The damp air of the interrogation room felt like it was thickening, charged by the suppressed killing intent of the 9th-stage guards. Silas leaned in, his shadow stretching across the stone table like a looming specter.
"I'll ask you one more time, boy," Silas whispered, his voice vibrating with a dangerous edge. "How does a 'Dull Root' suddenly wake up with the essence of a 2nd-stage cultivator? Miracles don't happen in the soot-pits of Aethelgard."
Kaelen looked at Silas, his expression unchanging, almost bored. "I told you. I woke up. My chest felt tight, like a rusted lock had finally snapped. I took a breath, and for the first time in sixteen years, the air didn't just go into my lungs—it went into my bones. I didn't ask for it. I just... started."
Silas's face contorted. To a man who had spent decades meticulously refining his own essence through grueling labor and expensive pills, Kaelen's "accidental" awakening was a slap in the face. It was an insult to the very laws of cultivation.
"You lie like a dog," Silas hissed, pulling back his fist. His knuckles glowed with the dull, tan light of his 8th-stage cultivation, the air whistling as he prepared to shatter Kaelen's jaw. "If you won't speak, I'll let your broken teeth do the talking."
"That is quite enough, Investigator."
The voice was sweet, like honey dripped over a blade. It didn't come from the guards or the shadows. The heavy iron door of the interrogation cell creaked open, and a woman stepped into the flickering light of the essence-lamp.
She was dressed in silks of emerald and gold, her hair piled high in an intricate arrangement of jade pins. Her beauty was undeniable, but it was cold, sharpened by the ruthless hierarchy of the inner palace. This was Lira, Grok's daughter and a Consort of the Third Prince.
Silas immediately froze, his fist hovering inches from Kaelen's face. He and the 9th-stage guards dropped into deep bows, their foreheads nearly touching the damp floor.
"Lady Lira," Silas stammered, his bravado vanishing. "We were just... we were close to a confession."
Lira ignored him, her silken skirts rustling as she walked a slow circle around Kaelen's chair. She smelled of rare jasmine and something sharper—the scent of high-grade cultivation pills. She stopped in front of Kaelen, her eyes narrowing as she studied the boy who had supposedly been her father's favorite footstool.
"So," she murmured, reaching out with a manicured fingernail to trace the line of Kaelen's jaw. "This is the 'rat' who survived while my father vanished. You look remarkably healthy for someone who escaped a bandit raid, Kaelen."
Kaelen didn't lower his gaze. Even though she was a Royal Consort, he felt the silver energy of the Primordial Eclipse hum beneath his skin, shielding his mind from her oppressive aura.
"I am a fast runner, My Lady," Kaelen said, his voice flat.
Lira's smile didn't reach her eyes. She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "My father was a crude man, but he was my man. He was the Third Prince's connection to the labor force. You think because you've reached the 2nd stage, you are suddenly a player in this game? You are a pebble under a carriage wheel."
She straightened up, her voice rising so the guards could hear. "Confess, boy. Tell me where you buried him. Tell me what treasure you stole that gave you this strength, and I might convince the Prince to give you a quick death. Otherwise, I will turn you over to the Alchemists. They are always looking for 'unusual' bodies to dissect."
Kaelen remained as stubborn as the mountain stone. He didn't flinch at her threats. He knew the politics of the palace better than Lira realized.
"I have nothing to confess, Lady Lira," Kaelen said, his voice echoing in the small room. "If you have proof that I harmed a 3rd-stage Master, then present it. If not, then I am merely a servant who was lucky enough to awaken his roots."
Lira's eyes flashed with a flicker of genuine rage, but she quickly suppressed it. She turned to Silas, who was still hovering nervously.
"What evidence do you have?" she demanded.
Silas hesitated, glancing at the broken hilt on the table. "Only this, My Lady. The Prince's blade was found shattered. And the boy's sudden cultivation. But... there are no witnesses. No body. No signs of an essence-clash involving the boy's specific signature."
Lira looked back at Kaelen, her lips thinning into a hard line. She knew the law. Without a body or a witness, she couldn't execute a servant who had successfully awakened—cultivators, even low-stage ones, were technically property of the State, not just the individual overseers.
Furthermore, she was acutely aware of her own position. The Third Prince had dozens of consorts. While Grok had been a useful tool, he was ultimately just a 3rd-stage supervisor. The Prince would not risk a scandal or a dispute with the Palace Investigators over the death of a minor relative-in-law, especially one whose disappearance was as messy and unproven as this.
"He's a pebble," Lira whispered to herself, the realization buring her pride. Grok's death wouldn't cause an uproar. It wouldn't bring the Prince's wrath down like a hammer. It was a minor inconvenience in the grand tapestry of the court.
She turned back to Kaelen, her eyes promising a thousand future agonies. "You think you've won because they can't prove a crime today? You are trapped in these walls, Kaelen. The Investigator might let you go for lack of evidence, but I will be watching. Every meal you eat, every breath you take... I will be there."
She turned on her heel, her emerald silks swirling. "Release him, Silas. If he is truly a 2nd-stage talent, let him work. We shall see how long a 'miracle' lasts in the cold of Aethelgard."
Silas looked stunned. "But My Lady—"
"Release him!" she snapped. "But keep the boy on the high-intensity shifts. If he wants to be a cultivator, let's see if his skin can handle the weight of the Royal Furnaces."
As Lira swept out of the room, Silas signaled the guards to unbolt Kaelen's restraints. The 9th-stage veterans looked at Kaelen with a mix of confusion and newfound wariness. They didn't understand how a boy could face a Consort's venom and an Investigator's fist without breaking.
Kaelen stood up, rubbing his wrists. He felt the cold, silver pulse of the Primordial Eclipse settling back into a quiet hum. He had survived the first interrogation, but he knew the "High-Intensity" shifts were just another way to try and kill him.
He walked out of the Black Tower and into the afternoon sun. He had no overseer. He had a Royal Consort as an enemy. And somewhere in his Spirit Sea, the silver vortex was already hungry for the 3rd stage