Seven Veil-Creatures fell that day. Kaelen tracked each one through the mountain’s whisper, a low hum in the bedrock beneath Veridian’s churning gears. He found them lurking in derelict culverts, clinging to the grimy undersides of steam-pipes, or burrowing through the earthworks shoring up the city’s upper tiers. Each capture, a testament to the primal current thrumming within him.
Pulling essence from the slain creatures, a raw, elemental surge, resonated deep within his bones. A tremor, a spine-chilling echo of power, coursed through him. It was a dizzying, untamed pleasure, a silent song of ancient rock and restless wind. Part of him feared this growing hunger, this almost invasive connection.
A strange thought surfaced: this intense rapture would eventually fade, once his internal reservoir reached its capacity. The notion brought a peculiar disappointment, like watching the last drops of rain vanish into thirsty soil.
Beyond that potent satisfaction, the process brought tangible power. After drawing from the fifth creature, a gargantuan moss-spider with a shell like petrified bark, Kaelen felt the earth’s pulse within him intensify, almost 1.5 times stronger than before his arrival in Veridian.
At this rate, a few months of diligent hunting could amplify his connection dozens of times over. Yet, an intuitive certainty settled in his gut.
*Not so simple.*
Growth through direct absorption dwindled with each successive draw. Weaker creatures yielded diminishing returns, like trying to quench a deep thirst with dew drops. Moreover, lingering too long in one hunting ground inevitably depleted its inhabitants. This cycle often compelled the Great Houses, those who drew significant essence, to undertake pilgrimages to untamed peaks, seeking creatures worthy of their power.
Two of the creatures Kaelen found were too small, their life-current too faint to offer any meaningful essence. A rock-squirrel, its tail a coiled, thick mass of hardened fur, capable of clubbing a grown man. A burrow-badger, broad as a coal sack, its hide shifting hues to blend with the grey rock and grime. He opted to bring them back alive for the bounty.
Binding them securely with lengths of salvaged copper wire, he carried them down to the lower city’s Civic Hall. An official, stooped over ledgers, peered up, eyes widening slightly.
“Two of them?”
“Unscathed, save for a minor head-knock during capture,” Kaelen stated, his voice even. “A total of twenty-five Cogs, I believe?”
“Well, now…” The official’s hand hovered over a stack of coins, his gaze darting away. A flicker of avarice in his eyes.
Kaelen simply watched him, a quiet intensity in his stance. The air around him seemed to cool, a subtle shift in the room's energy. His gaze, unblinking, held the weight of ancient stone.
Man cleared his throat, pushing the coins forward. “Right. Here you are.”
Earning currency this way, a direct exchange for effort, was a peculiar enjoyment he’d discovered since leaving Stonepeak. Pockets jingling with twenty-five silver Cogs, he returned to the Rusty Cog Inn.
A server, Lysa, her smile bright against the dim inn-light, waved him over. “Good to see you, quiet one! Back safe from the hills. Dinner again? The usual bread and broth?”
Kaelen had intended to order the cheapest fare, as always. A sudden curiosity pricked him, a desire to understand the world’s nuances. This newfound wealth felt… expendable.
“Tonight, I’ll try your finest offering,” he announced.
Lysa’s eyes went wide. “Oh! Must’ve been a good hunt! I’ll tell the kitchen right away!”
He hadn’t anticipated the wait. The inn’s most luxurious meal required nearly an hour of preparation. But when the platters finally arrived, steaming and fragrant, Kaelen understood.
Warm, savoury bread, fresh from the oven, spread with glistening, tangy fruit conserves. Roasted steam-fowl, skin burnished to a deep gold, glazed with a sweet and savoury reduction. Slow-cooked mountain boar ribs, draped in bubbling, melted cheese, the aroma rich and complex.
Growing up on Stonepeak, his diet consisted of tough goat meat and thin grain gruel. This meal was a revelation, a vibrant explosion of flavours and textures. A feast fit for a king, laid before a man who had only known sustenance.
He ate. Each bite was a discovery. The soft bread, the sharp fruit, the tender fowl. He chewed deliberately, tasting every note, every spice. Soon, the platters lay bare.
A blink. “Did someone… did anyone take a portion while I wasn’t watching?”
Lysa chuckled, clearing the empty dishes. “Not a chance, quiet one! But for a lean fellow, you certainly put it away!”
Even the inn’s gruff cook, a man rarely seen outside his kitchen, emerged, wiping his hands on a stained apron. “Aye, never seen anyone appreciate the Steam-King’s Feast like that! Glad to see it enjoyed.”
Kaelen, pushing back from the table, felt a new kind of satisfaction. The joy of truly fine sustenance. Another facet of the world revealed.
---
Three days passed. Kaelen had accounted for over thirty Veil-Creatures. Only five of these were viable for a bounty, but even that modest count filled his pouch with over a hundred silver Cogs. Enough to exchange a portion into a few weighty gold tokens, more practical for travel.
This remarkable success stemmed from his sharpened connection to the earth’s subtle vibrations. Instead of actively 'searching,' he learned to simply *listen*. When a creature was beyond his direct range, he followed its essence-trail, a fading tremor in the stone, a shift in the air.
For instance, locating a grey-fang griffin. Kaelen would attune himself to the faint residue of its droppings, a distinct, heavy decay. He’d follow that diminishing scent, that fading earth-print, until the creature itself manifested, a stronger, living current.
Meanwhile, Torvin’s group, the grizzled hunters from the Rusty Cog, seemed to be struggling. Faces drawn, their complaints about dwindling prospects and unpaid rent echoed through the common room.
One evening, as Kaelen ascended the stairs to his room, two of Torvin’s sworn brothers, Gorok and Finn, blocked his path. Their fists were clenched, shadows stretching long behind them.
“Hey, quiet one!” Gorok’s voice was a low growl.
“Heard you’re rolling in Cogs lately,” Finn added, stepping closer. “Share some with your fellow hunters, eh?”
Kaelen stood still. A tremor ran through the floorboards, not from their weight, but from the nascent power stirring within him. He met their eyes. There was no anger, just a cold, unyielding resolve.
Less than a minute later, both men tumbled down the stairs, a heap of curses and bruised limbs. Kaelen hadn't struck them hard, merely nudged them with a precise, earthen pulse, enough to unbalance and send them sprawling without breaking skin.
Commotion died down. Torvin, a broad-shouldered man with weary eyes, sought Kaelen out later. He bowed his head, a gesture of deep apology.
“My sincerest apologies, Kaelen. I’ll speak with those two. This won’t happen again.” He paused, a troubled sigh escaping him. “Are things… difficult for your group?”
Torvin hesitated, then nodded, his shoulders slumping. “Aye. Things are tight.”
Torvin and his men had once been muscle for hire in the sprawling underbelly of Port Thyme, a city thrice the size of Veridian. Two years prior, a wild story reached them of a commoner who became a spirit-binder after hunting a rare Veil-Creature. They’d abandoned their old life, seeking fortune as hunters.
But hunting Veil-Creatures wasn't for the unskilled. Without proof, a strong creature’s specific traits, bounties were often denied. They’d wandered from settlement to settlement, barely scraping by on odd jobs, their hunting efforts yielding little.
*Two years, only three creatures between them.* Kaelen mused. *Not spirit-binders, not even true hunters, just strong-arms chasing a dream.*
Side jobs ate their time, leaving little for dedicated hunting. It cast a harsh light on why city officials often dismissed Veil-Hunters as little more than vagrants with a death wish. Gambling their lives on an uncertain prize, while others toiled steadily, invited scorn.
“Truth be told, Kaelen, another three days, and we’ll struggle for our room,” Torvin admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Veridian’s too small for much extra work. Don’t worry, though. We wouldn’t ask a young man for coin, not after the trouble my fools caused.”
Kaelen reached into his pouch. He pulled out ten silver Cogs, cool and heavy, extending them to Torvin.
Torvin stared, dumbfounded. “Wait, why?”
“You offered me a place, seeing a lone traveller in a harsh land,” Kaelen replied. “A kindness offered, a kindness returned.”
His mother’s lessons on Stonepeak were simple: treat others as you wish to be treated, and repay both kindness and grievance in kind. Torvin’s initial goodwill was worth more than mere coin. As for the trouble from his men, Kaelen’s quiet discipline had already settled that debt.
“Still, this feels… wrong,” Torvin mumbled, looking at the coins.
“If the weight troubles you, offer knowledge in exchange,” Kaelen proposed. “Tell me of cities you’ve seen, creatures you’ve tracked, anything useful.”
A new lesson learned since leaving the peaks: information held its own value. The basic geography and ruling families, facts shared by a rare traveller who’d visited Stonepeak, offered only a skeleton of the wider world. He craved the details, the vibrant flesh of it.
Torvin’s face lit up. “That’s no trouble at all, Kaelen!”
Two years of chasing elusive Veil-Creatures had taken Torvin across many regions. He knew tales and routes. He sketched a rough map in the dust on a table, marking nearby settlements. He spoke of creatures unique to certain valleys, or regions best avoided entirely.
Veridian’s creatures were thinning. This guidance was invaluable. Wandering aimlessly, as he had between settlements, was a waste of precious time.
Torvin spoke of forgotten ruins, relics of ancient empires, their stones still humming with residual magic. He warned of certain Spirit-Binder families, whose territories were closed to uninvited passage. What truly captured Kaelen’s imagination, however, was a tale of a library in a relatively close, larger city.
“Thousands of scrolls and tomes, you say?” Kaelen’s breath caught.
“So I’ve heard,” Torvin nodded. “Never set foot inside, myself. Only Spirit-Binders and scholars allowed.”
Kaelen’s mother had taught him to read and write, using charcoal on flat stones. True books, bound and filled with knowledge, were unheard of on Stonepeak. His mother had often sighed, remembering stories she’d read, wishing she could share them, but their contents long faded from memory.
Books, to Kaelen, were mystical things, vessels of accumulated wisdom, almost akin to the ancient spirits himself. To hear of a library in Aethelburg, a city northeast, holding thousands of them…
The entry requirements, Torvin explained, were simple enough for one of Kaelen’s burgeoning ability.
“A Spirit-Binder can enter…”
“Aye! Maybe one day, if we manage to become real spirit-binders, we’ll see it too!” Torvin mused, oblivious.
Kaelen felt a new, unfamiliar yearning bloom within him, deeper than the thrill of power or the pleasure of a fine meal. It was a hunger for knowledge, a desire to understand the silent language of the world beyond what his senses alone could tell him. He hadn't known such a desire existed, confined to the peak for so long.
“Was this enough?” Kaelen asked, looking at Torvin.
“More than enough, Kaelen. More than enough.”
Kaelen had planned to hunt one last time tomorrow, then depart Veridian. Now, his next destination lay clear.
---
Mocking the tidy resolution, the following afternoon, Kaelen’s final hunt brought him to a horrifying discovery. Finn, one of Torvin’s men, lay crumpled against a collapsed retaining wall, clutching his stomach. Blood, black and viscous, pulsed from a ragged wound, spilling onto the damp earth. His eyes, half-lidded, spoke of a life fading.
“What happened?” Kaelen knelt, a tremor of unease moving through the ground.
“Rabbit… monster…” Finn gasped, his voice a wet rasp. “Veil-Creature…”
“Torvin? Where is Torvin?”
“Over there…” A weak gesture toward a darker corner.
A familiar tuft of hair, once atop Torvin’s head, lay detached on the gritty soil. Torvin’s body was nearby, twisted into an impossible shape, an expression of pure indignation frozen on his face. His eyes, clear and wide in death, seemed to burn with a final, unuttered regret. Two more bodies lay beyond him, gruesomely torn asunder.
Finally, Kaelen’s gaze settled. A rabbit, no larger than a housecat, sat amidst the carnage. Its fur, matted with blood, quivered subtly. Long, unnaturally white incisors, sharp as obsidian shards, nearly touched the ground. Its hind legs, grotesque with muscle, pulsed with contained power. Blood-red eyes, ancient and cruel, fixed on Kaelen, then it resumed chewing something.
The creature’s head snapped up. It launched itself, a blur of motion, toward Kaelen with the speed of an arrow loosed from a bow.
A sharp intake of breath. Kaelen instinctively shifted, not simply stepping aside, but feeling the earth beneath his feet respond, a subtle displacement of stone, enhancing his dodge. The rabbit, unable to halt its terrifying momentum, shot past him, slamming into an ancient support beam of petrified wood.
A sickening *CRACK*. The beam didn't splinter from impact. It collapsed cleanly, sliced through as if by a razor. Those teeth.
*What…*
This creature was no ordinary Veil-Creature. No time for subtle probing. Kaelen reached for the small leather pouch at his hip. From it, he drew a perfectly smooth, river-worn stone. In his palm, the stone began to hum, drawing a faint current from the surrounding earth, charged with a whisper of his raw essence. It was his secret weapon. The world hummed around him, sharp, dangerous.