The silence of the dilapidated lodge was only broken by the hiss of Kairos's breath, a breath that still sounded shallow, like wind blowing through a narrowing pipe.
The magma fire inside his core boiled, as if annoyed by its slow growth. Every intake of air reminded him of the limitations of this flesh vessel.
But now, anger was a luxury. There was only self-discipline and the sharpness of a mind trained for centuries.
His blue eyes, which had turned into a glowing golden color, scanned his arm, which had just been wrapped in rough cloth. With full concentration, Kairos commanded the flow of fire in a controlled manner, slowly directing it towards his shoulder.
He felt the torn muscle tissue in his shoulder slowly close, fiber by fiber reattached by the controlled heat energy.
Then he directed the heat of the fire towards his cracked collarbone, which always throbbed painfully. Forcibly, he directed the cracked bone fragments to shift and unite with strong pressure.
The pain was immense, but he casually considered it just one way to measure the endurance of this vessel.
Low pain tolerance. Requires improvement.
That was all that was on his mind, as he continued to concentrate on reuniting his collarbone.
Then he looked at the palms of his feet, and with careful and meticulous movements, he removed their bandages. The scratches and stab wounds had turned black, swollen, and were oozing pus.
The pungent smell of infection stung his nose. With a small rusty knife he had found, he burned its tip red-hot with just a touch of his finger.
Then, without hesitation, he scraped out the dead tissue and pus oozed from the wounds. The muscles throughout his vessel's body twitched wildly, and cold sweat soaked Aerion's dirty forehead.
Kairos ignored it.
After the wounds were cleaned, he once again flowed fire from his core to the palms of his feet. The remaining germs were burned away, and regeneration was stimulated.
The process, of course, was very painful, exhausting, but the result was that the wounds had now closed.
When his physical strength was drained from healing this vessel's body, Kairos moved on to another battlefield, Aerion's chaotic mind.
Delving into human memories was like diving into a muddy, disgusting swamp. He forced himself in roughly.
He found what he was looking for. Memories of Veridian Dominion with blurry images, full of Aerion's useless emotions.
Etheleum, its magnificent capital with towering high walls and the Sun Palace, the place where the supreme leader's throne of Veridian was... or used to be. Is it still there now...?
Remembering that, suddenly from Aerion's memories emerged a young man with black hair and blue eyes, like his vessel's eyes. Therion Veridian.
But the memory of this person stirred a wave of anger, fear, and despair from deep within Aerion's soul.
Clenching his teeth, Kairos again suppressed the soul, trying to focus on facts, not emotions.
Aerion's memories of him were of a childhood where Therion always bullied him, mocked him, and thought little of him. All of these treatments made Aerion prefer to hide in the palace library, a place where Therion rarely visited.
Then came memories of where Aerion accidentally overheard his ambitions, heard of his conspiracy with nobles who opposed their father, and also his dark connection with cross-border arms dealers in Vinderburgh.
Kairos continued to squeeze Aerion's memories, trying to find Therion's weakness. All he found was that his vessel's older brother's hands sometimes trembled uncontrollably, which he always covered with gloves.
But suddenly Aerion's memory shifted to the burning Lyceum. When he was about to press it again, he caught snippets of conversation Aerion heard before he managed to escape.
"...Vaelgard has agreed... Iron River Bridge... as soon as Etheleum falls...."
And "...Duke Malkor ensured the west gate would open at dawn..."
Duke Malkor. One of the nobles who conspired with Therion. A thorn in the flesh that needed to be removed immediately.
Then his memory shifted to the Vaelgard Empire. A northern, hilly country, famous for its brutal army.
Their ruler, Emperor Shuman, the Conqueror from the North. A picture of a big man, bearded, with small, cold eyes, and a face and body full of scars from his past battles.
But Kairos ignored useless information, and only took what he considered important. Like Shuman's ambition to expand his power, which was blocked by the steep Ashen mountains, so they had no choice but to conquer Veridian first.
Aerion's memory of the thick Vaelgard accent of the assassin who killed him, suggested that Vaelgard was taking advantage of the chaos caused by Therion.
They were just tigers sniffing blood.
Then there was General Theon Strongblood, he was the commander of the Vaelgard border forces, known for being cruel but competent and efficient. He was younger than Shuman, had a cold, expressionless face, and eagle-like eyes.
For Kairos, he was a weakness on the Vaelgard side, as he had blind loyalty but also personal ambition as the 'Conqueror of Veridian.'
This Strongblood often clashed with Commander Urzok, the leader of the bear-worshipping barbarian tribes in the eastern Vaelgard hills, whom they had just conquered. Urzok and his followers did not like being commanded, and only submitted due to force.
Kairos smirked. This would be a weakness for Vaelgard. The conquered tribes would be like a smoldering fire, just waiting for a little oil to become large.
He then dug deeper into Aerion's memories, forcing this already exhausted vessel to remember maps, garrison positions, intelligence reports that Aerion had once read half-heartedly.
What Kairos got was not much. Aerion truly did not care about lessons or any strategy. He was only interested in literature and truly useless things.
At least, Kairos could extract little by little what Aerion had attended in council meetings. So he could separate political facts from the accompanying human pain, filtering them into pure intelligence information that he could use.
Hours passed, the sunlight had shifted to the west. Aerion's body was still trembling, but at least the pain in his shoulder was now just a normal ache, his collarbone had reunited, though still vulnerable.
The palms of his feet were no longer oozing pus, though they were still very painful. Thirst and hunger gnawed at him, but again Kairos ignored them.
He immediately formed a rough plan in his mind, revolving around Vaelgard and also Therion. He would not let what they had done to this vessel go unpunished.
Not long after, he opened his eyes, then smiled faintly as he watched dust motes floating in the sunlight.
His plan was simple in concept, and complex in execution. But everything would depend on this vessel, on its ability to quickly adapt to the greatness of the Dragon Emperor.
Kairos slowly stood up, holding back stiffness and pain, then stepped towards the broken lodge door, looking out. Greenish twilight fog began to cover the sprawling swamps.
He spun the small rusty knife in his hand. For now, this weapon was enough.
"Wait, Therion... and also Shuman..." he whispered. "The Dragon Emperor is recovering. And when I come to you..."