Dust stained the world a ruddy ochre. Jagged peaks clawed at a pale sky, their lower slopes dissolving into a parched expanse where only stubborn, twisted scrub held purchase. Here, the Craglands truly earned their name – a vast, unforgiving basin, scoured clean by ancient winds and the slow grind of ages. Villages rarely clung to this land. No fertile soil for sustenance, no valuable ores to warrant the perilous trade routes. Life here was a constant negotiation with scarcity. Kael had walked for a full day. The novelty of this particular desolation, a different shade of harshness than his familiar valley, had long worn thin. His boots crunched on loose scree, a rhythm to his solitude. Part of him sought to savor this first solitary journey beyond the familiar passes. Another part, a deeper, more primal instinct, urged caution, the conservation of his nascent Lithomancy. He moved with an unnatural swiftness, a quiet focus that made the miles melt away. A regular traveler would have spent days just crossing this stretch. Yet, the horizon remained barren, devoid of even the smallest cairn or the smoke from a hearth. No fear of hunger, not yet. He still had a pouch of cured mountain goat and hardbread. But water… water was a different matter in this dry basin. He paused, sensing the earth beneath him. A faint thrumming resonated up through the rock, a barely perceptible vibration against his calloused soles. A trickle. Deep beneath the crust. Kael knelt, pressing a palm to the hot, sun-baked stone. His awareness spread, a silent probe seeking the hidden currents. A slow, ancient pulse. Water, trapped in a deep fissure. He focused, envisioning the path, the pressure. A spiderweb of hairline cracks appeared on the rock surface, expanding with a faint groan. A cool, damp scent rose, mineral-rich and pure. From the widening fissure, a thin stream of clear water began to weep, carving a miniature channel into the dust. Kael filled his leather bladder, the chill liquid a blessing against the dry air. He drank deeply, the essence of the earth itself flowing into him, cool and revitalizing. Water secured, he chewed on a piece of dried meat, the gritty taste of the Craglands in his mouth, a quiet communion with the stone that provided. --- Sun climbed to its zenith, beating down with merciless intensity. He had walked for hours more when he spotted them. Six figures, emerging from behind a low ridge. Men, all of them. Cloaks dusty, shortswords glinting at their hips, the familiar tools of those who traversed the rough routes. They pulled a heavy cart, shrouded in canvas, suggesting goods. Perhaps merchants, risking the desolate paths between the scattered strongholds. Kael had heard tales of such folk, venturing close to his valley but rarely entering. He stepped onto the game path they followed, his shadow stretching long before him, blocking their advance. “Who bars our way?” A burly man, who seemed to be their leader, called out. His voice was rough, edged with wariness. Kael spoke, his voice quiet against the wind. “A lone traveler. Could you tell me if a settlement lies nearby?” They exchanged glances, puzzlement warring with suspicion. Kael’s senses, sharpened by the silent communion with stone, picked up something else from a few of them. Not just caution. A hungry glint in their eyes, like a predator sizing up prey. “If you follow the tracks we made, you’ll find Cleftburg,” the leader grunted, his tone now laced with a crude insolence. “Unless you’re blind, you won’t miss it.” Kael’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He felt no urge to dispute their manner. He had interrupted their journey, after all. They had given him the information. “My thanks,” he said, a simple nod. He turned, ready to follow the faint wheel ruts. A burly man with a chipped tooth stepped into his path, blocking him again. A sneer stretched across his face, a look of mean pleasure. “Hold on, traveler. Information costs. Think you can just take it and walk away?” He gestured with a dirt-stained hand. “Let’s see what’s in that pack of yours. Looks heavy.” Kael felt the shift in the air. Swords scraped from sheaths. The men fanned out, surrounding him. Their intent was clear, sharp as obsidian. They wouldn’t hesitate. “Bandits, then,” Kael murmured, his voice flat. “A side venture,” another grinned, the chipped tooth prominent. “Just your pack. We’ll leave you your skin. No need for blood, if you’re sensible.” Kael’s heightened awareness, honed by Varn’s teachings, filtered the raw emotions from them. A stench of greed, fear, and a dark, predatory joy. The claim of sparing him was a lie, a thin veneer over their true intent. “Very well,” Kael said, a strange calm settling over him. “Perhaps you’ll serve as practice.” “What?” The leader scowled, confused. Kael spread his hands, palms down, then slammed them against the earth. A deep tremor ran through the ground, a localized earthquake. The earth buckled, a wave of compacted soil and rock exploding outward. The bandits were flung into the air, mere puppets on invisible strings. “Aaaagh—!” Two of them landed hard. One lay still, unnaturally twisted. Another clutched a leg, a sickening crunch echoing in Kael’s ears. He collapsed, whimpering. Four more scrambled to their feet, covered in dust, fear now eclipsing their greed. Kael focused, gravel from the trail scudding into his palm. It hardened, elongated, forming needle-sharp points of condensed stone. At his gesture, a stone dart shot forward, a blur of grey, punching clean through the abdomen of a staggering bandit. He gasped, falling to his knees, blood blossoming on his tunic. “Forgive me! Please!” The man with the broken leg screamed, tossing his sword aside, hands raised in supplication. Kael ignored him, his gaze fixed on the fleeing figure. The first dart had been too slow, too simple. He had to imbue his will more fully. With a conscious effort, he spun another stone dart, imbuing it with a furious rotation, then launched it. It flew with greater velocity, a whistling projectile that found the neck of the escaping bandit, dropping him without a sound. “Die—!” Two more, spurred by desperation, charged him, shortswords raised. Kael didn't even flinch. He stomped, a controlled fury of will. The reddish-brown wasteland erupted. Jagged spears of rock, dark and sharp, burst from the ground, impaling the charging men. They fell, lifeless, their cries cut short. Only the bandit with the broken leg remained, whimpering, soiled himself. The one with the pierced abdomen lay struggling, his life ebbing away. Kael walked towards the sole survivor. Varn’s voice, calm and firm, echoed in his mind: *“Never show mercy to such lowlifes. One spared will harm ten innocents.”* Kael intended to follow that teaching. “Ah… ah…” The man's eyes were wide with terror. He tried to crawl away, his broken leg dragging uselessly. Kael reached for him, then paused, a question forming in his mind. “One thing,” he said, his voice quiet, calm amidst the carnage. “Why attack me? A lone traveler, in a place like this, might be… capable.” He gestured to the fallen. Hope flickered in the man’s eyes, desperate. “Y-yes, sir! Earth-speaker sir! Anything you ask!” “You attacked without a proper plan. Why?” Kael pressed. After a moment of pained hesitation, the bandit stammered. “You… you bowed your head, sir. When our leader spoke ill to you, you… you just nodded. Politely. We thought… we thought you were just an ordinary man.” Kael felt a cold understanding settle in his gut. A test. His unassuming nature, his politeness, had been read as weakness. In the Craglands, subtlety could be mistaken for impotence. He had shown deference, and they had seen an easy meal. “Thank you,” Kael said. “You’ve taught me a valuable lesson.” He placed a finger on the bandit’s blood-stained forehead. A final pulse of Lithomancy, cold and final, pulsed through the man’s skull. His eyes glazed over, his body went slack. At least his end was swift, painless. --- The cart, now abandoned, held an array of goods: dried foods, simple tools, coarse woven cloth. They seemed legitimate, not plundered. The men had been merchants once, perhaps, before the lure of easy prey turned them to banditry. Kael took the few coins they carried, then left the cart, a silent monument to greed. He resumed his journey, following the wheel tracks. As he moved, the reddish-brown wasteland slowly softened. Patches of tough, grey-green grass appeared. Then hardy, stunted trees, their branches twisted like ancient bones. With his destination clear, Kael quickened his pace. He ran, covering ground at a speed few could match. By the time the sun began its final descent, painting the western peaks in fiery hues, he saw it. Murei City. No, Cleftburg. A stronghold built into a deep canyon, its walls of dark, rough-hewn stone blending seamlessly with the rock face. Hundreds of people, at least by his estimation, moved along its terraced streets, bathed in the twilight glow. Kael had never seen so many people in one place. The villages of his valley, even combined, barely reached a third of this number. He breathed in the unfamiliar scents: woodsmoke, cooking meat, sweat, and something else – the dense, living hum of human endeavor. He walked slowly into the city, absorbing the sight. Buildings of dark, sturdy stone, two or three stories high, some with small, bustling stalls spilling onto the narrow thoroughfares. Passersby moved with purpose, rarely acknowledging each other beyond a quick glance. A stark contrast to the close-knit, cautious communities of the deep valleys. Kael observed it all, a quiet observer in a world suddenly much larger, and far more complex, than the stone and solitude he had always known. He felt the tremor of the city, the collective Lithos of its inhabitants, a new kind of power, restless and vibrant, beneath his feet.

Stone and Steel