A raw, seismic ache rooted itself deep in Corin’s bones. Every nerve felt like exposed strata, scraped raw by the relentless sun and the unforgiving stone. His link to the Deep Earth, usually a steady, resonant hum, had become a faint, stuttering pulse. The very essence of the world, which he commanded, now seemed to drain him with each shallow breath. His legs, heavy as granite pillars, failed him. He stumbled, a jarring collision with the searing bedrock. Heat seared through his worn garments, through skin, to muscle. He lay splayed, a mere pebble in the vast, indifferent Stone Sea. Stone-Heart, a figure carved from petrified ages, did not pause. Not a flicker. Then, a slow, deliberate turn. His gaze, ancient and unyielding as a mountain range, settled upon Corin. No pity softened those eyes. “A fledgling,” Stone-Heart rumbled, his voice like tectonic plates grinding. “Soft. This world does not suffer weakness.” He gestured to the vast, scarred landscape. “Aethelstone demands strength. Those who shape it, live. Those who falter, return to dust.” He took a step closer, casting a colossal shadow. “Let the earth claim you, if you are not worthy.” From a pouch at his hip, Stone-Heart produced a dark, irregular bar. It looked like compressed obsidian, dense with ancient minerals. He tossed it. It landed inches from Corin’s outstretched, trembling hand. “Sustenance. If you can take it.” Corin tried to push himself up. His arms, heavy, unresponsive. A dry, rasping cough escaped his throat. The very air, thick with mineral dust, felt like lead in his lungs. Stone-Heart sat, a statue carved from the elements, and began to chew on his own bar. Slow, measured movements. Each deliberate crunch echoed in the profound silence. He would not be dust. Corin’s resolve, quiet but unbreakable, sparked in the depths of his exhaustion. He would not yield. He pushed. An inch. Another. The scorching stone abraded his skin, but the pain was a distant hum compared to the absolute refusal to surrender. His fingers, stiff and numb, finally closed around the petrified bar. He brought it to his lips, teeth scraping the gritty, mineral-rich surface. Chewing was an act of monumental will. The dryness in his mouth made each swallow a choked, painful ordeal. But as the dark, stony fragments descended into his gut, a faint, almost imperceptible warmth spread. A single, weak thread of connection to the Deep Earth flickered back to life. Stone-Heart, observing, broke his silence. “The veins of the earth flow through you, fledgling. But they need a vessel. A strong vessel. Exhaustion of the flesh starves the spirit, starves the connection. Recover the body, and the earth will answer once more.” Corin felt the truth of it. When he was collapsed, the faint echo of the Deep Earth had been a mockery. Now, with a trickle of sustenance, a tiny, almost forgotten tremor of power stirred within him. Mana, the world’s silent breath, slowly began to seep back into his core. The sun, a molten coin, sank beneath the horizon, plunging the Stone Sea into an immediate, biting chill. The colossal rock formations, vibrant with reflected heat moments before, now radiated an ancient, profound cold. Stone-Heart, indifferent to the plummeting temperature, curled upon a massive, flat slab of basalt. His breathing deepened, a slow, steady rhythm, like the earth settling after an age. Corin shivered. The cold leeched into his bones, numbing his extremities. Sleep, if it came, was a fitful, desperate battle against the encroaching chill. He huddled, seeking warmth that simply did not exist in this exposed, ancient place. Dawn, when it arrived, brought a strange, crystalline light. Stone-Heart uncurled. His first act was to carefully unfasten a coarse, woven fabric from his pack and spread it flat on the ground. Slowly, methodically, he squeezed droplets of dew from its surface into a waiting hollowed stone. He drank deep. Corin, watching, felt a pang of ignorance. He had not thought of it. His own garments, limp and dry, offered nothing. A quiet resolve hardened within him: observe, learn, adapt. Stone-Heart rose. No words. He simply began to move, a slow, implacable march across the barren flats. Corin pushed himself up. The Deep Earth still felt distant, but the faint spark from the previous night had not died. He focused, recalling the nascent connection he had forged yesterday. He reached for the subtle currents within the stone. ‘Stone Glide,’ he named it in his mind. A whisper to the bedrock, a subtle shifting of its cohesion, allowing his steps to flow rather than stumble. Mana management became paramount. Yesterday’s near-death had etched that lesson deep. Each whisper to the stone, each subtle command, had to be precise, economical. Step by arduous step, Corin followed. He focused on the rhythm, on the quiet communion with the stone beneath his feet. The ‘Stone Glide’ became smoother, less demanding. The initial heavy drain lessened, replaced by a more efficient give-and-take. The world itself seemed to offer a path, if he knew how to ask. As the sun dipped again, painting the titan-strewn horizon in streaks of ochre and rust, Stone-Heart halted. Exhaustion still gnawed at Corin, a dull ache that resonated through his entire being. But he had not depleted himself. The thread of power remained strong. Stone-Heart tossed another petrified bar. Corin caught it, not having to scramble this time. He tore a small piece. He chewed it slowly, thoroughly, letting it soften in his mouth before swallowing. He extended the process, mimicking Stone-Heart’s measured pace. The bar lasted. But his stomach still rumbled, an empty cavern. Pride held his tongue; he could not ask for more. Night descended, swift and unforgiving. Corin, though weary, moved with purpose. He spread his coarse fabric for the morning dew. Then, with a focused breath, he reached into the Deep Earth. The bedrock, solid and unyielding, softened under his will. He commanded a shallow depression, a circular hollow just large enough for his frame. A subtle command of cohesion ensured the walls held, defying the natural collapse of loose stone. He slipped inside. Mana had been consumed, but the lasting effect was a small, sheltered space, warmer than the exposed air. Sleep came easier here. The deep chill of the Stone Sea was held at bay. A thought, fleeting, of Stone-Heart. He would not seek shelter. He never did. Corin dismissed the thought and drifted into a true, deep slumber. A faint, rhythmic thrum pulled Corin from his rest. A vibration, deep and resonant, passed through the very stone of his hollow. His eyes snapped open. He pressed his hand to the bedrock floor. The thrum intensified, growing steadily stronger. A low, guttural growl, distant but growing nearer, echoed through the geological silence. Corin emerged from his hollow. Stone-Heart stood, a dark silhouette against the pre-dawn gloom. His colossal, petrified blade, ‘Shard-Heart,’ was plunged point-first into the ground before him, its hilt an extension of his arm. He stared into the impenetrable darkness, a focused, ancient intensity in his posture. The thrumming grew into a palpable tremor. Corin followed his gaze. Only the dense blackness of the hour before sunrise. But Stone-Heart’s vision pierced it. The tremors became a pounding rhythm, a heavy, driving beat. A low, ancient grin cracked Stone-Heart’s face, a terrible, almost joyous expression of grim anticipation. “Survival, fledgling. Your own.” Hundreds of pinpricks of light ignited in the darkness, glowing faintly, approaching with terrifying speed. Not stars. Eyes. And the heavy thudding sound resolved itself into the pounding of immense, stony limbs. A pack. A pack of Chasm Striders. ---

A Hunger for Stone