The next morning, the training courtyard was bathed in a pale, overcast light. Mana lingered in the air like hot, wet, heavy humidity. Just waiting to be used.
Kai stood at the centre, arms behind his back, watching Mari from across the sand-dusted arena. She was quiet, focused. Eyes closed. Mana danced faintly around her in threads only he could truly see, although Willam was getting better at seeing and sensing mana. Subtle curls of light and force responded to her will. The light of divinity.
She was improving.
Too quickly.
"Again," Kai said, voice sharp and commanding. "Don’t just sense the mana. Feel the boundaries of it. Shape it before it shapes you."
Mari nodded and began the sequence again, drawing in a breath, letting her hands rise in sync with her inner flow.
Kai frowned.
’She’s good.’
Too good.
A little too attentive, a little too perfect. And he hated that he was the one sharpening her blade. The same girl who had once stood over the corpses of their parents like it was... necessary.
He closed his eyes, trying to silence the ghosts of that memory.
’If I can reach the Soul Foundry... if I can find a way to revive them... maybe things can go back to the way they were. Maybe she’ll remember what she did. And maybe I can fix it.’
The thought was fragile, idealistic, and he hated himself for clinging to it. But it was better than accepting what he knew: that she was still under the Church’s thumb, a polished pawn willing to do anything, even discard her precious family.
He glanced across the courtyard again.
Just him, Mari, and Willam. Training. Working. Preparing for the Crucible Games.
But three people weren’t enough. Not for what was coming.
He needed a fourth.
’Maybe even a fifth’, he thought grimly.
If he wanted to win, not just the Games, but the deeper war beneath them, he needed numbers. Strength. People he could trust.
Or at least control. Soul manipulation was possible. Emille, Mari, and countless others that meant little to him could become wonderful pawns of his own.
He made a mental note to begin scouting for allies, or slaves. Someone with utility. A wild card. Something unpredictable.
He didn’t have long to dwell.
The final submission day for the games was one day away.
A ripple passed through the courtyard, magic heavy with divine resonance. To Kai, it was more of a warning than a blessing. The magic made him remember the obnoxious goddess that forced countless meetings with him.
Kai turned.
A procession of robed figures crossed the threshold. Templars flanked the sides in white and gold, their ceremonial halberds glinting beneath the sunless sky. And at the centre walked a man Kai had not seen in years, yet remembered with agonizing clarity.
Archbishop Aldric.
Time hadn’t softened the bastard. His face still bore that same smug serenity, that same practiced warmth designed to make others kneel.
But Kai saw past it.
Because there, beneath the Archbishop’s right eye, was the mark. The one Mari mentioned years ago.
A long, jagged scar that ran from temple to jaw.
A gift from Shade, delivered the night Kai had escaped the Church’s clutches.
For the briefest second, Kai let himself feel that old flame.
’You still wear it. Good. I hope it reminds you of me.’
Aldric’s eyes scanned the courtyard, then settled on him. And he smiled.
"Mirlin, I am guessing," he greeted, his voice oozing authority laced with sugar. "I’ve heard excellent things. My daughter has grown under your instruction. You’ve done the Church a great service."
That word. Daughter. Not in the priest to their sheep sort of meaning, but he actually took her as his daughter.
’You disgust me.’
Kai’s fists clenched. His shadows rippled, eager to answer his hate. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper.
Aldric stepped closer, still smiling.
"I often feared Mari would struggle to connect with others. But you... you’ve managed to reach her. That’s a gift."
The darkness coiled at Kai’s feet like a serpent about to strike.
He was going to kill him.
He was going to unleash Shade and tear his throat open in front of everyone.
But then, pain. Sudden, sharp, crushing.
A hand gripped his shoulder.
Willam.
The air shimmered with strengthening magic, focused through Willam’s fingers. It was enough to bruise bone. Enough to make Kai pause.
"Easy," Willam whispered beside him, low and calm.
Aldric noticed none of it. Or perhaps he did, and simply didn’t care. With a final nod to Mari, he extended a gloved hand.
"Come, Mari. The Council is waiting. You have someone they wish you to meet."
Mari cast a small, unreadable glance at Kai before taking the man’s hand which she called ’father’ and following him away from the familiarity of the academy’s courtyard and back towards marble houses of the gods.
Kai didn’t look after them. He didn’t need to.
His blood still boiled.
Only when they were gone did Willam let go, but kept his hand close by.
"Want to talk about it?" he asked.
Kai slapped Willam’s hand away and stared at the ground. "He killed my parents."
Willam blinked. "You’re sure?"
"Yes. Not directly, but I watched him lie to her face. Watched her believe him. And now I’m the one training her when she still believes his lies."
Willam said nothing. Of course, with the little information given, he didn’t understand. He walked a few steps forward, then stopped.
"I guess I should tell you... My father works for the Church too," he said at last. "In the Inquisition."
Kai turned toward him slowly.
"What’s his name?" Kai tilted his head as the brightness of his eyes dulled.
Willam hesitated. "Broderick."
The name hit Kai like a blow. Fragments of the memories of Troy, the inquisitor, flowed clawed their way to the surface.
High Inquisitor Broderick. The Wraith-Flayer. The one who tortured rogue mages for ’salvation’.
The name rang a bell in his head. The day of his magical assessment.
"Of course. The green hair..."
Willam looked away as he caught the look of disgust on Kai’s face. "You’ve met him? Well, I’m not him."
Kai watched him for a long, quiet moment.
"...Good," Kai said finally. "Because if you ever start acting like him, I’ll bury you myself."
Willam didn’t flinch. "Fair enough."
They stood in silence as the late-day breeze swept across the yard.
Above them, the bells of the academy’s clock tower began to toll, long, slow, and heavy.
’War will be coming. The gods know I exist, and surely Aldric has heard about my survival. I need more allies. A church full of people who can use divine magic? I need an army to fight that.’