Kael let out a long exhale, the kind that sounded like it carried every poor decision he'd ever made.
His limbs felt like they were filled with bricks.
Sleep, long overdue and utterly uninterested in his dignity, finally pounced.
He reached out — barely thinking — and tugged Selene gently down onto the bed beside him.
"Wha— Master!" she hissed, half-struggling as he flopped the blanket over both of them like a dying man claiming his last comfort.
"Shhhh," he murmured, eyes already closed.
"You're warm. That's your new job now. Human pillow."
She went stiff for a second — scandalized, confused, murdery — but then let out a soft sigh and gave in.
"Gods, you're impossible," she muttered.
Kael nuzzled into her shoulder, clearly feeling zero shame.
"Told you. Comes with the title."
She rolled her eyes, but didn't move.
And slowly, the tension bled from the room — replaced by silence, steady rain, and the kind of bone-deep sleep that only shows up after things try to kill you and fail.
It wasn't graceful.
It wasn't romantic.
But it was real.
And for Kael, that was more than enough.
###
The morning sun slipped through the curtains like an intruder with no respect for hangovers.
Pale light painted the chamber in gold and judgment.
Kael stirred.
He reached to the side instinctively — empty sheets, faint warmth, no Selene.
"…Huh. She left," he muttered, rubbing one eye.
"Guess I really did fall asleep on her."
He sat up slowly, testing his limbs like someone suspicious their body might betray them.
The pain had receded — dulled to a manageable throb instead of a full-body rebellion.
Between Selene's healing and unconscious cuddling,
He felt… vaguely human.
A rare, dangerous feeling.
He rose, stretched with a groan that sounded like someone thirty years older, and shuffled off to the bath.
A long soak later — and some much-needed hygiene — Kael stepped out, clean and clothed.
Dark tunic. Fitted coat. Silver-threaded cuffs.
The kind of outfit that screamed:
"I might commit treason, but I'll look hot doing it."
He stood in front of the mirror, ran a hand through his damp hair, and grinned at his reflection.
"Damn," he murmured.
"Still got it.
Eyes like the abyss. Cheekbones you could sharpen steel on.
Handsome as hell."
Not narcissism.
Just basic morale maintenance.
The house was dead quiet.
No servants in sight. No footsteps. No interruptions.
Perfect.
Kael padded across the room to a plain stretch of wall in the far corner — barely visible, even to a trained eye.
He pressed a worn stone.
With the soft grind of old secrets waking up, a narrow section of the wall slid open.
Stone on stone.
Whisper quiet.
He slipped inside.
The hidden vault wasn't much.
About the size of a broom closet, if that broom closet had been designed by paranoid mages with trust issues.
Silence runes pulsed faintly on the walls.
A single glowstone overhead pulsed like a heartbeat — low, slow, ominous.
Kael knelt.
Laid out in reverent disorder were his sins and savings:
The blackened mask, the silent blade, the scrolls and that ...egg.
He stared at them for a moment, then muttered:
"I need a space ring. Or a bigger house. Or a therapist.
Preferably all three."
His hand passed over the egg warily.
Still cold.
Still pulsing.
Still none of his business.
He sighed again, already tired.
"So many things to hide. So little storage."
Kael sighed, eyes flicking over the dusty scrolls laid out like a rogue librarian's crimes.
"Let's go to the market today."
He dropped into a cross-legged sit, the silence runes around him pulsing faintly as he unrolled the scrolls with practiced ease.
Most were Rank 2 — expected.
And disappointingly boring.
Fireball. Water jet. Earth spike.
Elemental basics — predictable, flashy, and so last century.
Then one caught his eye.
Its script was tight, the mana clinging to it like static before a storm.
Arcanum Vortex.
Raw, untyped mana.
A pure sphere of force.
No element. No rules.
Just chaos, scaled entirely to the user's input.
Kael grinned.
"Finally, a spell that understands me."
He moved on.
Mana Dome.
Defensive.
A barrier capable of withstanding even a Rank 3 attack — briefly.
"Perfect. One to break things, one to not die."
He also chose these two spells because they weren't specifically tied to the Academy — meaning he could use them without drawing suspicion.
He tucked the two promising scrolls into his coat and bundled the others into a cloth-wrapped satchel, tied it tight, and padded toward the hidden wall.
But just as he slid the panel open—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
He froze. "Shit—"
With the reflexes of a man too experienced in hiding things he shouldn't own, Kael shoved the satchel behind a cabinet and straightened his collar like nothing had happened.
He opened the door.
Selene stood there.
Tray in hand. Eyes narrowed. Foot already tapping.
"What were you doing?" she asked flatly.
"I've been knocking. Loudly."
Kael gave her his most innocent grin — which, frankly, looked guilty on contact.
"Morning meditation?"
"With thuds?"
"Well, you know, sometimes the best meditation involves a bit of... Vigorous arm-flailing."
Selene crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.
"Vigorous arm-flailing? Is that what you call punching the air like a madman?"
"Exactly!" Kael said, unfazed. "You're catching on."
She sighed, stepped inside, and closed the door with that quiet finality only truly tired people manage.
Kael locked it behind her.
Just in case.
Selene placed the tray gently on the edge of the bed.
Tea, steam rising, judgment implied.
"Thanks," Kael said, already sipping.
It was routine by now — sip tea, skim news, prepare for existential dread.
But today, the moment his eyes hit the first headline.
Kael spat tea like a cursed fountain.
It hit the floor with a splatter and a gasp — mostly from Selene, who jumped back like the porcelain had exploded.
"For fuck's sake!" she hissed, already snatching a cloth from the tray.
"This estate survives assassins, curses, and auctions, but not your breakfast?"
Kael raised a hand apologetically.
"Sorry… guess the tea wanted to escape before things got worse."
He crouched, dripping mug in one hand, soggy newspaper in the other.
His eyes scanned the headline, and his face drained faster than his cup.
BOUNTY:
100,000 GOLD COINS FOR INFORMATION ON THE INDIVIDUAL KNOWN ONLY AS 'THE DEVIL'.
Kael blinked.
Then blinked again.
Then, deadpan:
…I'm starting to think this might be about me.