The cave stank of blood, iron, and sweat, thick enough to make Kairos's head throb. He stepped over the cooling bodies, boots squelching in the gore, ignoring the whimpers of the thief with the shattered knee and wrist.
His test was done, his body faster, deadlier, his fire sharper. He grabbed his knife and a few copper coins, all he'd carried, and slipped out before dawn, mist curling through the trees.
His mind was already racing, plotting the next move.
***
Two days later, Kairos reached Oakhaven, a bigger settlement than the last village, still hugging the border. The name was a joke—the massive oak that once stood proud was now a charred stump, courtesy of Vaelgard's torches.
He ditched the "lost Prince Aerion" act; too risky here, too many eyes. Now he was Remus, a leather craftsman, family dead in the border wars, drifting for work.
A common story, believable, perfect for pity or suspicion, both useful.
He rented a cramped room above a blacksmith's shop, the air heavy with soot and heat. Borin, the owner, was a burly man, face wrinkled and black with grime, his hammer strikes screaming rage.
From his dusty balcony, Kairos watched the morning unfold: a Veridian soldier, tunic stitched with Baron Varkos's sigil, swaggered up, hands on hips.
"Iron tax is up, Borin!" he shouted, voice thin, trying to sound big. "Baron needs it for border defense!"
Borin froze, hammer mid-swing, face flushing under the soot. "Up again?" he growled, voice like gravel. "I can't get ore! East road's got raiders, north's choked by Vaelgard's tolls. What, I'm supposed to forge mud?"
The soldier's fingers tapped his sword's scabbard, a weak threat. "Your whining's not my problem. Pay, or your shop's kindling, like that oak."
The air crackled, tense, hot. Borin's fists shook, veins bulging, but he bit back his fury, knowing soldiers could torch his life.
With a grunt, he tossed over a near-empty coin pouch. The soldier snatched it, spat near Borin's feet, and strutted off.
Kairos came down, passing the shop as Borin slammed his hammer into cold iron, the clang echoing like a curse.
"Straight to hell with 'em," Borin muttered, face still red. Kairos paused, eyeing a pair of daggers on the wall.
"Therion bleeds his own while kissing up to Varkos in his castle," he said, voice flat, like commenting on the weather. "Funny. Shouldn't the Baron bow to Therion, protect the folks who keep him fed?"
Borin shot him a look, eyes narrow. "Protect? Therion's just guarding his gold and his pals in Veridian."
He spat toward the road, dust puffing where the soldier had stood. "You're new, Remus. Don't play clever."
"Just saying," Kairos shrugged, casual. "Back in my village, when leaders forgot their people… a spark could start a wildfire."
He ran a finger over the daggers. "Solid blades. Takes skill, grit, to shape steel like that. Patience, too, waiting for the right moment to strike."
His eyes flicked to Borin, steady, hinting at more. Borin stared, silent, something shifting in his gaze.
This stranger didn't push, didn't preach, just saw his work, his anger, and nudged it somewhere bigger. He nodded, more to himself, and sat, hammer falling steadier now.
Kairos walked off, a faint smirk tugging his lips. A seed planted, ready to grow
***
Oakhaven's market buzzed, rumors thick as flies on spoiled meat. Kairos found Lia, a spice seller with sharp eyes and ears that caught everything.
Her husband died building Veridian's northern fort, her daughter vanished in the border woods, likely Vaelgard's doing. Grief had made her a watcher, hungry for news, for vengeance.
Kairos approached her stall, picking up a valerian root, pretending interest. "Got something for sleep?" Lia asked, voice rough but warm, her gaze scanning his stolen clothes, simple, worn, nabbed from a village laundry line.
"More like to quiet my head," Kairos said, turning the root over. "This place is loud, Veridian patrols, bandits, talk of a big convoy hauling goods through risky roads."
He sighed, playing weary. "Hard to rest."
Lia's eyes narrowed, sizing him up. "Convoy, huh? Word is Therion's sending a fat load to Veridian next week, over the Iron River bridge."
She leaned in, voice low, eager. "Bren, that one-eyed bastard, and his crew are sniffing around it. But Varkos is bringing extra muscle—southern mercenaries. Gonna be a bloodbath."
Her lips twitched, almost a smile. "Hope they tear each other apart."
Kairos nodded, like he shared her hate. "Iron River bridge, huh? Key spot. Whoever holds it…"
He trailed off, watching her. A spark lit in her eyes, hope, quickly buried. She wants them all dead, he thought, satisfied.
"Key for dying," Lia said, fussing with her herbs. "For us? Just more soldiers, more thieves."
She glanced at him, sharp. "You know a lot for a leather worker."
"Ears still work," Kairos said, grinning thinly. He set a few copper coins on the stall, more than the root's worth. "For the herbs, and the talk. Knowing where trouble's brewing can keep a man alive."
Lia scooped up the coins, tucking them under her rag, her gaze calculating. "You ain't just a craftsman, are you?" she whispered.
"Right now, I am," Kairos said, walking away, feeling her eyes on his back. He'd made her feel seen, her sharpness valued, and planted a whisper, chaos at the bridge.
Her vengeance would spread it, a ripple through Oakhaven's anger.
***
Back in his room, Kairos leaned against the wall, the blacksmith's hammer still ringing below. The market's intel locked in: Varkos's mercenaries, Bren's ambush, the Iron River bridge.
Therion's convoy was a prize, ripe for disruption. Borin's rage, Lia's hate, fuel for rebellion.
He saw it: hit the bridge, let Vaelgard and Veridian bleed, nudge the locals to rise. But his body needed more, strength, control, his fire tamed.
For now, he'd listen, manipulate, wait.