The early morning mist clung gently to the ground, still bearing the scent of dew. Dawn had barely cracked the horizon, but already the hidden vitality of the Khaedris training grounds stirred with ghostlike motion.
Disciples—young men and women—moved in concert. They wore half-masks adorned with fur-lined embroidery, the stylized visages of foxes traced in silver, crimson, sapphire, and black. Two disciples in the central ring squared off. One bore 85 veins, the other 77. But their movements, laced with illusions, were precise and deadly.
The air seemed to flicker—silver mist rolled in even indoors.
A strike missed.
A shadow slipped behind.
A paw-shaped shimmer remained before fading like smoke.
The duel continued, enchanting and dangerous. Around them, other teenaged warriors practiced forms or watched, masked like living murals.
From the upper balcony, Nocth observed, his eyes narrow and burning with silent recognition.
In his mind surfaced a line from one of the ancient vein-affinity scrolls:
"Among the Nine, the Eight rest still and wild, bearing the breath of beasts once spoken of in the Epoch of Warring Skies. Only Khaedris, the House of Flickering Foxes, ever preserved them."
His thoughts twisted. Could it be?
Footsteps approached.
Relin stood beside him, folding his arms. His half-mask hung at his side, revealing his calm but serious expression.
"You've guessed it already, haven't you?" he said, voice low. "Anni and I are of House Khaedris. And yes… that passage you remember is not myth."
He exhaled, his eyes distant. "What you see below is the preserved form of what was once a celestial bloodline forged in shadow and spirit—during the Epoch of Flickering War."
Relin leaned closer. "Our house doesn't originate from this land... nor from the regional systems that birthed the Zyreon Celestial Kingdom."
Nocth turned sharply.
Relin gave a knowing look but waved off further questioning. "Not now. Some secrets bind us in ways that disturb even the seasoned. But I will say this—our ancestral line hails from a place beyond this world. An elsewhere. A breath of alternate sky."
He grew quiet for a moment.
"It began with a celestial maiden… known only by a simple name: Esha."
Relin's eyes softened, but a dark light lingered beneath.
"She brought both love and hate wherever she went. Her charming techniques… altered hearts, split kingdoms. And from her, our bloodline gained its first foxfire."
Nocth remained still, the name Esha settling into his soul like a whisper across time.
"I tell you this," Relin continued, "because I believe you'll understand the weight. But also… because I believe someone powerful has taken interest in you."
He didn't say more. A brief pause, then he added, "The Zyreon Kingdom is not without eyes. But distractions are costly, Nocth. Focus on training."
To shift the mood, Relin lifted a small jade plate, glowing faintly with celestial-blue runes. It shimmered like moonlight in water.
"This," he said, handing it to Nocth, "is your key into the Nine Celestial Kingdom Pavilion."
Nocth took it cautiously. It hummed softly in his hand.
"Few civilians, even minor nobles, can acquire this," Relin said. "Through the pavilion, you'll learn to forge astral arms—weapons, armor, artifacts—etched by the will of your own veins. That's how astral mastery begins."
Nocth looked up.
Relin smirked. "Even Imius went through the pavilion. As do other senior disciples of the Grand Academy. It is no small gift."
He chuckled faintly. "Old Jhin probably meant to give this to you himself… but knowing him, he likely dropped it during one of his drunken naps under a fruit stand. I found it weeks ago near the Eastern Terrace of Vael's Crossing."
Nocth allowed himself a small smile.
---
Evening draped the Mhaerun District in a veil of soft gold and shadow. The noble roads bustled with dignified silence, guards stationed at corners, mist lanterns alight.
In the southern scholar ward of the capital, seven disguised figures walked calmly along a polished stone path. Each wore scholarly robes embroidered with the Mhaerun crest subtly hidden within flowing silver thread. Their faces were masked with civility, but beneath, hungry intent churned.
Beside them walked a man with quiet eyes and clenched fists.
Velisar Mhaerun.
One of the seven—a woman with cold lilac eyes—turned her head and smiled faintly at him.
"Try not to screw this up," she whispered, lips barely moving. "I hear Lord Seion didn't exactly cry when he had you chained up like a dog."
Her chuckle was like broken glass.
Velisar said nothing.
He clenched his jaw, forcing down his anger. The sharp taste of shame was worse than the bruises.
This time, he told himself. I won't fail. Even if that masked bastard played us all.
The seven moved forward into the evening, silver robes flickering like ghosts in the coming night.