Kael's new quarters were no bigger than a storage shed.
The wooden walls creaked when he moved, and the ceiling dipped just low enough to bump his head if he stood too fast. A single cot, a water basin, and a low shelf filled with dried roots were all he had.
Still, it was quiet.
And alone.
After a life in Hollowmere's ruins, Kael found that… enough.
He spent the first two days in near silence.
Occasionally, a boy his age would pass the window—some carried trays of herbs, others buckets of steaming water. Most ignored him. A few whispered.
"That's the one Master Elric brought in himself."
"They say he drank poison to get in."
Kael said nothing.
Until the morning Bren arrived.
"You're the new one?" the boy asked, poking his head into the doorway without knocking.
Kael looked up from the dried vine he'd been sorting.
Bren was a little older, broader in the shoulders, with bright eyes and a crooked grin. He didn't carry himself like a servant. He moved like someone who thought the world owed him attention.
"Elric said you'd be joining my cycle. I'm Bren. You?"
"Kael."
"That's it?"
Kael nodded.
Bren laughed. "Alright then. Mystery man. Let's get to work. The roots don't sort themselves."
The day's task was simple: accompany Bren and three others to the outer herb patches, gather fresh nightbloom stalks, and bring them back for drying.
Simple didn't mean easy.
The herb fields were nestled against the cliffs, half in shadow, half bathed in mist. The air buzzed with insects that bit through sleeves. The soil was slick with moss. Most of the plants looked identical.
But only one kind could be harvested safely.
Kael knelt beside a cluster and examined the stem.
Too dark.
The leaves were curled inward. Not enough sun.
He moved on.
Another boy—Tan, stocky, impatient—was less careful. "This is it, right?"
Kael looked up. "That one's too thick at the base. It stores toxin when it overgrows."
Tan snorted. "You think I can't tell a weed from a cure?"
He yanked the stalk.
White dust puffed from the root.
Tan inhaled.
Then coughed.
Then dropped.
Kael was moving before the others even stood.
He knelt beside Tan and pressed two fingers to the boy's neck. Pulse—fast, irregular. Sweat beaded on his brow. The white powder was already reddening his lips.
"Neurotoxin," Kael said, voice low. "We need binder resin. Now."
"I—I don't have—" Bren started.
Kael didn't wait.
He opened his satchel, pulled out a pouch of crushed saltseed bark and a vial of fermented leafmoss. Together, they formed a crude absorbent.
But he hesitated.
Something was wrong.
The usual symptoms weren't appearing fast enough.
He looked at the stalk again.
No spots. No lateral rot.
Then why—
His satchel pulsed.
Just faintly.
Warm.
Kael blinked. Reached in.
The bottle—still sealed—was glowing ever so faintly.
It faced the neighboring plant, untouched.
Kael turned.
That one wasn't nightbloom at all. It was a mimic—nearly identical, but lethal in pairs.
It was leeching poison into the soil.
He grabbed the mimic, tore it out by the roots, and stuffed the bark mixture into Tan's mouth.
A minute passed.
Tan's breathing steadied.
Kael sat back, exhaling.
When the others finally returned from alerting the outer wardens, Tan was already sitting up—dizzy, pale, but alive.
No one spoke.
But they all looked at Kael differently.
Even Bren.
Later that evening, Kael sat alone beside the herb drying racks. The wind was sharp, the sky violet with dusk. His shoulder throbbed.
He opened the satchel.
The bottle inside was quiet now. Still glowing—but faint, as if sleeping.
He didn't understand it.
But today, it had helped.
And he wasn't sure why.
Up on the cliffs above the herb garden, a figure stood in shadow.
Elric.
He watched the scene unfold from a distance, arms folded, expression unreadable.
After a long silence, he turned and walked away, murmuring:
"It responds to his intuition. Not command. Curious."