Kael stood with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the massive stone coffin before him. He gave a mental command, and in that same moment, golden particles shimmered into existence. They swirled through the air, gathering at the base of the coffin until they began to merge.
The lifeless body of the King Wolf Tiger slowly took form, materializing from the golden light as if summoned from memory itself.
'Thankfully, I don't have to pull things out of the coffin myself.'
While Kael had to manually place objects into the coffin, retrieving them was far simpler, he only needed to activate the mote to summon them.
'I suppose anything that enters the coffin becomes one with the mote itself. That's why I can summon it. But the moment it's outside, it returns to being just an object.'
He exhaled sharply, blowing aside a few strands of hair the wind had pushed across his face.
He was just about to snap his fingers when a rustle from a nearby bush made him pause. Kael's gaze snapped down toward the sound, alert, only to watch as a stray dog emerged, sniffing the ground with single-minded focus.
Kael let out a slow breath and crouched, extending a hand toward the animal.
The dog froze, tail tucked low in caution. It didn't growl, but its posture screamed wariness.
Kael didn't speak. He simply waited, patient and still, letting the creature approach on its own terms.
After a moment, the dog stepped closer, nose twitching as it cautiously sniffed at Kael's hand.
"Quite a curious one, aren't you?" Kael murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he reached out and gently patted its head.
Kael had always been fond of dogs, of animals in general. There was a simplicity to them, a quiet honesty in their behavior that felt almost sacred. A dog would wag its tail if it liked you, bare its teeth if it didn't. It would beg if it was hungry, rest if it was tired. There was no mask, no pretense. What they felt, they showed. What they needed, they asked for. Nothing more, nothing less.
Humans were different.
A man could smile at you and mean it. Or not. He could say kind words with a poison-tipped tongue, weave promises meant only to be broken. And you'd never know until it was far too late.
That was the difference that stuck with Kael. Not intelligence. Not dominance. But the absence of clarity.
Animals lived by instinct.
Humans lived by intent.
And intent could be hidden.
That was what made them dangerous.
"You're awfully thin, though."
His expression hardened just slightly.
Kael raised a hand and snapped his fingers, then gave a few sharp flicks through the air.
The rod responded instantly, shooting toward the King Wolf Tiger. It pierced clean through the hind leg, then curved sharply, slicing through it again. It repeated the movement, until the leg finally dropped to the ground, severed entirely.
"There you go."
Kael straightened his back and gave the dog's side a few heavy pats before flicking his fingers once more.
The rod darted forward again, embedding deep in the King Wolf Tiger's Neck before it began to pull, dragging the massive corpse behind him in sync with his steps.
'Bothersome. I won't be able to use the stone coffin within the city, but it can't be helped.'
It would've been far more efficient to summon the coffin directly in town, drop the beast right onto the reward table. But that option was not available.
When Kael had asked Syleena for a storage-mote recipe, he hadn't been in a position to make demands. He had to accept what she was willing to give.
And true to her scheming nature, she hadn't just met his request, she had buried it in conditions.
The mote itself was valuable. Exactly what Kael needed.
But it had one flaw. One critical flaw.
It was tied to the soul pathway.
Kael sighed as his thoughts drifted deeper.
The soul pathway was known to all, but cultivated by none.
Why?
Long ago, one of the four Royal Noble Families had acted. Not through messengers or proxies, but directly. They had gone out themselves to slay a Luminaire.
That alone was enough to shake the world. Royal Nobles were nearly mythical, rarely seen. Their appearance was the first in over fifty thousand years.
But what truly shattered the world's silence…
Was what followed.
For the first time in perhaps hundreds of millions of years, all four Royal Noble Families reached a mutual agreement.
And announced it to the entire world.
"Let it be known," the decree echoed across the world, "that any who dare cultivate, wield, or even speak of the soul pathway shall be struck down without mercy."
And with that, the Royal Noble Families fell silent once more.
They have not been seen,
not heard,
in over twenty thousand years.
To summon the mote within the city would be nothing short of a death wish.
Kael adjusted his grip on the sabre tooth of the two regular Wolf Tigers, then continued on his way toward Velthoria.
If a mortal were to see him now, they might go into shock.
A lone man, walking through the woods, dragging two massive beasts behind him, and further still, the King.
Its enormous body scraped against the earth with a constant, low rumble, tearing up undergrowth and leaving a long trail of churned soil in its wake.
"mmm… I really gotta get my hands on that strength mote."
Kael murmured under his breath as he pulled the beasts behind him with great effort.
Time passed slowly as Kael made his way through the forest. Eventually, the outline of the Luminaire District began to reveal itself between the trees.
The sound of scraping, beast against earth, gradually gave way to a dull sound as they stepped onto the cobblestone streets.
"Woah, what's that guy doing?"
"Is that… a King beast?"
"I've never seen him before."
Murmurs spread like wildfire through the crowd. Heads turned, eyes lingered. Kael walked steadily, pulling the beast behind him, unbothered by the gathering attention.
The surrounding Luminaires instinctively took a step back the moment they sensed his aura. Rank two. That alone was enough to command caution. A few bold, or perhaps foolish, rank ones stood their ground, silently watching him pass, curiosity flickering in their eyes.
'It should be just around the corner.'
Kael cast a brief glance around, mentally noting his position.
Without reacting to the voices around him, he continued down the street, unmoved by the weight of stares or the rising chatter in his wake.
His steps came to a stop as he stood before a massive stone building, its structure imposing, the two dark wooden double doors towering in front of him.
Kael released his grip on the two Wolf Tigers, exhaled lightly, then brushed a hand across his coat, smoothing out the dust clinging to the fabric. With a snap of his fingers, the golden rod vanished.
The moment it disappeared, the King Wolf Tiger's body collapsed under its own weight. Its massive head slammed against the cobblestone with a heavy thud that echoed down the street, sending a tremor through the air.
Kael placed a hand loosely on his shoulder and rolled it, trying to ease the tension that had settled in. Then, without hesitation, he stepped through the doors and into the stone building.
The interior was old but well-maintained. A vast wooden hall stretched before him, lit by the soft glow of a chandelier suspended high above. Its light bathed the room in a muted warmth. Benches lined the walls in even rows, lending the space a symmetry.
The taps of Kael's boots echoed sharply against the tiled floor as he made his way forward. He glanced down.
Beneath him, the Valthorne family crest had been laid into the floor in colored tile. Two lions, locked in a vicious struggle, their bodies entangled by thorned vines as they fought to the death.
'How humble.'
He almost rolled his eyes.
It was always the same with noble families. They schemed, murdered, manipulated, and stole, often on scales so vast the damage was impossible to quantify. They razed villages through policy, bled cities dry through trade, and sacrificed lives with a signature. Yet at the first hint of injustice directed their way, or the slightest stain upon their reputation, they would puff out their chests and speak their names like sacred scripture, invoking titles as if they themselves were the embodiment of justice.
In truth, if judged by the very standards they proclaimed, they would be condemned as frauds. Living contradictions. Monuments to irony. And yet, they weren't.
Why?
Because they had built the stage upon which morality was performed. They had written the script, cast the roles, and decided who wore the mask of virtue and who bore the mark of shame. What was right and what was wrong had nothing to do with truth, it was design, sustained by repetition and belief. A carefully woven illusion passed down like scripture, until even the ones pulling the strings forgot that the strings existed at all.
Morality itself was not a fixed law, but a language spoken differently depending on who held the power. To the people, a hero was one who triumphed. He was beloved, respected, adorned with praise. But only so long as he continued to serve a purpose. The moment he faltered, no, the moment his utility waned, adoration would curdle into apathy, and the same mouths that once chanted his name would speak it with disinterest or disdain.
It was never about truth. Only value. But not intrinsic value, no. It was the hollow kind. The value determined by perception. By opinion. By the shifting winds of convenience and sentiment.
A man could sacrifice everything and still be forgotten if he did so quietly. Another could burn a city and be remembered as bold, provided he wore the right name.
In such a world, virtue was not something lived. It was something worn. And discarded.
Kael exhaled slowly, the breath passing through his lips.
True value… it was a rare thing.
In a world where almost everything was negotiable, titles, gold, favors, even life itself, what could be called real? Nations rose and fell on promises. Entire currencies shifted worth with the stroke of a pen or the tremble of a market. A man could hold a vault full of gold, and yet its worth could be undone overnight by fear, by decree, by war.
Money had value because people agreed it did. Gold shone bright only because minds were taught to revere its gleam. These were illusions given weight by collective belief, constructed truths, fragile at their core. Break the illusion, and the value disappeared.
But strength?
Strength remained.
It did not need belief. It did not falter with sentiment. If one possessed it, it was known, undeniably, irrevocably. Whether it was muscle, will, or mastery of the soul, strength was something that left no room for opinion. It didn't ask for approval. It didn't depend on others recognizing it to exist.
Even if the world turned upside down, if governments crumbled, if ideologies were rewritten, if language itself was lost, true strength would remain. It would carve paths where none existed, speak truths that no mouth could deny. It was the one constant, the one law untouched by propaganda or philosophy.
Strength was proof. It was action, not claim. And it was the only value that no one could counterfeit.
Kael's gaze sharpened.
Even if the entire world became a lie, even if the sky split and the stars fell, true strength would remain.
Kael paused, forcing himself to shut down his thoughts as he came to a halt in front of the counter. A young woman sat behind it, scribbling in a notepad, dressed neatly in a work uniform.
As soon as she noticed his presence, she looked up, her lips curling into a polite, practiced smile.
"I'm here to claim a reward."
Kael's voice was firm, direct.
"I see! May I take a look at the mission request you're here to report?"
He didn't answer, just reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out two folded slips of paper, their edges stiff and darkened with dried blood.
The woman's expression faltered for a brief second. A flicker of discomfort crossed her face, but she quickly masked it with professionalism. She accepted the papers without a word and unfolded them, scanning their contents.
"Wolf Tigers and…" her voice trailed off slightly as she read the second note. "A King Wolf Tiger."
Her tone had shifted, still composed, but noticeably lower.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I'll need to report this to someone higher up before your reward can be processed. Please wait here a moment."
She stood, smoothing the front of her uniform as she turned toward the door behind the counter. But just before reaching it, she stopped abruptly and glanced back, a strained smile tugging at her lips.
"Ah—my apologies. I forgot to ask your name."
Kael didn't move. His eyes, already sharp, grew colder, like polished glass pulled from ice. There was no malice in them, no fire. Just that steady, unfeeling stillness that made people instinctively step back.
"Kael Sinclaire."