In the city, a child could vanish in plain sight.
In Blackmist's yard, a child could not vanish at all.
Not because anyone cared. Not because anyone hated him. But because a place built on discipline treated every body as a number in a routine. If a number entered the routine, it was counted. If it was counted, it was watched—quietly, without emotion, the way a craftsman watched a flaw in metal.
Kael followed the 10th Senior Brother through the side gate just after dawn.
Behind them, the forge sat like a sleeping beast—dark stone, soot, and heat that never truly left. Even at rest, it breathed. But beyond it, the world opened in a way Kael hadn't expected.
A wide courtyard paved with flat stones spread outward. A garden strip held trimmed shrubs and stubborn flowering plants. Training grounds lay to the side, marked by worn posts and scuffed earth. Farther out, water moved—there was a large river and a pond, clear enough that the surface caught the morning light like thin steel.
And opposite the forge—
A house. Massive. Heavy. Built to endure.
Kael slowed without realizing it.
Wide places made you visible.
The 10th Senior Brother turned, walking backward two steps, grinning like he'd been waiting for this reaction.
"Big, right?" he said proudly. "Master and I built it. Well—Master mainly attends to the garden and the field. I mostly… supervised."
He coughed and added, "By supervising, I mean I complained loudly."
Kael nodded once.
"My place," the 10th Senior Brother corrected immediately, lifting his chin. "Well—our place. But mostly mine. Because I complain the loudest."
He leaned closer, voice dropping into a whisper.
"They say I'm loud because I'm empty-headed. That's slander."
Kael stood quietly, watching him.
Over the years, Kael had learned the faces of cruelty. The city had many.
This face wasn't one of them.
The 10th Senior Brother's eyes flicked to Kael's empty sleeve and away again so quickly it was almost clumsy, as if he was afraid that looking too long would hurt Kael.
"Junior Brother," he said, suddenly serious, "looks like you'll be training the same way as me. Body training. Conditioning."
Kael didn't respond.
The 10th continued anyway, as if silence was normal.
"And over the years, you'll meet the Senior Brothers and Sisters. Don't speak too loudly. They might hear you. Especially First and Second Senior Brother."
His face went pale in exaggerated fear.
Then he hurried to add, "First Senior Brother is the best. Always gives the best gifts. Look."
He reached into empty air.
A pair of massive gauntlets appeared—heavy, dull metal, thick and dense, each glove nearly three times the size of Kael's remaining hand.
"Body-forged gauntlets," the 10th Senior Brother said proudly. "First Senior Brother gathered the materials. Master crafted them. They grow as I grow stronger."
He sighed dramatically.
"But compared to First and Second… I'm weak. Weaker than an ant."
A pause.
Then he brightened again, almost immediately.
"Senior Brothers are probably already notified that you'll be the Eleventh in the future. So we should expect gifts soon."
He looked pleased at the idea, as if gifts to Kael also meant gifts near him.
He pointed at his own clothes.
"You see these? Weighted. Always. Sleeping, eating, washing—always training."
Then he clapped his hands.
"But we'll talk about that later. First—washing."
The house was quiet.
Not the empty quiet of a temple. Not the tense quiet of the forge.
A lived-in quiet. The kind that assumed people would return.
The 10th Senior Brother guided him through wide halls and finally pointed toward a washroom carved into stone. Steam hung lightly. Water had already been prepared.
"The water's ready," he said. "Master arranged it."
He hovered in the doorway, arms folded, expression deadly serious.
"Scrub behind your ears," he instructed. "People judge ears."
Kael stepped into warm water and froze.
Warmth didn't comfort him.
It exposed pain.
Old bruises. Tight muscles. The constant pressure in his chest.
He washed anyway, breathing slowly.
In. Hold. Out.
The 10th Senior Brother noticed.
"You know a breathing technique?" he asked.
Kael hesitated. "No… my father taught me. He said it would help my chest. Said it will help me grow strong."
The 10th frowned in thought, then muttered, half to himself, "Sounds like cultivation… but Master said you don't have any root bones, spirit roots… no aptitude."
He looked at Kael, then at his own hands.
"Same as me," he said more softly. "Mine are locked. Bloodline thing."
Kael finished washing, reached for his old clothes again.
The 10th stared at them as if they offended Heaven.
"You don't have a second set," he said, horrified.
Kael shook his head.
"That's unacceptable," the 10th declared. "Dry off. Wear those for now. We're going to the capital."
Kael's shoulders tensed.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
The 10th blinked, then laughed.
"Because you're my Junior Brother now," he said. "And Junior Brothers don't walk around looking like they were traded for rotten grain."
He paused, then added, tone shifting into something oddly careful.
"And because…" he scratched the back of his head, "…you asked about cultivators earlier. You've been hearing things, haven't you?"
Kael looked down. For years, fragments had followed him—words that didn't belong to Smoke City, yet sat inside his skull like buried metal.
"Senior Brother," Kael said softly, "when you mention cultivator… what is a cultivator?"
The 10th Senior Brother stared at him, then released a slow breath.
"Master usually allocates training in the basics to us Senior Brothers," he said. "So we don't confuse the young ones. I didn't think I'd have to explain it this early."
He leaned closer, voice low, as if the walls themselves might be listening.
"A cultivator," he said, "is someone who takes the energy of Heaven and Earth and makes it theirs. They absorb spiritual, cosmic, elemental energy… then refine body and soul."
Kael's eyes didn't move.
"They extend lifespan," the 10th continued, "some become immortal. They gain abilities—flight, qi techniques, powerful strikes, domains… laws."
He grinned suddenly. "Some are basically ancient monsters in human form."
Kael swallowed.
"And cultivation?" Kael asked.
The 10th Senior Brother's expression shifted—less silly, more steady.
"Cultivation is the process," he said. "Advancing power. Advancing existence. Advancing understanding."
He tapped his own chest.
"It's physical training—strength, speed, techniques. It's spiritual cultivation—soul strength, willpower. It's energy refinement—qi, essence, laws."
Then he looked at Kael, eyes strangely bright.
"At its deepest meaning," he said, "cultivation is the path to transcend humanity and rebel against destiny, fate, Heaven, and limit."
Kael stared at him.
For a moment, the 10th Senior Brother's usual grin returned.
"But! You don't need to understand all that today. Today, you just need clothes."
He slapped Kael's shoulder lightly, then pointed toward the gate path.
"Come on. Capital first."
Kael followed.
And for the first time since Smoke City, following didn't feel like surrender.
It felt like being led somewhere that did not push back.