Bosch's hands moved in slow, steady arcs over the blank canvas, as if the act of painting without result required absolute focus. When he spoke again, his tone was lighter, the warmth in it almost disarming.

"Tell me," he said, "From where do you two hail? I find that place shapes a person more deeply than any teacher."

Kaiser's eyes flicked briefly to the great white window, as though weighing how much light to allow in. "Here and there," he said, the answer smooth but empty. "Everywhere, if you count the places that no longer exist."

Bosch chuckled softly. "Ah, a wanderer. And you, young lady?"

Aria hesitated, then followed his lead. "The same. Places that aren't on maps anymore."

There was the faintest pause when Bosch's brush slowed, but the smile remained. "And what do you think of my gallery, travelers from nowhere?"

Kaiser glanced at the immaculate canvases along the walls, each as white as the silk curtains had been. "It's… difficult to judge a gallery where the art hides itself."

"Perhaps you haven't looked hard enough," Bosch said, still in that easy tone.

Aria tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. "I have a feeling like some things you paint aren't meant to be looked at at all."

Masamia's voice entered then, her presence sliding into the space between them. "My master's art is patient. It reveals itself when the viewer is ready." She glanced at Bosch, a shadow of concern in her eyes, then back to Kaiser and Aria with a polite smile.

The air felt unchanged, yet something in the exchange had shifted. Bosch's warmth was still there, but now it sat over something heavier.

Bosch's brush stilled mid-arc, his gaze fixed somewhere past the edge of his canvas, as if his thoughts were wandering a much larger space.

"Art," he began, "Is the only creation that defies death without needing to breathe. A painting will outlast its maker, a sculpture will stand when the hands that shaped it have turned to dust. And unlike its maker, it need not answer to truth. It is free to lie beautifully, or tell an ugly truth, and both will live equally well."

His eyes lowered to his work again, though nothing bloomed upon it. "Time may ruin stone, tear canvas, or fade pigment, but the idea... That endures. That is why I paint. Less so to be remembered… but more to refuse to be forgotten."

The words settled into the bright silence of the room, and for a moment even Aria seemed caught by them.

Kaiser tilted his head slightly, as if weighing the sentiment. "And yet here you are," he said mildly, "Locked away from the world, with all your defiance sealed behind white curtains. Perhaps it isn't the work you want to outlive you, but yourself you want hidden."

Bosch's gaze rose to him slowly. There was no anger there, but the warmth had cooled a degree. "One can create without standing in the marketplace, young man."

Kaiser inclined his head a fraction, his tone as calm as ever. "True. One can create without stepping into the crowd." His gaze sharpened, voice cooling. "But one cannot make monsters in the hundreds and expect never to face the consequences."

The brush in Bosch's hand stilled completely this time. His brow knit in faint confusion. "What… exactly do you mean by that?"

Across the table, Masamia's expression shifted, subtly, but enough for Kaiser to see. The ever-pleasant mask didn't falter, but her eyes narrowed just enough to betray a flicker of warning.

Kaiser caught it and smiled wider, leaning back as if pleased. "Ah… I see. I understand."

Her hands folded tighter, the tray still in her grasp.

"It's a great thing, you know," Kaiser went on, his voice light but his words weighted like stone. "Not good. Certainly not moral. But great all the same. To be responsible for so many deaths—" he let the thought hang like the edge of a blade, "—even indirectly… that is no small feat. That takes vision."

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Bosch's eyes moved from Kaiser to Masamia, a faint unease breaking the old painter's composure. "Masamia," he said slowly, "What is he talking about?"

Before she could answer, she moved, not toward Bosch, but toward Kaiser. In one smooth motion, she placed her hand on his arm, the polite warmth in her touch gone, replaced with quiet insistence.

"I believe," she said, her voice still silky but lacking any pretense of gentleness, "It's time I escort you both out."

The grip was firm. Stronger than it should have been.

Aria's chair scraped the marble as she rose, bow in hand before the thought had even formed. She drew the string back until the arrow's head glinted, sight fixed squarely on Masamia's chest. "Release him."

"Stop, all of you." Bosch's voice cut through it, quieter than before but carrying the weight of command. His gaze swept from Aria's bow to Masamia's hand, then back to Kaiser. "Tell me what this is about. Now."

Kaiser's smile didn't fade. He simply turned his arm until Masamia's fingers uncurled from it, forcing her to let go without force or struggle.

"The paintings," he said, as though speaking to a student who'd missed the obvious. "Or rather, the creatures in them. Cats, if you can still call them that made of ink. They've been on a slaughter, village after village, killing and… collecting Sol."

He tilted his head slightly, studying Bosch the way one might study a half-finished portrait. "And to think… you managed to awaken a Yellow Sol Core from that. I have to admit, respected elder, I am impressed."

All the respect Kaiser had been holding onto for Bosch drained away the instant he saw the man's expression. Not guilt. Not the sly recognition of someone caught. Just… blank confusion. Like explaining a complex equation to a child who knew the words but not their meaning.

He knew Bosch understood what he was saying, at least in part, but it was the kind of understanding that existed without ownership.

"What do you mean?" Bosch asked, brows furrowing.

Kaiser's voice was flat. "What do you mean, what do I mean?"

Bosch blinked. "What do you mean, what do I mean, what do you mean?"

Kaiser didn't move. Didn't blink. The silence stretched until even the light in the room felt cold.

Then, unexpectedly, Aria let out a small laugh, quick, sharp, and entirely out of place. Kaiser's eyes flicked her way before returning to Bosch. "So you deny creating monstrosities? Cat-shaped abominations, bodies woven from ink, sent to drain the Sol from the villagers of Logshare and every settlement around it?"

Bosch's eyes went wide. His hands trembled around the brush still in his grasp. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, the old warmth suddenly turned to a brittle urgency. "Why didn't you tell me those people were in danger?"

He lurched forward, and the two white creatures at his sides startled back, tails flaring. The small canvas he had been working on slipped from his lap and clattered to the floor.

He tried to rise. And failed.

His legs gave out beneath him almost instantly, sending him to his knees. Masamia was on him in an instant, catching his shoulders before he could pitch forward completely. With surprising ease, she lifted him and set him back onto the bed's edge, her tone chiding but gentle. "Master, please be careful. You haven't left your bed in far too long."

It was plain even to Aria that his muscles had wasted away from disuse.

Bosch's voice was strained, but the intent was sharp. "Carry me, Masamia. I can still help. It is my duty as a Titan-level Liberator, former or not, to save those people."

Kaiser's head tilted at that, his brows drawing together slightly. "Titan? By all logic, Titans carry red Sol Cores. Yours is yellow."

"Of course," Bosch said, as though it were the most natural truth in the world. "But... Every creation I grant life demands a portion of my Sol as payment, and over the centuries, those payments added up. A hundred years ago, I felt the balance tip… the rank slip from my grasp. Once lost, such heights are not so easily climbed again."

Kaiser's gaze lingered on the old man for a heartbeat longer, thoughts slipping into cold order. So… it was true? The Sol hadn't been drained for his sake, but somewhere else entirely. And this man, this supposed Titan, looked utterly clueless. No conviction. No shadow of the intent needed for such atrocities.

"Put him down," Kaiser said suddenly.

Masamia halted mid-step, her grip tightening slightly around her master. She glanced over her shoulder, unreadable as always.

"They've been dealt with," Kaiser continued evenly. "By us. That's why we're here, because it's finished with them."

Bosch exhaled, the faintest flicker of relief softening his features. He nodded once to his maid. "Then I am in your debt," he said, voice steady but worn, like a bell that had rung too many times. "For all my years, I had hoped to die without hearing such tales again. If what you say is true, then you have my gratitude. You are heroes, and, given time, will be great Liberators indeed."

His gaze lingered on them with a trace of admiration. "You are wrong that these creatures came from me. But if they have a source… I will help you find it. I will see it extinguished. That, I swear."

Kaiser said nothing. His attention had dropped to the floor. At his feet lay the painting Bosch had been working on, the one he'd watched moments earlier as color failed to touch the canvas.

He bent, picking it up and froze.

Seconds ago, it had been empty. Untouched. Now…

Bosch's shoulders loosened, his breath leaving in a faint, grateful sigh. "No need for doubt, then. You've done a great thing here, young man."

Kaiser slowly turned the painting around, his expression unreadable. "No need?" His voice was quiet, but there was iron under it.

He showed Bosch the canvas.

One of the kitties that were on the Bosche's bed!

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