Chapter 148: The Man At The Gate

The rain came off Lake Merrin in grey sheets and hammered against the western glass of the lake house.

Asterion stood at the head of the stairs leading down to the sublevel, one dark hand resting flat on the doorframe. He had never come inside the house uninvited.

"He is standing by the outer iron," Asterion repeated, clipping each word short. "He walked up the lake road. The mud does not touch his boots, and the water parts around him."

Theo nodded and climbed the stairs, leaving Thalleria where she lay inside the four-hundred-kilogram suppression array. Her skin had stayed warm, though not with fever. It carried a steady, quiet pulse, the beat of a core waking up after years in the dark.

"Stay with Thall," Theo told Estea as he passed her wheelchair by the fireplace.

Estea didn’t turn from the cold grate. Her amber eyes stayed on the dead ashes, and her hands stayed buried in the flame-embroidered blanket across her lap. "If you die on the front porch after surviving that thing in the woods, boy, I will burn your corpse myself."

"Love you too, dear wife," Theo muttered, heading for the front door.

Uthed met him in the foyer with his katana sheathed at his hip and his splinted hand bound tight in white linen. "I will take the left flank, Mr Theo."

"You’ll sit on the couch and hold a tea towel, Sir Uthed," Theo said, hauling open the heavy oak door. "You’re down one hand and three ribs."

The storm hit his face like a thrown bucket of ice water.

Forty feet out, on the churned mud where the Category V Gate had opened four days ago, stood an old man in a loose grey tunic. He held a simple bamboo cane. The downpour split around his shoulders and sheeted away on either side, like water off an oiled stone.

Theo stepped onto the porch stairs and let his hands hang loose at his sides. Genesis Eyes flared gold behind his irises.

[Target: Unidentified]

[Realm: ???]

[Class: Unknown]

[Authority: Deception / Hidden]

[Status: Observing]

The old man raised a hand and stepped over a broken oak branch without his boot brushing the bark. "You’re the lad who made all that noise by the lake, aren’t you?"

"Depends on who’s asking," Theo said, shifting his stance so his shadow stretched across the porch steps. "And whether that person knows how to knock on a gate instead of strolling through a storm."

The old man grinned and leaned his weight on the cane. "Just an old retired fellow with too much time on his hands. I saw the sparks, got bored, and thought I’d take a walk. You’ve got decent footwork, kid. Mind taking me on as your teacher?"

Theo blinked through the wet hair plastered to his forehead.

’Is this old man serious? He walked through a storm like this just to bother me?’

"I already have a sword teacher," Theo said, jerking a thumb back toward the house. "And he’s currently sitting on the sofa with splinted ribs. I’m not hiring another."

"Ah, but I’m free of charge!" The old man chuckled and took a step closer. "I’ll just pop in from time to time when I’m bored. Get used to seeing this face, lad. I bother people I like."

"Get off my lawn before I set my security on you," Theo warned.

The old man laughed and turned on his heel. Not a single drop of water had touched his clothes. He ambled back down the muddy road, his stick tapping out an easy rhythm against the dry air beneath him.

Theo stood in the storm for three seconds, rubbing his temple.

’Great. Just what I needed. A retired eccentric looking for a hobby.’

When he walked back inside, Sesan was sitting on the bottom stair below the bedrooms with her knees pulled to her chest. Her frost-pale hair hung damp around her face. Her small hands were shaking violently with the post-reversion tremors, which were the price of her contact with the aperture.

Theo dropped to one knee in front of her while rainwater dripped from his sleeves onto the floorboards. "Hey. It’s okay."

She didn’t speak. Instead, she leaned forward until her forehead rested against his wet shoulder, and he felt the shivering run out of her and into his arm.

[Target: Sesan Chixu]

[Affliction: Post-Aperture Reversion Tremors]

[Status: Severe]

"I’m on it," Theo whispered.

He went straight down to the sublevel. For a moment, he held Thalleria’s warm hand in his own. Then he set up at the work counter and pulled the investment rewards from the Hollow Serpent fight out of his inventory: three Frost Lotuses and the Hearthkeeper’s Pot.

The pot was heavy black iron, cold to the touch, with runic lines glowing faintly around the rim.

[Item: Hearthkeeper’s Pot]

[Rank: Rare]

[Property: Nothing is lost to the fire]

He filled it with clean spring water and set it over the heat. One by one, he lowered the crystalline lotuses into the center, and they settled on the bottom like chips of ice. The recipe for the Draught of the Quiet Hour surfaced in his mind: twelve hours of low heat, constant attention, and absolute patience.

Uthed came down into the sublevel, tying an apron over her dress. He looked at the blue petals dissolving into the steaming water, then at the grey hollows under Theo’s eyes.

"Go sit down, Mr Theo," Uthed said briskly, taking the wooden spoon out of his hand. "I know how to watch a pot without letting it boil over."

"Sir Uthed you have—"

"And you need to sleep."

Theo didn’t argue. He went back up and sat on the floor beside the armchair where Sesan had curled up, and he let her rest her cold hands in his hair. Outside, the rain on the western glass thinned from sheets to a patter, and the black windows slowly turned grey.

By dawn, the draught was ready. It poured out clear and pale blue, smelling of winter air and crushed mint. Theo held the cup to Sesan’s lips and tipped it gently, and she drank it down in small, steady swallows.

Within minutes, her hands went still against his. Her pale eyes fluttered shut, and her breathing slowed and evened out until she was asleep.

[Draught of the Quiet Hour Applied]

[Target: Sesan Chixu]

[Effect: Reversion Tremors Suppressed]

[Frozen Sea: 12.3% (Stable)]

Theo let out a long breath and rested his head against the side of her chair.