When Kairos returned home, his mind was still restless. But this time, it wasn't about Gilen—it was about Mysa. She had known about Gilen, yet she hadn't told him. Instructor Valkos had informed her, and she had kept it from him. Perhaps she thought she was protecting him, sparing him from unnecessary pain. But in the end, it hurt just the same. Kairos did not appreciate such overprotectiveness.
His thoughts were interrupted by Mysa's voice calling out from the window.
"Hey! What are you doing outside? Come in already."
Kairos stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The house was spotless—a testament to Mysa's meticulous cleaning. But that didn't matter now.
"You took longer than I expected," Mysa said, approaching him and pulling him into a hug. "Did you go somewhere else?" She released him and gestured toward the kitchen. "There's food if you're hungry."
Kairos didn't move. His voice was quiet. "I was with Instructor Valkos… I met him."
Mysa's expression faltered. Her gaze dropped. "Oh," she said, her tone uneasy. "Go eat. There's food."
Kairos stepped closer, removing his cloak. He looked at her face, reading the guilt in her eyes. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her.
"I'm sorry," Mysa whispered. "I should have told you… I just…"
"It's okay," Kairos interrupted. "I know you meant well. But you should have told me."
Though her decision had been wrong, he couldn't bring himself to be angry with her.
"Did you see the boy?" Mysa asked softly. "At the prison?"
Kairos nodded as he let go. "Yes. Tomorrow, he will take the…" He paused, looking at her. "The Trial of Blood."
Mysa fell silent, watching him. His face was calm, but sadness lingered beneath the surface. He tried to conceal it, but he was never good at hiding his emotions from her.
"It will be okay, my child," Mysa murmured.
Kairos sat down, his thoughts heavy. "I'm not sure if Gilen can do it," he admitted. "I don't think he will."
"Then encourage him," Mysa said. "If you do, he might find the strength. Be his flame, Kairos. Light the way for him in the darkness."
Kairos considered her words. Should he be Gilen's flame? If he guided Gilen, it meant carrying his burdens too. But leading him down a path of blood and despair—was that truly the right choice?
"Be his flame…" he echoed under his breath. Rising from his seat, he turned toward his room. "I'll be in my room. Let me know if you need anything."
"But Kairos, you haven't eaten."
"I'm fine," he said, closing the door behind him.
Mysa didn't push further. She knew he was lost in thought.
Kairos leaned against the door, then slowly sank to the floor, crossing his legs. His room was simple—just a bed, a wardrobe, and a small table. A wooden chessboard sat on top of it, surrounded by a few books. He stared at it, a faint smile crossing his lips. He remembered playing here as a child with Mysa, Myra, and even Instructor Valkos. None of them had ever beaten him.
Chess had fascinated him since childhood. It was a game of complexity, where mastery of openings—the French, the English—meant nothing without adaptability. Knowing how to execute a fool's mate or a smothered mate was useless if one could not react to an opponent's strategy. True strength in chess came from improvisation.
Kairos reached under his bed, feeling for an old, torn black bag. He pulled it out and opened it, revealing chess pieces. He began setting them in their places.
A knock came at the door.
"Kairos, can I come in?" Mysa's voice was gentle.
"Of course," he answered.
Mysa stepped inside, eyes lighting up as she saw the chessboard. "You want to play a game, my boy?"
Kairos smirked knowingly as Mysa sat across from him.
"It's been a while," she admitted.
As he finished placing the pieces, Kairos noticed seven were missing. He searched under the bed, but they were nowhere to be found. Mysa helped, but after several minutes, their search remained fruitless.
Mysa sighed. "I really wanted to play," she said, turning to leave. "But I guess fate won't let us."
Kairos paused at those words. Was it truly fate? Or was it their own choices that led to this? To him, fate was never an absolute force—it was something to be controlled.
"We can still play," Kairos said, gesturing for her to sit.
Mysa hesitated but returned, sitting down. Kairos met her gaze, his golden eyes shining faintly. He placed his hand on her head, then let go.
"What was that about?" she asked, puzzled. Then she looked at the board. The missing pieces were there.
Mysa's eyes widened. "When did you find them?"
"They aren't real," Kairos said. "But you can touch them. It's an illusion I conjured." He smirked. "Now we can play."
Mysa reached out, touching a pawn. It felt solid. She smiled. "You really are something else," she mused. "I'd almost forgotten you could do this."
Illusion Formation—the only demonic ability Kairos possessed. Likely because he was only half-demon. Even this power had its limits, working only on those with weaker demonic energy.
And so, the match began. As they played, Kairos proved a truth he had always believed: fate was not an unchangeable force. It was shaped by one's choices—or one's own foolishness.