The giant hand slowly lowered and gently patted Kayden's head.
He stumbled back in terror, expecting to be drenched—but not a single strand of hair was wet. The water felt spectral, passing through him without leaving a trace.
In that moment, the threat softened as Adam's voice returned, calmer now.
"You can change your voice too… if you focus your power on your vocal cords. You should have seen your face when I altered mine."
"Will… will that person notice me?" Kayden asked quickly, his eyes trembling as though they feared the answer more than the question.
Adam shook his head slowly, his tone laced with mockery.
"To him, you're like an ant. You have no value in his eyes. You're just a tiny seed, Kay… bloom quietly, far from the gaze of fools."
Kayden remained standing there, trying to gather the scattered fragments of his thoughts. Everything felt distorted—as if the world itself had shifted tonight, as though the laws he believed unshakable had suddenly abandoned their certainty.
Then he murmured, almost to himself,
"I wonder… why Arbella was chasing me."
Adam didn't bother thinking about it. He simply shrugged indifferently. His hand lowered, and with it the massive arm of water bowed and dissolved back into the lake, whose surface returned to its original stillness—silent, as though nothing had ever happened.
Adam gave a sideways smile, hidden mischief dripping from it. "Ask her yourself… lover boy."
Kayden's face flushed with anger. "I'm not in love! I'm the victim here!"
Adam let out a short, mocking laugh and waved his hand as he resumed walking, as though the entire incident had been trivial.
"Come on. I'll give you copies of my cursed rituals."
His mood was at its peak—he had just eaten a luxurious meal, pocketed money for a casual demonstration, and now he was preparing to sell a flawed design as if it were nothing more than cheap merchandise in a marketplace.
They exchanged no further words. Adam had no desire to offer explanations, and Kayden had lost interest in asking—or perhaps he feared answers he wasn't ready to hear.
At the end of the short walk to Adam's residence, Kayden received the corrupted summoning drafts and left in heavy silence.
He returned home faster than usual. He wanted to speak to Colton, but before heading upstairs, he stopped at a small bakery and bought some of the sweets his mother loved. He handed them to her with a fleeting smile—a smile that carried more than it revealed—then hurried to his room.
When he closed the door behind him, he felt the urge to lie down for a while. But a soft knock followed by a quiet entrance interrupted him.
Mafilda stepped in, carrying a glass of juice and a small plate of fruit. She placed them gently on the table without a word, then turned toward him with a gaze heavy with concern.
She let out an audible sigh.
"You're not eating properly. Your mother and I have noticed… and you're not sleeping regularly either. What's happening to your body, Kayden? Did that girl curse you? Is she so powerful that your father didn't even notice the curse?"
Kayden blinked several times, caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. Then he feigned indifference.
"My body? What would be wrong with it? Maybe I just need to see a doctor."
Mafilda pressed her lips together for a moment before murmuring in the tone of a mother afraid to say too much,
"Do that. Something is wrong… but don't go to Henry. He isn't a licensed doctor."
She left as quietly as she had entered, her calm footsteps fading, leaving behind a weight of worry heavier than anything else in the room.
Kayden stopped in the middle of the room, as if something invisible had pinned him in place. He exhaled slowly, releasing a long breath laced with exhaustion.
A moment later, Colton appeared, taking on his human form. He sat lightly in the nearby chair, as though materializing were perfectly ordinary, and began eating the fruit on the table with a cool indifference that carried a hint of childishness.
Kayden watched him silently for several seconds, his eyes following his small movements before breaking the silence with a probing tone, almost like a casual test.
"Colton… are you colorblind?"
Colton lifted his head abruptly, blinking with genuine confusion.
"What is colorblindness?"
"It's… difficulty distinguishing colors. Think about it."
Kayden stood without waiting for a response and headed to the bathroom with slow, heavy steps, leaving Colton absorbed in thought, processing the unfamiliar concept in his own way.
When Kayden returned minutes later in comfortable clothes, he sat across from him and began eating some fruit as well.
Colton finally spoke, a faint note of displeasure in his voice, as if admitting a deficiency weighed on him.
"I have never studied colors before."
Kayden pulled the plate slightly closer and said thoughtfully,
"That explains a lot. Your eyes are completely black. I once said they leaned toward black… but they're entirely black."
Colton raised a hand and brushed it over his eyes with little concern, as though they were a minor detail of his body.
"I don't think that matters much. They're just eyes. I can change their color if I want. In any case, we need to discuss what you learned from Adam today. But before that—don't question strangers so much."
Colton sipped the juice slowly while Kayden gave him a quick once-over and then deliberately ignored the matter. He wasn't in the mood for a lengthy debate about… a glass of juice.
Colton's tone shifted, becoming sharper with that same stark, unsettling innocence.
"First, let's begin with something less important… but irritating. Master, once you become strong enough, we must eliminate them."
Kayden nodded curtly, accepting the harsh practicality of the suggestion.
Colton continued in a dry voice, as if stating an undeniable truth.
"Those beings they call 'Catastrophes'—they may tell you they are mindless creatures with shallow awareness, but that isn't true. When the spirit collapses within the body, only a cold shell remains—a dead body without aura, without a real pulse."
Kayden listened carefully, fitting each sentence into a larger mental puzzle.
"You and your brother read Adam's journals, didn't you?" Colton went on. "He used the word 'devour.' Catastrophes do not hunt randomly. They choose. They devour what grants stronger awareness—intelligence, beauty, traits that make a being more present. That is why they are a real threat."
Kayden took a moment to organize the thought in his head before asking cautiously,
"And compared to demons?"
Colton answered with cold firmness,
"They are worthless compared to us. A drop of our blood equals a river of theirs. Their existence does not deserve to continue."
Kayden hesitated before asking a small but sharp question.
"Why?"
"Because they are bodies without spirit, without value—worse than debris. They don't even deserve proper classification."
Kayden muttered, half critical within himself, "That… sounds racist."
Colton shook his head dismissively. "No, it is not. I have read the definition of that word before. I know when it applies."
Kayden was briefly stunned by how quickly he learned—and how methodically he responded. He decided silently that he would bring him new books soon, perhaps ones that would broaden his thinking beyond rigid judgments.
Colton exhaled softly, as if concluding a lesson.
"What Adam said tonight is entirely correct. I have nothing to add. In fact, he gave you the simplest path."
He rose quietly and began sorting through the scattered papers on the desk before pulling out his small notebook—the one he had adopted as a habit from Kayden, as though it were a sacred ritual.
Kayden reached out and picked up one of the pages. His eyes fell on a wavering line written across it:
"Today is twenty-four hours… but the night is far too short."
Kayden quickly realized that no real changes had occurred yet. Still, he continued reading, as if searching for something hidden between the lines.
"Do not ask anyone else about the acceleration. Ask me directly, and do not distort the question. You are my first master… and I do not fully understand humans… therefore, my lord, rely on me."
Kayden lifted his head, a faint smile glinting across his face. "Is this your first time up here?"
Colton nodded with a small smile, like a child admitting a simple secret. "Yes."
Kayden closed the notebook gently.
"I'll buy you many books. I'll teach you what you need to learn… until you begin to manifest more fully."
A deep gratitude flickered through Colton. He inclined his body slightly in a small bow and thanked his master with a sincerity untouched by pretense.
Kayden sat in silence for a moment before looking up again, his voice low and edged with suspicion.
"Colton… do you think there's something wrong with my body?"
Colton leaned forward slightly, staring into him with unsettling focus from his pitch-black eyes. His gaze traveled from Kayden's shoulders down to the tips of his fingers before he answered coolly,
"I see no spiritual issues. No fractures, no cracks in the essence. It is perfect. Your body is sound in the way I understand it."
He tilted his head, a faint smile forming.
"However… perhaps you should try deworming medication? I am not a doctor—ask Henry. He is one. I can sense the presence of worms. Do worms grow inside human stomachs like this?"
Kayden inhaled sharply, then covered his face with both hands, pressing against his temples.
"Damn it… shouldn't I be in better condition than this?"
Colton did not hesitate. His reply came quickly, his tone disturbingly serious.
"I do not know. But perhaps I should retrain you."
On the opposite side of the house, Henry was immersed in his studies. Papers surrounded him, ink staining his fingers. He hadn't even noticed his brother's return or the subtle changes in the room. Time, for him, was nothing more than equations and layered statements across white pages.
When he finally finished studying and rose to dim the lights, his eyes fell upon a small box placed carefully on his desk. Nothing announced its presence, yet it felt glaringly deliberate.
Henry stared at it with suspicion, his brows drawing together. He didn't rush to open it. For a moment, he considered that Roger might have set up some kind of prank—but Roger wasn't home. Nor was Kayden.
"But this… is exactly the sort of thing they would do."
After a brief hesitation, he extended his hand cautiously and opened the box slowly, as if expecting something alive to spring out from within.
Henry gasped in shock, taking a step back as he stared at the contents of the box.
Inside were completely black eyes… arranged with meticulous care, as though someone had taken them from somewhere and laid them out with funerary precision.
He slowly reached out and grasped the box, unease tightening his fingers, as if merely touching it might defile him.
Who brought this? The question tore violently through his mind. Then he immediately remembered Colton's promise, when he had mockingly said he would bring him "black eyes." Henry had been joking about it—but Colton? He never joked.
Among the eyes, he found an elegant letter folded with exact precision, its scent strange… nothing like ordinary paper.
Written across it in ornate script: "These are the completely black eyes… Enjoy."
Henry stared at the words for a long moment before another thought crossed his mind.' Adam… he should learn the art of handwriting from him.'
He shifted the paper between his fingers. The more closely he examined the purity of the ink and the quality of the penmanship, the more unsettled he became. It was not something he would ever have expected from Colton… or perhaps he had never truly known him.
He set the eyes aside and held only the letter. Pulling open his desk drawers, he began comparing until he found sheets identical in texture and refinement.
"Does Colton have enough money to buy paper of this quality? He looks strangely poor… or did he take it from Kaiden?"
He ran his fingers over the letters, feeling an unusual warmth beneath them, as if they had just been written.
Then he froze. A sharp pain struck his head— a faint yet piercing headache that forced him to press his fingers against his temples.
He lifted his eyes toward the box once more. The eyes inside… were disturbingly familiar.
And very slowly, an old memory slipped from the depths of his mind.
When Fiona had forced him to examine a corpse… before Ethan's body had arrived.
"He had completely black eyes!" Henry burst into loud laughter, a strained, brittle sound.
He did not waste a single moment changing his clothes. He simply grabbed a heavy coat, threw it over his shoulders, and rushed out of the house as though flames were chasing him. He had to make sure… himself.
The night was still, and the cold stung his cheeks with every step.
At the main road, he spotted a late carriage—the last one passing after midnight. If he failed to catch it… everything would be over.
He leapt inside and took a seat by the window, watching the streets drowned in an eerie silence, as if the entire city had chosen to hold its breath.
When he stepped down, he moved quickly toward the cemetery.
The iron gate loomed before him—tall and cold—like a boundary between the world of the living and the dead.
There, the night guard stood watching, his lantern illuminating the white smoke escaping his mouth with every breath.
Henry approached and greeted him, his voice slightly hesitant. "Sir… has Mr. John been buried?"
A heavy hesitation crossed the guard's face. He lowered his gaze for a moment, then sighed slowly. "No… none of his relatives came to visit him. He doesn't even have a private grave… so we left him in the freezing room."