The Twilight Exchange buzzed with unusual energy. Word had spread about rare items coming from an upper-year student's failed enchantment project, drawing more traders than usual to the lantern-lit clearing in the northeastern section of the dumping ground. Malcolm moved through the crowd, scanning the makeshift stalls with barely contained anticipation.

  "Looking for something specific, Westerner?" The question came from a leather-aproned third-year with burn scars crisscrossing his forearms—telltale marks of an enchantment specialist.

  "Maybe," Malcolm replied, trying to sound casual despite the excitement fluttering in his chest. "Heard there might be some storage artifacts available tonight."

  The boy's eyebrows rose. "Expensive taste for a first-year." He jerked his chin toward a table at the far end of the clearing. "Vanar's got what's left of Endo's failed project. Good luck getting anything worthwhile—the vultures descended at first bell."

  Malcolm nodded his thanks and pushed through the crowd, ignoring the sidelong glances from other students. His reputation had grown in recent weeks—the strange Western student who somehow produced impossibly pure materials despite his lack of formal training. Some looked at him with curiosity, others with suspicion, a few with undisguised hostility.

  He barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed by the book Master Seiran had given him—specifically, a passage he'd found late last night while poring over the dense text by candlelight:

  "The practitioner who bears an Absorptive Nexus may expand their spiritual domain through direct assimilation of spatial properties rather than meditation. Such growth, while unorthodox, conforms to fundamental principles of energy transference."

  The storage ring he'd processed three days ago had proven the theory correct, expanding his soul space from one meter to a meter and a half in diameter. But it wasn't enough. Not for what he planned to demonstrate at tomorrow's evaluation.

  The stall he sought was crowded with upper-year students haggling over various items. The proprietor, a thin boy with wire-rimmed glasses, was arranging objects on a red cloth while fielding offers. Malcolm recognized some of the items—focusing crystals, resonance markers, stability charms—standard components of failed enchantment projects. But his eyes fixed on a small wooden box set apart from the other merchandise.

  "How much for that?" he asked, pointing to the box.

  The vendor looked up, recognition flickering across his face. "Ah, Sinclair. Didn't expect to see you interested in high-level enchantments." He picked up the box with careful hands. "This is beyond first-year capabilities."

  "I didn't ask if I could use it," Malcolm said, annoyed. "I asked how much."

  The vendor smirked. "Thirty imperial seals."

  Malcolm's stomach dropped. That was nearly his entire savings—money meant to last him the entire academic year. "For a failed project? That's robbery."

  "It's not entirely failed," the vendor corrected, opening the box to reveal a silver ring inlaid with swirling blue patterns. Unlike the cracked storage ring Malcolm had processed earlier, this one seemed intact, its enchantment still pulsing with steady energy. "It's a second-tier storage ring with significant capacity. Master Kito's design, meant to hold twenty cubic meters, but the spatial folding didn't stabilize correctly. Maximum functional capacity is about five meters, and it leaks energy when fully loaded." He closed the box. "Still worth sixty seals if it worked perfectly. I'm offering a discount because of the flaws."

  Five meters of storage space. If Malcolm's theory was correct, processing this ring through his void pool could potentially triple his soul space at once. The timing couldn't be more perfect—the night before his evaluation.

  "Twenty seals," Malcolm countered, trying to keep the desperation from his voice.

  The vendor laughed. "This isn't a common herb, Sinclair. I don't need to sell it at all." He glanced at a nearby group of students. "In fact, Riven Tairo was expressing interest earlier..."

  "Twenty-five," Malcolm said quickly, "and two vials of my purified gold dust." The gold dust was his most valuable product—extracted from discarded jewelry and ornaments, purified to a level normally only achievable by master alchemists.

  The vendor hesitated, greed warring with suspicion in his eyes. "How does a first-year resource management assistant produce master-grade gold purification?"

  "Same way I'm going to make use of this supposedly advanced storage ring," Malcolm replied with more confidence than he felt. "Natural talent."

  After a moment's consideration, the vendor nodded. "Twenty-five seals and three vials of the gold dust. Take it or leave it."

  Ten minutes later, Malcolm slipped away from the Exchange, the wooden box tucked safely inside his robe. His coin purse was significantly lighter, but the potential reward was worth it. If everything went according to plan, by tomorrow morning his soul space would be large enough to demonstrate advanced essence manipulation—the key to convincing Grandmaster Kaiven of the legitimacy of his methods.

  As Malcolm made his way to his hidden workspace in the far corner of the dumping ground, his mind raced with alternating waves of anxiety and determination. His entire academic future—maybe even his ability to stay at the Academy—rested on tomorrow's evaluation. The expanded soul space from the storage ring wasn't just helpful; it was absolutely essential.

  What if the processing went wrong? What if he couldn't expand his space enough? What if Kaiven dismissed the Absorptive Nexus theory outright?

  "Stop it," he muttered to himself, kicking at a broken pottery shard in his path. "One problem at a time."

  The evaluation would require perfect execution. He pictured the demonstration in his mind: extracting multiple essences simultaneously, maintaining their individual properties while establishing harmonic resonance between them, then applying the combined formation to create something even the most traditional master couldn't dismiss as a mere shortcut.

  But what if his soul space rejected the ring? What if the pain was worse than last time? What if—

  Malcolm shook his head forcefully. The what-ifs would drive him crazy if he let them. The simple truth was that he had no choice. Without a dramatically expanded soul space, he couldn't perform the kind of essence manipulation that would convince Kaiven. And without convincing Kaiven, his unique abilities would be dismissed as trickery or worse.

  Sometimes the only way forward was through the fire.

  The night was cloudless, stars gleaming in the vast expanse above. A cool breeze carried the scent of autumn—decaying leaves, distant wood smoke, and the faint metallic tang that seemed permanent in the dumping ground air.

  His workspace had evolved from a simple salvaged table to a more established setup. A canvas tarp stretched between twisted trees provided shelter from rain and prying eyes. Beneath it, he'd arranged various workbenches made from reclaimed materials, each dedicated to a different process. Small lanterns hung from branches, casting warm pools of light over his equipment.

  Malcolm checked his surroundings carefully before retrieving the box from his robe. No one had followed him—or at least, no one he could detect. Satisfied with his privacy, he opened the box and removed the storage ring, feeling its enchantment pulsing against his fingertips like a tiny heartbeat.

  This was a much more powerful artifact than the cracked ring he'd processed earlier. Its enchantment was stable, if flawed, and its capacity significantly greater. Processing it would likely be more intense as well. Malcolm remembered the painful pressure, the sensation of something tearing inside his mind, the blood that had trickled from his nose.

  He hesitated, suddenly uncertain. What if the process was exponentially more difficult with a stronger artifact? What if it caused permanent damage? The evaluation was important, but was it worth the risk?

  "Get it together, Malcolm," he muttered to himself, setting the ring on his workbench. "No going back now."

  He settled onto his stool, taking several deep breaths to center himself as he'd learned in meditation class. The irony wasn't lost on him—using Kagetsu techniques to prepare for something that defied Kagetsu traditions. With a final exhale, he closed his eyes and accessed his soul space.

  The familiar spherical area appeared in his mind's eye, now a respectable meter and a half in diameter. The dinner plate-sized void pool pulsed at the bottom, its obsidian surface reflecting nothing. His carefully organized essence orbs hovered in their distinct patterns—herbal essences grouped by properties, mineral essences arranged by purity, magical essences separated by intensity. The blue energy mist that always accompanied decomposition had settled into a thin haze throughout the space, drifting lazily in unseen currents.

  Malcolm focused on the void pool, mentally retrieving the storage ring from his physical hand. The silver band materialized in his soul space, its enchantment pulsing with greater intensity now, as if it somehow sensed what was coming.

  "Here goes nothing," Malcolm whispered, guiding the ring toward the pool.

  Just as before, the ring resisted, the spatial enchantment pushing back against the pool's decomposition properties. But this time, the resistance was much stronger—like trying to force two powerful magnets together with their repelling poles aligned.

  Malcolm gritted his teeth and pushed harder, using all his mental strength to overcome the resistance. Sweat beaded on his physical brow, and his fingers gripped the edge of his stool with white-knuckled tension.

  With a sudden lurch that sent a jolt of pain through his skull, the ring broke through the surface of the pool and sank beneath the obsidian liquid.

  The reaction was immediate and violent. The pool erupted like a volcano, its surface bubbling furiously as if trying to expel the foreign object. A shrieking whine filled Malcolm's soul space, so high-pitched it seemed to vibrate through his very being. The pressure in his head built rapidly, far more intense than before—like iron bands tightening around his skull, threatening to crush it.

  In the physical world, Malcolm's body convulsed, nearly toppling from the stool. Blood gushed from his nose and dripped from his ears, and his muscles seized in painful spasms. His consciousness wavered, darkness encroaching at the edges of his vision. Something was wrong—this was too intense, too violent.

  Just as he was about to break the connection, to try to halt the process before it killed him, there was an explosive POP that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

  Inside his soul space, the boundaries suddenly stretched outward with dizzying speed, like a balloon filled too rapidly with air. The void pool expanded as well, growing from dinner plate-sized to the width of a wash basin in an instant. The floating essence orbs scattered in the rapidly growing space, their careful organization disrupted by the violent expansion.

  The pain peaked, a white-hot lance drilling through Malcolm's temples, and then—blessed relief flooded through him as the process completed. The pool settled, once again a calm obsidian surface, now significantly larger. At its edge lay a pile of silver dust, a small mound of blue crystalline material, and most importantly, a massive essence orb pulsing with swirling silver-blue energy.

  The spatial essence was far larger and more intense than the one from the smaller ring—the size of a melon rather than a marble, and pulsing with such power that it seemed to bend the light around it.

  Malcolm mentally guided it toward the boundaries of his soul space, watching in awe as it merged with them just as the previous one had, but with far greater effect. The walls of his soul space rippled dramatically, then expanded outward in all directions before finally settling.

  When the process completed, Malcolm could barely believe the result. His soul space now measured at least five meters in diameter—more than triple its previous size and half the size of a standard student's space. The void pool dominated the bottom, nearly a meter across, its obsidian surface somehow deeper and more dimensional than before.

  "Holy shit," Malcolm breathed, opening his eyes and returning to physical awareness.

  His body felt like he'd been trampled by a herd of mountain oxen. Every muscle ached, his head throbbed with lingering pain, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. His shirt was soaked with sweat and spattered with blood from his nose.

  But none of that mattered compared to what he'd achieved. His soul space had expanded dramatically in a single night—an achievement that would have taken years of traditional meditation. More importantly, he now had the capacity to demonstrate advanced essence manipulation during tomorrow's evaluation.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Malcolm tried to stand, wanting to clean himself up before returning to the dormitories, but his legs buckled beneath him. He caught himself on the edge of the workbench, vision swimming as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

  "Maybe... just rest for a minute," he murmured, easing himself to the ground. The packed dirt felt cool against his overheated skin. He'd just close his eyes for a moment, just until the worst of the dizziness passed...

  The darkness claimed him faster than he expected.

  What seemed like moments later, Malcolm woke to gentle shaking and a concerned voice calling his name.

  "Sinclair! Can you hear me?"

  He blinked, vision blurry, to find Elder Mozu's weathered face hovering above him, lined with worry. Early morning light filtered through the canvas overhead, painting everything in soft gold tones. How long had he been unconscious?

  "What...?" His voice came out as a croak, his throat parched.

  "Found you collapsed," the old man said gruffly, though concern edged his tone. "Bleeding from nose and ears. What foolishness have you been up to, boy?"

  Malcolm tried to sit up and immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his head. "Processing... a storage artifact," he managed. "Bigger than before. Expanded my space."

  Elder Mozu's bushy eyebrows drew together. "At what cost? Your life?" He shook his head in disapproval. "Reckless. Should have consulted me first."

  "Had to... for the evaluation." Malcolm closed his eyes against the throbbing in his skull. "Today. What time is it?"

  "First bell just rang," Elder Mozu replied. "Your evaluation isn't until midday. Plenty of time to get you to the infirmary first."

  "No!" Malcolm's eyes flew open despite the pain. "No infirmary. They'll ask questions. Might delay the evaluation."

  "You're in no condition—"

  "I'll be fine," Malcolm insisted, forcing himself to sit up despite the protest from every nerve in his body. "Just need water and something for the pain."

  Elder Mozu studied him for a long moment, then sighed heavily. "Stubborn as ironwood, aren't you?" He reached into his robe and produced a small cloth-wrapped bundle. "Here. Willow bark extract with goldthread. For pain and internal bleeding."

  Malcolm accepted the medicine gratefully, washing down the bitter herbs with water from the flask the elder offered. The effect wasn't immediate, but within minutes, the worst of the pain began to subside.

  "What exactly did you process?" Elder Mozu asked, helping Malcolm to his feet.

  "Second-tier storage ring," Malcolm replied, steadying himself against the workbench. "Flawed, but still powerful. Supposed to hold twenty cubic meters, but limited to five because of instability."

  The old man's eyes widened. "And your soul space absorbed all that capacity?"

  Malcolm nodded, immediately regretting the movement as it sent a fresh wave of dizziness through him. "Expanded to about five meters diameter. Void pool's almost a meter across now."

  "Impressive," Elder Mozu acknowledged. "But dangerous. The essence transfer could have overwhelmed your channels completely." He fixed Malcolm with a stern look. "No more such experiments without supervision. Promise me, boy."

  "I promise," Malcolm agreed, knowing the old man was right. He'd come dangerously close to serious injury, perhaps even death. "Help me get cleaned up? I can't go to the evaluation looking like this."

  Elder Mozu nodded toward a bucket of clean water he'd apparently brought along with the medicine. "Already ahead of you. Can you manage, or will you fall on your face again?"

  With the elder's assistance, Malcolm washed the dried blood from his face and neck, changed into the clean uniform he'd fortunately left at his workspace, and made himself presentable enough for public appearance. The medicine continued to work its magic, dulling the pain to a manageable throb and clearing the worst of the dizziness.

  "How do I look?" he asked, adjusting his collar.

  "Like death warmed over," Elder Mozu replied bluntly. "But most will assume it's evaluation anxiety. Common enough among first-years facing Kaiven's scrutiny."

  Malcolm grimaced. "Not exactly the impression I was hoping to make."

  "Results matter more than appearances," the elder said with a dismissive wave. "Speaking of which—are you prepared for the actual evaluation, or was nearly killing yourself the extent of your preparation?"

  "I have a plan," Malcolm said, forcing confidence into his voice despite his physical discomfort. "The book Master Seiran gave me—it describes what I can do as an 'Absorptive Nexus.' A rare specialization, but documented in traditional theory."

  "Hmm." Elder Mozu stroked his wispy beard. "Kaiven won't like it—he considers Nexus theory outdated at best, heretical at worst. But he can't dismiss historical precedent entirely." He fixed Malcolm with a piercing look. "What will you demonstrate?"

  "I'm going to extract and combine multiple essences at once," Malcolm said, unable to keep excitement from his voice despite his condition. "With all this extra space, I can finally juggle enough essences to make something really valuable—a purification compound that's impossible with their traditional methods."

  "Bold choice," the elder commented, a hint of pride mixing with his concern. "And if it fails?"

  Malcolm swallowed hard, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Then I'll probably be expelled."

  Elder Mozu sighed deeply. "Well, at least you understand the stakes." He placed a gnarled hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "Remember—conviction is half the battle with Kaiven. Doubt, and he'll tear your theory to shreds. Believe, and even flawed execution may earn grudging respect."

  Malcolm nodded, grateful for the advice and the unexpected support. "Thank you. For everything."

  "Don't thank me yet," the old man replied. "Save it for after you survive Kaiven's gauntlet. Now go—second bell approaches, and you'll want to center yourself before the storm."

  The evaluation chamber was nothing like Malcolm had expected. Rather than the grand hall he'd imagined, filled with observers and intimidating architecture, it was a surprisingly modest room with plain white walls. A simple wooden platform stood at its center, surrounded by seven cushioned seats arranged in a semicircle. The only decorative elements were the Academy's flame insignia painted on the far wall and several bronze censers from which thin tendrils of fragrant smoke curled upward.

  "Wait here," Mira instructed, having escorted him from the dormitories. "The evaluation panel will enter shortly. Bow when they do, remain standing until invited to sit, and address only Grandmaster Kaiven unless another master asks you a direct question."

  Malcolm nodded, trying to ignore the persistent throbbing in his head and the trembling in his legs. The medicine had dulled the worst effects of last night's ordeal, but he was far from recovered. At least his soul space exploration had yielded results—not only the dramatically expanded capacity but a more comprehensive understanding of how the void pool's decomposition processes aligned with traditional alchemical theory.

  "Remember your forms," Mira added, her voice softer than usual. "The ritual matters as much as the content to Grandmaster Kaiven."

  Malcolm recognized the hint for what it was—genuine concern, though typically expressed through practical advice rather than emotional encouragement. "I'll try not to embarrass you too much," he said with a weak smile.

  Mira's expression remained neutral, but something flickered in her eyes—perhaps worry, perhaps mere acknowledgment. "Your appearance suggests illness," she observed. "Should I inform the masters you require postponement?"

  "No," Malcolm said quickly. "I'm fine. Just... nervous."

  She clearly didn't believe him but nodded anyway. "As you wish. I will wait outside to escort you afterward."

  Before Malcolm could respond, the door at the far end of the chamber opened. Seven figures entered in silent procession, each wearing the formal robes of their respective positions. Master Seiran he recognized instantly, along with Professor Liko. The others were unfamiliar except for one—a tall, broad-shouldered man with iron-gray hair and a precisely trimmed beard, who could only be Grandmaster Kaiven, head of Traditional Methodology.

  Malcolm bowed deeply, holding the position until a clear voice commanded, "Rise, Sinclair-san."

  He straightened to find Grandmaster Kaiven studying him with penetrating eyes. Unlike the other masters, who had taken their seats, Kaiven remained standing, hands clasped behind his back.

  "You present an unusual case," the Grandmaster said without preamble. "A foreign student, admitted through diplomatic arrangement rather than merit, demonstrating results that contradict your theoretical foundation." His tone was neither accusatory nor approving—merely stating facts as he saw them. "Today's evaluation will determine whether your methods represent legitimate innovation or mere shortcut."

  Malcolm swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. "I understand, Grandmaster."

  "Do you?" Kaiven's eyebrow arched upward. "Innovation isn't about shortcuts, boy. True advancement builds upon the wisdom we've accumulated over centuries, not sidesteps it for quick results. Genuine pioneers extend traditions—they don't abandon them."

  Malcolm bit the inside of his cheek to keep from arguing. Back home, results were what mattered—who cared about the path if you reached the destination? But that mentality wouldn't help him here.

  He gestured to the platform. "Begin your demonstration. Explain your theoretical framework first, then show its practical application."

  Malcolm stepped onto the platform, willing his trembling legs to support him. The expanded soul space felt strange—simultaneously more stable and more responsive than before. He could sense the void pool at its center, pulsing with energy, eager to be utilized.

  "My research," he began, deliberately using academic terminology, "suggests that my soul space possesses a rare specialization known in classical texts as an 'Absorptive Nexus.' Rather than functioning primarily as storage, it actively deconstructs materials into their fundamental components."

  Kaiven's expression revealed nothing, but several other masters exchanged glances. Master Seiran's face remained carefully neutral, though Malcolm thought he detected the slightest nod of encouragement.

  "According to Grandmaster Ito's 'Treatise on Spiritual Domain Variations,'" Malcolm continued, citing the text Master Seiran had provided, "the Absorptive Nexus represents an alternative manifestation of alchemical principles—decomposition rather than transformation, but still adhering to the fundamental laws of essence separation."

  "Ito's theories are historically interesting but practically outdated," Kaiven observed, his tone dismissive. "Modern understanding has refined those crude concepts considerably."

  "With respect, Grandmaster," Malcolm said, careful to maintain proper deference despite his instinct to argue, "my experiences suggest the Absorptive Nexus theory accurately describes what occurs in my soul space. I can demonstrate its practical application and value, if permitted."

  Kaiven gestured for him to proceed, settling into his seat with the air of someone prepared to witness failure.

  Malcolm steadied himself, focusing on the demonstration he'd planned. From within his robe, he produced three small vials containing herb samples—each a common ingredient in standard remedies, but challenging to process because of their conflicting properties.

  "Traditional extraction methods require these herbs to be processed separately due to their contradictory essence signatures," he explained, displaying the vials to the panel. "When combined physically, they neutralize each other's medicinal properties."

  He set the vials on a small table that had been provided for the demonstration. "I will now extract and preserve their essential properties simultaneously, maintaining their distinct signatures while allowing for controlled interaction."

  "Impossible," Professor Liko interjected. "The fire essence in bloodroot directly negates the water essence in silverleaf. Their extraction paths are fundamentally incompatible."

  Malcolm acknowledged her point with a respectful nod. "Through conventional methods, yes. But the Absorptive Nexus processes materials differently."

  He closed his eyes, accessing his soul space with practiced ease. The expanded domain appeared immediately, the void pool's obsidian surface shimmering with anticipation. Malcolm mentally transferred the three herbs from their physical vials into his soul space, then guided them toward the pool.

  Unlike the storage ring, the herbs offered no resistance. They sank beneath the surface smoothly, instantly beginning to decompose. Within seconds, three distinct essence orbs rose from the pool—a fiery red from the bloodroot, pulsing like a heartbeat with translucent tendrils that reached outward and then retracted in rhythmic waves; a shimmering blue from the silverleaf, its surface rippling like water under a gentle breeze, with occasional sparkles of light that seemed to dance across its perfect sphere; and a vibrant green from the mountain sage, solid and steady, with a deep forest hue that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

  Now came the critical part. With delicate mental control, Malcolm guided the three essences into a triangular formation, maintaining separation while allowing their energies to interact in a controlled pattern. The red and blue orbs repelled each other like matching poles of a magnet, visibly straining against his mental grasp, but the green acted as a buffer, its neutral essence creating a stable circuit between the opposing forces.

  As the three orbs began to rotate, following the path Malcolm had established, colored light streamed between them—crimson, azure, and emerald threads weaving an intricate lattice that pulsed with combined power. The sight was beautiful, even within the confines of his soul space—like a miniature model of celestial bodies in perfect harmony.

  In the physical world, beads of sweat formed on Malcolm's brow, both from concentration and the lingering effects of last night's ordeal. His head throbbed with renewed intensity, vision blurring slightly at the edges. He gritted his teeth, forcing clarity through sheer determination.

  Once the essence circuit stabilized, Malcolm carefully extracted the combined formation from his soul space, materializing it above his outstretched palm as a swirling trio of colored lights that rotated in perfect harmony.

  Gasps came from several masters. Even Kaiven leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed in assessment. A young female master with silver-streaked hair whispered something to her neighbor, who nodded emphatically. At the end of the row, a heavyset man with an elaborate mustache frowned deeply, but couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the dancing essences.

  Master Seiran's face remained carefully neutral, though Malcolm caught the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth—what might have been a suppressed smile. Professor Liko, meanwhile, had pressed her lips into such a thin line they had nearly disappeared entirely, her analytical gaze fixed on the essence formation as if trying to deconstruct it through observation alone.

  "This formation," Malcolm explained, his voice tightening with the effort of maintaining control, "keeps all the individual properties while letting them work together. When it's applied to water like this—" he gestured to the small bowl, "—it creates a remedy that treats several conditions at once without the ingredients fighting each other."

  To demonstrate, he had prepared a small bowl of purified water. Malcolm lowered the hovering essence formation into the liquid, where it dissolved with a flash of multicolored light. The water shimmered briefly, then settled into a clear solution with a faint opalescent quality.

  "The resulting compound," he continued, "treats inflammation, fever, and respiratory congestion simultaneously—a combination impossible through traditional processing due to the conflicting nature of the original herbs."

  He reached for a testing crystal similar to the ones used in practical classes, intending to demonstrate the solution's properties. But as his fingers closed around it, a wave of dizziness washed over him. His vision tunneled, darkening at the edges, and the persistent throbbing in his head intensified to blinding pain.

  The crystal slipped from his suddenly numb fingers, clattering to the platform. Malcolm swayed, struggling to remain upright as his legs threatened to buckle beneath him.

  "I... apologize," he managed, words slurring slightly. "Just need a moment to..."

  The room tilted sideways. Malcolm was vaguely aware of voices raised in alarm, of hands reaching to catch him as he fell. The last thing he saw was Grandmaster Kaiven's face, the stern expression replaced by something that might have been concern.

  Then darkness claimed him, and he knew nothing more.