rested quietly, patient, almost mocking in its silence.
"It gives, it takes… but only when it wants."
He dismissed the claws. Shadows melted back into skin. Rain pattered faintly outside, steady and cold.
The next morning.
Kaelric lingered outside the elders' hall. The pressure tugged again at his aperture. "Maybe they'll understand… Maybe today they'll explain why cultivation feels harder than it should. Maybe it's nothing, just more training."
He stepped inside. "Clan Leader… may I ask, have I been cultivating too quickly?"
Thalen's gray eyes softened briefly, polite but deliberate. "Kaelric… your progress is extraordinary. But tell me honestly, how do the stones feel? Is your cultivation steady?"
Kaelric chose his words carefully. "It is slower than I expected. There's… a smaller, secondary pressure inside my aperture. Not the main essence flow. The small sphere moves like it has its own pulse. I do not know why."
Thalen's face darkened for a heartbeat, then returned to calm. "I see… You are attentive to your own body. That is good. But be cautious. Slow, deliberate cultivation is safer than speed. Watch yourself."
Orven stepped forward, rigid and sharp. He touched Kaelric's aperture with a practiced hand, felt the faint tremor beneath the boy's control, then withdrew quickly, frowning.
"Do not speak of demonic techniques, boy," Orven said, voice hard, militaristic. "You are a prodigy, not untouchable. Now go."
Kaelric's stomach clenched. He understood. Both rejection and threat in one. Push further, and the clan would remove the risk he represented.
As he left the hall, the optimism that had carried him inside faded. "They cannot help me. They fear me ruining their great, important, pride filled reputation. I am on my own."
The faint secondary pressure inside his aperture pulsed quietly, a heartbeat only he could feel. Not a puzzle, not a challenge, just a reminder: survive, and only by your own hand.
A week passed in quiet tension. Kaelric's aperture had settled into a rhythm, but the faint secondary pressure reminded him constantly: the clan could not help him. They watched, judged, and contained.
One morning, he approached Thalen under the guise of curiosity. "Clan Leader, may I visit the relic vault? To examine… older relics, for practice?"
Thalen considered him, gray eyes steady, weighing the risk. "There are no demonic-path relics here, no techniques… perhaps letting him examine them will build trust." He inclined his head. "Very well, Kaelric. But stay within sight of the attendants. Do not touch anything that might endanger yourself or the clan."
Kaelric's expression was calm, unreadable. More composed than the boy Thalen thought he knew. "Understood, Clan Leader."
Inside the vault, relics of every size and purpose gleamed softly under runed lights. Kaelric's gaze flicked over the rows, absorbing shapes, inscriptions, materials. A relic here, a band there, each more intricate than the last. He noted their sizes, their textures, the faint hum of stored essence.
But there was no time, no chance to linger. Every glance over his shoulder revealed a servant's eyes, a subtle shift in the attendants' stance. They were watching too closely. A week's patience had taught him caution. The vault, as he discovered, was a labyrinth of oversight.
He left with nothing more than observations. A small, satisfied curl of thought: "Next time, I will be ready. I will take the risk."
A week later, he would return. He already knew the drawers and cabinets where the most valuable refinement recipes rested.
For now, he walked away with calm resolve. The elders believed he had simply observed. He did not care, they would never know how much he had already learned.
When the time comes, they will see only results.