Kael walked through the streets of Lasthold, which was slowly sinking into its evening routine. Stone houses, still glowing with the golden light of sunset only moments ago, were now painted in cold gray tones, while the first mana-crystal lamps flickered to life at the intersections. The air was thick with the scent of hops, roasted meat, and smoked fish—but the merchants were in no hurry to close their stalls. Children spilled onto the streets, their laughter ringing as they played with makeshift toys.

  But for Kael, all of this was nothing more than noisy background. He felt invigorated—the first day after his return had not been without its challenges, yet it had given him more than he had dared to expect. His heart beat faster than usual, bubbling with a sense of anticipation.

  “Before I start absorbing mana, I need to review the texts of the owner of the Canon of Primordial Void,” he thought quietly. “In the Divine Library I was always in a rush and only skimmed through them, memorizing the pages visually but not their meaning. I need to reread everything carefully. Maybe then I’ll understand better what the author was truly like…”

  His footsteps echoed against the stone pavement as memories of his final moments of slavery in the Library pierced his mind.

  “That Divine Spirit said… the owner of the Canon rose against the Gods themselves and was defeated. Even the God of Knowledge and Madness mentioned it. But honestly, it’s hard to believe…” A shadow of doubt flickered in his eyes. “I never saw the Gods in battle. But I can imagine the scale of their power.”

  He stopped for a moment, lifting his head toward the heavens, where the violet canvas of thickening twilight already shimmered with the first stars.

  “Who were you, owner of the Canon of Primordial Void? A hero… a madman… or perhaps both at once? In any case, we are bound now in a way, for I have inherited your legacy…”

  But his thoughts were abruptly cut off by a sharp, almost mockingly cheerful voice from the roadside:

  “Look here! A mana elixir, only ten bronze coins!”

  Kael instinctively turned his head. At a roadside stall stood a tall, thin man with a receding hairline, a slender cane glinting in his hand. On the table before him lay dozens of small bottles filled with blue liquid, glimmering in the lamplight, passable imitations of real elixirs.

  Before him crowded three boys, around fifteen years old. One of them—bright green-haired, with a cocky grin—snorted and shouted:

  “Hey, old man, why so cheap? Are you a scammer or what?”

  The merchant’s cheeks instantly flushed red. Without thinking, he smacked the boy on the head with his cane and roared:

  “You little brat! I just need the money, got it?! Don’t you slander me! Get lost and quit spewing nonsense!”

  The boys only laughed. Instead of leaving, they began making faces at him—one stuck out his tongue, another raised his fingers into mock horns, the third pinched his nose theatrically as if the air stank of rot.

  Watching the scene, Kael only arched a brow and let his gaze drift lazily over the rows of bottles. First, a shallow glance at the front line. Then, more carefully—at those placed at the back, seemingly no different at first glance.

  His amber eyes gleamed, and the corners of his lips curled into an innocent smile.

  “Today fortune is with me…” he murmured under his breath.

  His footsteps grew firmer as he slowly made his way toward the stall. Coming closer, he let his gaze slide over the bottles and added with mocking calm:

  “I could use such an elixir myself… Besides, a good deal doesn’t always require money.”

  The merchant gave him a wary look, but his face lit up the instant he caught a hint of interest in Kael’s eyes.

  Kael, unhurried, picked up one of the bottles from the back row and squinted.

  “Hm… curious shade. There are traces of mana ore inside. And this…” He gave the vial a slight shake and watched the tiny fibers sink slowly. “This isn’t just a dried leaf, it’s the stem’s core.”

  The merchant spread into a wide grin and nodded eagerly, as if finally someone understood him.

  “Exactly, exactly! I thought no one would notice. Few young ones realize my elixirs aren’t some slop, but real quality goods!”

  He snatched the bottle from Kael’s hand and declared almost ceremoniously:

  “For those kind words, I’ll give you a discount. Eight bronze coins! Practically a gift!”

  But Kael gave the faintest smirk, tilted his head slightly, and said:

  “May I smell it?”

  The merchant froze, his eyes twitching, his hand clutching the bottle closer to his chest. He forced a confident smile, though his lips trembled crookedly.

  “Y-yes… of course you can…” he drawled, grumbling inwardly: “What am I afraid of? No way this brat can tell anything from smell alone. Even Steel Mages can’t always figure it out…”

  Kael deftly took the bottle, opened it, and brought it to his face. First, a short, cautious inhale. Then another, loud and deep through his nose, as if savoring subtle notes of berries or oak in a fine wine.

  The three boys standing nearby craned their necks, then burst out laughing at how ridiculous it looked.

  “Hey, you in on it with him? Trying to scam us? Ha-ha-ha!”

  “You won’t fool us!” another shouted.

  Kael ignored them. He exhaled slowly, cast the man a sly glance, and said thoughtfully:

  “Such a fresh scent…”

  He let the pause linger, savoring the effect, before continuing coldly:

  “When an elixir’s base isn’t properly purified, bitterness creeps in. That’s why the elixir loses most of its potency.”

  He calmly stoppered the vial, set it back on the stall, and with a slight tilt of his head added:

  “I once read in a book that some dishonest alchemists add fragrant herbs… like wild mint. That way they mask the bitterness and hide the defect.”

  At that, the merchant nearly choked on his own spit. His grin froze, eyes darting side to side. He forced out a crooked laugh:

  “H-heh… does someone really do that? Scoundrels indeed… ha-ha.”

  But the laugh rang hollow. Meanwhile, passersby had begun to stop, casting curious glances at the stall. A few whispered among themselves. Sweat beaded on the merchant’s brow, his face flushed red, and he hissed through clenched teeth:

  “Damn brat… he’ll scare off my customers…”

  He gave a sharp grunt, swung his cane like a barrier, and barked irritably:

  “Enough loitering! If you’re not buying, get lost and run back to your mommies, brats!”

  The three teenagers laughed, made faces at him, then shoved each other with their elbows as they dashed off down the street.

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  Kael took a slow step back as if about to leave, then suddenly turned, his voice tinged with innocent mockery:

  “Don’t worry, uncle. I was just heading over to the market guard to tell them how fresh your elixir smells. I’m sure after that you’ll have no shortage of customers.”

  The merchant blinked, his face contorting, and he hurriedly spoke up, forcing a servile smile:

  “N-no need to trouble the guards, young man! They’re busy people… And I’m honest, truly! Well, maybe I hurry my sales a bit, but the goods are quality!”

  Kael turned, pointed to the bottles lined up in the front row, and smirked with satisfaction:

  “Honest… but not entirely. Those mana elixirs here are passable. But what you tried to pawn off on children—nothing but duds. Heh-heh.”

  He took a step closer, leaning forward just enough so only the merchant could hear, and whispered with a cold smirk:

  “So that’s how you work? To those who know something—real goods. And to foolish children—rotten swill?”

  Kael’s amber eyes gleamed with a predatory light, and the merchant felt as if it wasn’t a boy looking at him at all, but something far more dangerous.

  The man felt caught red-handed, like a thief with his hand in someone else’s purse. A sick churn welled in his chest, cold sweat crawled down his back. He gripped his cane until his knuckles whitened, but under Kael’s cunning gaze, his confidence seemed to seep away like water through his fingers.

  “What do you want, boy?” he rasped hoarsely, trying not to draw attention. “Why are you spewing all this nonsense?”

  Kael chuckled quietly, his voice almost lazy, yet that very laziness carried a razor-sharp calculation.

  “Isn’t it obvious, fool? I’m blackmailing you.”

  The merchant’s jaw dropped. He froze, staring at the boy as if a demon in human form stood before him.

  “You little cur! Think you can threaten grown men? Why, I’ll—”

  “No, no,” Kael interrupted, calmly raising a finger. “Wrong question. If I hear that kind of drivel again, I really will go to the guards. So think twice before you threaten me back.”

  The merchant twisted as though wrung from within. Rage boiled in him, his fingers shook against the cane, and panic sparked in his mind:

  “Last month I already got a warning… If this brat snitches, I’ll be in real trouble. And then the higher-ups will come down on me too…”

  He sucked in a loud breath, narrowed his eyes, and forced out a steady, raspy tone:

  “What’s the price of silence?”

  Kael nodded as if hearing the only acceptable answer. Straightening, he clasped his hands behind his back and said with near-angelic innocence:

  “I won’t be greedy. I’ll let you buy me off with just one quality elixir. I’m a young man, a growing body. I need to develop my mana… so try to be understanding, mister swindler.”

  The merchant suddenly trembled, as though the ground had vanished beneath him. Irritated muttering spilled from his lips:

  “You’re the swindler here, damn brat…”

  Grinding his teeth, he wiped sweat from his brow with a rough hand and, with visible effort, ducked beneath the stall. A moment later, a sealed flask with a rough cork appeared—one kept for more "important" customers.

  He held it out to Kael, but the moment the boy reached for it, the merchant seized his wrist and squinted suspiciously.

  “But what guarantee do I have that you’ll keep quiet, huh?” he hissed. “What if you still go to the guards? You never know…”

  Kael made no effort to pull free. He only smiled lazily, as if they were having a casual chat and not a tense exchange under threat.

  “Why would I butcher a milk cow?” he replied without the slightest hint of shame. “What if I feel like a little milk again?”

  The words jolted the merchant as if struck by lightning: his eyes went wide, his grip faltered, and the flask slipped from his fingers. Kael, lightning-fast, caught it with ease as though it had always been his, then stepped back in one smooth motion, yanking his wrist free.

  “Don’t worry,” he said evenly, a restrained smile touching his lips. “You won’t be left at a loss. I’ll value our cooperation and call on your help only in critical cases.”

  He mimed zipping his lips shut and nodded lightly to seal the deal. The merchant, seething, growled:

  “Maybe leave at least a coin for decency’s sake?”

  To which Kael replied with innocent cheer:

  “Flat broke right now. But when I get some money, I’ll make sure to return you one bronze coin, heh-heh.”

  With that, he turned and walked calmly down the market, heading toward home.

  The merchant stayed rooted in place, glaring after him, stunned and powerless in his fury. Veins bulged on his neck, his fingers trembled, and the cane nearly slipped from his grasp.

  It seemed he was about to spring after him, to smear that insolent brat across the cobbles.

  But his breathing slowly eased, the tension began to drain, and suddenly his face twisted in a different way. Instead of a shout a loud, rolling laugh burst out. A few passersby turned in surprise; someone even jumped back, thinking the merchant had lost his mind.

  “Ha-ha-ha! The boy’s got talent…” he managed, still shaking his head. “Nobody’s ever ripped me off like that and gotten away with a grin…”

  He wiped a tear of laughter from his cheek, drew a hoarse breath, and, now quieter, almost admiringly muttered:

  “Fine… one elixir isn’t the end of the world. But if that brat thinks of getting cocky again… I’ll teach him a lesson. The adult kind.”

  ? ? ?

  Kael had already tucked the vial neatly into the inner pocket of his cloak and smiled to himself in thought.

  “Tonight I’ll drink it. I’ll see how quickly I can absorb mana. From that I’ll know how fast I can catch up to my peers.”

  With those thoughts, he walked the streets for another ten minutes, immersed in calculations—how many sessions of absorption, how often to use elixirs, whether there were risks to rapid growth of a mana core. And then, just around the corner, a familiar and warm noise greeted him—their family restaurant came alive in the evening.

  If in the morning it had been empty and quiet, now the entrance was crowded with men in cloaks, mugs of frothy ale in hand and smoking pipes between their teeth. Some shouted curses, some roared with laughter, others argued over work—crude, simple, alive. The smell of roasting meat, spiced sauces, and smoke from the coals wrapped the street, and for a moment Kael’s heart warmed: home was not just roof and food, but rhythm—a rhythm that soothed.

  Keeping his composure, Kael slipped past the rowdy men at the door. They paid him no mind, too caught up in their noise, their laughter, their beer. He inclined his head slightly, not to draw attention, and stepped confidently inside.

  Warmth struck him at once—the smell of stewed meat, baked vegetables, and fresh bread mingled with the aroma of wine and the thick hum of voices. Every table was full, wooden benches creaked beneath the weight of guests, and above the din rang the bright laughter of women.

  At that moment Kael’s eyes fell on his mother—Mira. She darted nimbly between tables, balancing tray after tray of dishes and mugs, a conductor amidst chaos. Her face glowed with its familiar weary smile, and even in her endless rushing there was something peaceful.

  Behind the counter stood a tall, broad woman with white hair tied in a bun—Riala. She usually came by noon, when the crowd grew too much for one mistress to handle. Spotting Kael, she immediately raised a hand and shouted over the hall’s roar:

  “Brat! Why so late again? Still hiding in the library, huh? Want to be smarter than everyone else?”

  A few patrons turned with smirks, some burst out laughing, but Kael already wore the mask of his “old self”: eyes down, shoulders hunched, the picture of guilt. He even clenched his fists faintly, as if bracing for a sharp word.

  His mother caught it at once. Seeing him, she hurried over, laid her hand on his head, and gently ruffled his hair.

  “Son, go to the kitchen and eat,” she said softly.

  But before she could say more, a hand waved from a nearby table.

  “I’ll be right there! One moment!” she called, giving his hair a little shake before rushing back to her work.

  Kael smiled warmly and, careful not to get in anyone’s way, walked quickly to the bar.

  Riala smirked, watching him, and leaning her elbows on the counter, asked with narrowed eyes:

  “In the kitchen, or as always, up in your room?”

  “As always, Aunt Riala…” Kael answered quietly, keeping the image of the modest, shy boy.

  She only shook her head, as though confirming once again his stubbornness, and without further words slipped behind the curtain to the kitchen.

  In less than a minute she returned, carrying a plate of steaming porridge with a slab of fragrant meat. The smell made Kael’s stomach growl faintly.

  “Bring the plate back afterward. And don’t stay up too late, your parents worry about you,” Riala said sternly, handing him the food.

  Kael only nodded meekly, took the plate in both hands, and without another word made for the stairs. He climbed quickly to the second floor—where the family’s living quarters were, off limits to patrons.

  Each step carried him further from the noisy cheer of the hall, into silence. He was already savoring what he intended to do tonight.

  The moment Kael closed the door to his room, his face transformed. The restrained mask of a shy youth vanished, replaced by a confident, predatory gaze.

  He set the plate down on the table and was already ready to throw himself at what he had waited for all day—the study of the Canon of Primordial Void. But halfway there he stopped, shook his head, and muttered:

  “Later mana will sustain me… but right now my body is too frail. Best not to neglect food.”

  He settled on the edge of the bed and quickly began to eat. Each spoonful seemed to dissolve fatigue. The porridge vanished from the plate in minutes, and he finished the meat down to the last bite, only then realizing how hungry he had been all day. When the plate was empty, a pleasant heaviness washed over him—his muscles loosened, his breathing steadied.

  Now, in complete silence, Kael set the empty plate on his desk, lowered himself to the floor, and crossed his legs. He closed his eyes, and in that instant, projections of the Canon of Primordial Void’s pages began to appear before his inner sight. Not all of them—only those where the creator’s hand had left notes in the margins, fragments unrelated to the main text.

  Seeing several dozen pages before him, Kael nodded and declared firmly:

  “It’s time to meet my savior… I hope I can learn more about who he truly was…”