The oppressive smog of Veridian’s industrial districts clung to Kaelen’s clothes, a persistent grit under his tongue. Even amidst the clatter of steam-presses and the distant shriek of refinery whistles, a faint tremor resonated beneath his skin. Not the mundane hum of machinery, but the raw, untamed pulse of the world’s forgotten energy – his constant, secret companion. He had found seven Veil-Creatures that day, mostly burrow-gnawers and low-flight skitter-wings, each a brief, violent struggle in the labyrinthine alleys or the refuse-choked canals. Every time a creature fell, a potent, almost dizzying rush bloomed within him. A visceral thrill, the raw arcane force leaching from the dying flesh and surging into his own being. Skin prickled with a cold euphoria. It felt like unlocking a deeper chamber within himself, a space humming with ancient power. A strange, addictive pleasure, this silent communion with the primal. The fleeting thought that this potency would eventually wane, that he might one day reach a limit, brought with it a curious, almost regretful disappointment. Yet, the absorption was more than mere sensation. By the fifth creature, Kaelen sensed a tangible shift. The primal energy he could instinctively draw upon felt denser, more obedient. His inner wellspring had deepened, perhaps by a third since arriving in Veridian. At this rate, months of hunting could multiply his strength exponentially, but a pragmatic voice whispered caution. Such rapid growth, he knew, would not last. The weakest creatures yielded less with each subsequent absorption. Their arcane residue was finite, diluted. Moreover, relentless hunting would soon deplete the Veil-Creature population in the city’s immediate vicinity. Seasoned scavengers spoke of migrating, following rumors of richer hunting grounds, like the long-dead nobles of old pursuing their grand hunts. Remembering this, Kaelen chose a different path for his final two captures. He spotted an iridescent skitter-mouse, its fur shimmering with faint arcane light, and a ground-burrower, its shell a patchwork of hardened chitin. Both were too weak to offer any significant primal surge. He cornered them, careful not to inflict lethal harm. Binding them with rough twine, he secured the squirming creatures in a reinforced satchel. Their worth lay not in their arcane essence, but in the Archon Administratum’s sterile curiosity. Live specimens fetched a better price. --- The Archon Administratum building loomed, a monolithic edifice of dull grey stone and blackened iron. Within, the air tasted of stale ink and cold indifference. Kaelen approached the Scribe’s counter, placing the satchel on the worn oak surface. The iridescent skitter-mouse chittered, its tiny claws scratching faintly against the fabric. “Live specimens,” Kaelen stated, his voice a low rumble. “Skitter-mouse and burrow-gnawer. Unharmed.” Scribe Theron, a lean man with spectacles perched on his nose, peered over the counter. He eyed the satchel, then Kaelen, a faint sneer twitching at his lips. “Two, you say? The standard bounty for unmaimed specimens is… a collective ten Solari.” He paused, his gaze lingering, hinting at a customary shakedown. Kaelen met his gaze, his own eyes holding a depth that seemed to pull at the frigid air. A silent, unwavering demand. A flicker of something in Kaelen’s posture, an almost imperceptible shift in the pressure of the room, made the Scribe’s smirk falter. Theron cleared his throat, his hand moving to a stack of coins. “Ah, yes. Ten Solari, as agreed.” The silver coins clinked onto the counter. Kaelen collected them, the weight familiar in his palm. The Archon’s cold, bureaucratic efficiency, laced with petty corruption, was a stark contrast to the wild energy he wrestled with daily. He left the Administratum, the chill of its walls slowly receding from his skin. Earning currency this way, a stark practical exercise, felt oddly grounding after the esoteric rush of absorption. Ten Solari, enough for a few decent meals, perhaps even a night in a cleaner hovel. --- The Copper Kettle Inn smelled of roasted meat and cheap ale, a comforting warmth after the Veridian chill. Elara, the innkeeper’s daughter, a girl with quick, observant eyes, greeted him. “Back from your hunts, eh? Looking a bit less grim than usual. Dinner here again tonight?” Kaelen, usually opting for the barest necessity – a bowl of stew, dry bread – hesitated. The glint of the Solari in his pocket, the fresh memory of primal power thrumming through him, spurred a rare indulgence. “What’s your finest offering?” Elara’s eyebrows rose. A smile blossomed on her face. “Well now, someone struck it rich! I’ll tell Cook right away! Our Veridian Smoker’s Feast takes a while, but it’s worth it, I promise.” Nearly an hour passed, filled with the distant sounds of the city and the closer murmurs of the inn. Kaelen watched the flickering gaslight, a quiet observer of the bustling tavern. When Elara finally placed the platter before him, his breath hitched, a faint surprise stirring within him. The aroma alone was a revelation. Freshly baked, hearth-warmed bread, its crust crackling, sat beside a ramekin of spiced berry preserves. A succulent rack of roasted venison, glazed with dark, savory herbs, formed the centerpiece. Beside it, pan-seared river fish, golden and flaking, rested on a bed of buttered root vegetables. A small, vibrant salad, dressed with tangy vinegar, completed the tableau. He had known only the austere, often bland sustenance of the Barrens, or the quick, unthinking meals of a traveler. This was different. A feast for the senses. He picked up a slice of venison, the rich scent filling his nostrils. The meat was tender, yielding under his teeth, bursting with a complexity of flavors he’d never encountered. He devoured it, methodically, completely. Each bite was a discovery, a quiet unraveling of a simple pleasure he hadn’t known existed. The sweet jam, the savory fish, the earthy vegetables – a range of tastes. He ate until the platter was bare, leaving no trace. “Did someone…?” he began, a flicker of bewildered satisfaction on his face, momentarily forgetting he was the sole consumer. Elara, clearing the table, chuckled softly. “No one else had a chance, dearie! For a quiet one, you sure can put it away.” Cook, a burly man who rarely ventured from his kitchen, emerged, wiping his hands on his apron. “Never seen anyone enjoy the Smoker’s Feast quite like that! Makes it worth the effort.” Kaelen had, unknowingly, experienced a joy beyond mere sustenance, a new dimension of gratification. --- Three days melted into the city’s rhythm. Kaelen’s hunts continued, growing more efficient with each passing dawn. His primal detection sharpened, no longer overwhelmed by the mundane urban cacophony. He learned to filter, to discern the faint arcane tremor of a Veil-Creature from the rumble of a steam-cart or the distant thrum of a factory. He harvested over thirty creatures, mostly lesser varieties, absorbing their meager arcane remnants. The diminishing returns were pronounced now, but the cumulative effect was undeniable. Five of the creatures, captured intact, earned him bounties at the Administratum. Over a hundred Solari now rested in a hidden pouch, a small fortune by his standards, a portion converted to less bulky gold coins. He observed the other scavenger groups, particularly Joric’s quartet, their faces etched with increasing frustration. Joric’s men spoke in hushed, angry tones, complaining of dwindling catches and the rising cost of their rooms. Dark circles shadowed their eyes. They hadn't found their 'conduit spark', only debt and exhaustion. One evening, as Kaelen ascended the creaking stairs to his room, two of Joric’s hulking companions blocked his path. Their expressions were belligerent, their fists clenched. “Hey, quiet one,” one sneered, his breath reeking of stale ale. “Heard you’ve been pulling in coin. Share with your fellow hunters, eh?” Kaelen met their stares, his body tensing, the dormant primal energy stirring beneath his skin. Without a word, he moved. A blur of controlled force, an almost imperceptible ripple in the air. The first man grunted, propelled backward by an unseen shove, tumbling down the stairs with a clatter. The second, caught off guard, found his arm twisted, his own momentum used against him, sending him sprawling down after his comrade. The whole confrontation lasted barely twenty seconds. A brief commotion erupted, then subsided. Joric appeared, his face flushed with embarrassment, his companions groaning at the foot of the stairs. “My apologies, Kaelen,” Joric said, bowing his head in a gesture of sincere regret. “They’ll be reprimanded. This won’t happen again.” “You are struggling?” Kaelen asked, his gaze direct. Joric hesitated, then nodded, his shoulders slumping. “Aye. Things are… tight.” He explained their plight. Former street toughs from a larger city, they’d been lured by tales of arcane power, hoping to become conduits. Two years they’d chased this phantom, barely surviving on odd jobs, rarely finding a creature worthy of a bounty. They weren’t true hunters, nor conduits. Just desperate men, gambling their lives for a myth. Kaelen listened, a quiet understanding dawning. This desperation, this blind pursuit of a legend, was why the Archons held such contempt for scavengers. They were seen as vagrants, clinging to impossible dreams while others labored. “Another few days,” Joric continued, his voice heavy, “and we won’t afford the Kettle. Veridian’s too small for easy work. But don’t think for a moment we’d ask for your coin after this mess. It would be shameful.” Kaelen reached into his hidden pouch. He pulled out ten Solari, silver glinting in the dim light. He extended them to Joric. “Here.” Joric stared, bewildered. “Why?” “You offered me company when I arrived,” Kaelen replied, his voice even. “Consider this repayment for that kindness.” His mother’s simple code echoed in his mind: kindness deserved kindness. The rough treatment from Joric’s men, he had already repaid in kind with his own subtle force. “Still, I can’t just… take it,” Joric protested, his eyes wide. “Then offer something in return,” Kaelen suggested. “Information. Other cities you’ve known. Hunting grounds. Anything useful.” He had learned that knowledge, like any other commodity, held value. Joric’s face lit up. “That, I can do!” For two years, they’d traversed the Dominion, chasing whispers of Veil-Creatures. He pulled out a worn scrap of parchment, sketching a rough map. He marked nearby settlements, noted regions teeming with lesser Veil-Creatures, and warned of others – territories claimed by old-money families or rumored to hold more dangerous, apex predators. He spoke of forgotten ruins, remnants of ancient empires lost to time and industry. He spoke of Archon-held territories where scavengers were met with hostile resistance, and of the distant city of Astrophel. “Astrophel,” Joric said, tapping a point on his crude map. “Heard it has a grand library. Thousands of books, they say.” Kaelen’s attention sharpened. “Thousands?” “Aye. Never been inside myself. Only ‘Wizards’ are allowed, I hear.” Joric shrugged. “Maybe one day, when we become conduits, we’ll get to see it too.” Kaelen had learned to read and write from his mother, a forgotten skill in the desolate Barrens. But books? Actual repositories of knowledge? He had only ever imagined them, mystical objects filled with wisdom. His mother had sometimes lamented books she could no longer recall, tales she wished to share. Now, in Astrophel, a city not far to the northeast, such a place existed. A new desire, potent and undeniable, blossomed within him – a hunger for knowledge, for understanding the vast, enigmatic world beyond his own isolated existence. “Is this enough?” Kaelen asked, looking at the map. “More than enough,” Joric affirmed. “This is a true gift.” Kaelen had planned to depart Veridian the following morning. Now, thanks to Joric’s words, his next destination was clear. --- The next afternoon, as if to mock the fleeting ease, disaster struck. Kaelen, on what he intended to be his final hunt in Veridian’s outer industrial fringe, heard it first. A high-pitched, guttural shriek, followed by a wet, tearing sound that echoed unnaturally loud even over the factory hum. His primal sense flared, a sudden, searing pain that warned of immense, uncontrolled arcane force. He moved quickly, his feet pounding on the grimy cobblestones. Around a rusted hulk of a defunct steam-wagon, he found one of Joric’s men. The scavenger was slumped against the iron, clutching his stomach, blood blooming dark on his coarse tunic. His eyes, half-lidded and vacant, confirmed the inevitable. Blood frothed at his lips. “What happened?” Kaelen demanded, kneeling beside him. “Rabbit…” the man gasped, his voice a ragged whisper. “Veil-Creature… monster…” “Joric? Where is he?” The man’s trembling finger pointed to a grotesque heap a few yards away. A familiar tuft of dark, bristly hair was visible amidst a mangled mass of limbs and viscera. Joric. His eyes were wide, frozen in a mask of indignation and raw regret, staring sightlessly at the polluted sky. Two other mangled corpses lay nearby, torn with brutal efficiency. Then, a low growl. A creature, impossibly fast, turned its head. It was the size of a large dog, but shaped like a rabbit – grotesquely muscular hind legs, incisors so long they scraped the ground, and eyes that glowed an unnatural, predatory blood-red. It was chewing something, a wet, sickening sound. An Apex Shredder. With a flick of its monstrous hind legs, it launched itself at Kaelen, a blur of red eyes and sharpened bone. The speed was terrifying. Kaelen threw himself sideways, a primal instinct overriding thought. The creature shot past him, its momentum carrying it into a derelict boiler. The thick steel plate buckled and groaned, but before the Apex Shredder could impact fully, its monstrous incisors flashed. With a sickening *CRACK*, the boiler was cleaved in two, a clean, effortless cut. *Impossible.* Kaelen’s mind reeled. This was no ordinary Veil-Creature. Its raw arcane power pulsed with violent intent. There was no time for finesse, no room for subtlety. Under duress, his deepest power surged. He raised his hand, primal energy coiling, shaping, ready to unleash a force unseen in generations.

A Taste of the Forgotten