Chapter 23: Images of the Past

The voice of Kael Torson echoed in his thoughts.

One of the four clandestine figures conspiring to bring down the floating island of Aeris, he had involved himself far more than necessary. Not that he cared—he was far too old to regret his actions.

His tall, skeletal frame, white hair cascading down his back, and a scraggly, unkempt beard made him look like little more than a walking corpse. At least that was how he felt—not because of his years but from the weight of memories that corroded him day after day.

In his youth, Kael had embraced a life of debauchery. At times, his misdeeds had landed him in serious trouble with the law, leading to multiple stints in lesser prisons. One day, after visiting a brothel on Sora Island—the second-largest island in the Rainshadow Isles archipelago—he had been accused of refusing to pay for services rendered. The accusation was true, but he hadn’t cared. What was another beating or another spell in a cell? He had resigned himself to his fate until the very prostitute he had spent time with—a time that had been far from enjoyable—spoke out in his defense.

She told her superiors that he had paid for her services, and thanks to her intervention, Torson walked away unscathed.

Later that day, while passing through the same alley by the brothel, he heard the sounds of someone being beaten. It was the same woman who had defended him. Cowardly as ever, Kael did nothing to intervene. But once the beating ended, he approached the bloodied woman—perhaps out of pity, or perhaps guilt. Maybe both.

“This was because of this morning, wasn’t it?” a younger Kael Torson asked.

The pale, slender woman, bleeding from her nose and lip, looked at him and managed a faint smile. “Oh, it’s you, dear client. Don’t worry. I’m used to it.”

She was broken—inside and out.

Kael couldn’t bring himself to leave her there. He carried her to her home, a pitiful shack in Sora’s slums. The stench of filth and decay greeted him at the door, thick and suffocating.

Just inside, a boy with green eyes and long hair stood. He didn’t flinch at the sight of a stranger. Without a word, the boy took his mother by the shoulder and, with Kael’s help, laid her down on her bed.

The woman fell asleep instantly.

Kael didn’t even know her name, so he turned to the boy, who couldn’t have been more than four or five years old. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy looked at him, defiant and unafraid. “Ardyn,” he replied.

“Well, Ardyn,” Kael said, “this woman—your mother, I assume—helped me today. I’m not a good Samaritan, and I’m not about to stay and fix your miserable life. But if there’s ever something I can do for you, I won’t hesitate. Out of respect for someone who’s had as little luck as I have. So tell me—what can I do for you?”

The boy didn’t hesitate. “Remember my name, you piece of trash. One day, I’ll bring the whole system to its knees, and when that happens, you’ll be my servant.”

Kael, taken aback by such bold words from a child, stood up abruptly. “Alright, kid. I’ll remember your name. And I really hope yours becomes the sharpest blade that destroys everything established. I don’t think it’ll happen, but I genuinely hope it does. If the day comes when my presence can tip the scales in your favor, I’ll try.”

With that, a younger Kael Torson left the house without another word.

That had been more than twenty years ago.

Yet those memories haunted him now, clawing their way back to torment him. Could he never find peace? Had he truly sinned so much?

A twist of fate, exploiting both luck and the misfortune of others, had made Torson the principal stakeholder of the levicite mines on the Outer Continent. Money and power were not lacking in his life these days, but it had been years since he had found any meaning in it. Thousands of thoughts about his youthful crimes haunted him every day. But the woman from Sora haunted him the most.

This was why, when the Council of Four—through Tessa and Lady Miren—had recently decided to target Calen Ardyn and his companion Rion, Kael Torson couldn’t sit idly by. He owed a debt he needed to repay, if only to silence the ghosts long enough to sleep.

Elenora’s plan was simple: lure Calen and Rion to the LCC’s facilities at night, using their influence over Livra, the girl they controlled. She was the key to ensuring the two would be alone, making it easy for Tessa and Auren to eliminate them.

That same night, after asking around at the Aeris tavern, Torson found Calen Ardyn’s address and left him a note warning him not to go to the LCC. That would suffice for now.

Kael Torson wasn’t interested in the chaos the others sought to sow in their bid for control of Aeris. He preferred diplomacy—even if it required underhanded dealings—over outright war. That was why he had joined the Council of Four in the first place: to keep things from spiraling out of control. But this situation had already crossed too many lines. He had to act.

Upon arriving at the gates of the LCC, he decided to wait. He needed to ensure nothing happened to the other boy—Rion. From what he had heard, Rion had knowledge about the LCC that could prove useful. Kael needed him alive.

Lighting a cigarette to pass the time, Torson took a deep drag. But instead of the warmth of smoke filling his lungs, all he felt was cold—sharp and sudden—piercing his chest.

Looking down, he saw it: a spear as thick as his arm, driven clean through him.

“One less fly,” said Auren, the assassin, as he yanked the spear from Torson’s body.

The lanky, gaunt man collapsed to his knees, the cigarette still lit between his lips as he inhaled, but no smoke emerged.

“So this is my end, huh?” he murmured, looking up at the moon. “I deserve this. No complaints.”

And with that, he fell to the ground, lifeless.