The blistering solar heat washed across the porch, but Kaelen Vance did not even blink.
His cultivation aura remained locked in the True Fallow State, sinking every trace of spiritual energy deep into the marrow of his bones. To the naked eye and divine sense alike, he registered as nothing more than an uncultivated mortal teenager in a threadbare bathrobe.
He looked down at his wooden watering can, tilted it sideways, and shook the last two drops into a wilted clump of sea-cabbage.
“Master Ash has a migraine,” Kaelen said, his voice flat and unbothered.
Elder Ignis paused, his crimson eyes narrowing beneath his midnight-blue veil. The scorching solar heat radiating from his sleeves continued to roast the damp air, sending waves of shimmering distortion across the walkway.
“What did you say, boy?” Ignis growled.
“I said Master Ash has a migraine,” Kaelen repeated, stifling another small yawn behind his knuckles. “He suffers from chronic sensitivity to elevated ambient temperatures. Whenever someone heats up the courtyard, his temples throb.”
Especially when the heat smells like scorched sulfur and bad temper.
