That day, Ren patrolled the outskirts of Veridian, a meticulous circuit through the skeletal remains of forgotten irrigation channels and the encroaching dunes that perpetually challenged the city’s ordered perimeter. He managed to capture a total of seven Vein-Beasts, each encounter a brief, precise application of his burgeoning abilities. Each time he absorbed Telluric Force from the fresh corpses of the slain creatures, a peculiar sensation would bloom within him. It was a subtle, humming current beneath his skin, both invigorating and vaguely unsettling. A deep, fundamental connection, a primal echo in the sophisticated calm of his mind. He noted a faint edge of predatory satisfaction that felt alien to his usual temperament, yet it was undeniably present, a quiet hum that resonated with something ancient and deep within the earth itself. It was almost disappointing to consider that once his physical and energetic capacity reached its limit, this particular, potent thrill would likely diminish. Of course, devouring the essence of the Vein-Beasts offered more than just this strange, nascent satisfaction. By the time he had absorbed the power of the fifth creature, Ren’s general Telluric Force had grown to about 1.5 times stronger than it had been before his chance encounter with Kaelen. At this rate, in theory, just a few months of focused hunting could allow him to become dozens of times more potent than he was before, a thought that would have once seemed fantastical. ‘It won’t be that easy,’ he mused, the quiet logic of his mind tempering the speculative optimism. He had already observed the pattern. The rate of growth in Telluric Force through absorption decreased with repeated attempts, and it became increasingly difficult to derive significant power from the weaker Vein-Beasts. Moreover, remaining in a single area to hunt for too long would inevitably lead to the local extinction of the creatures, a simple ecological principle. This was why some of the more powerful Resonant Lineages occasionally embarked on arduous pilgrimages into the wilder lands, seeking Vein-Beasts whose inherent power still offered a challenge and a commensurate reward. Recognizing the diminishing returns from weaker specimens, Ren decided to capture two of the least potent Vein-Beasts he found alive instead of dispatching them. Their residual Telluric Force was too insignificant to bother absorbing, but they still held value. One was a crag-squirrel, its tail an astonishing five times thicker than that of its more common kin, which it brandished with surprising agility. The other was a chasm-badger, a surprisingly large specimen whose coarse fur possessed an unsettling ability to subtly shift color to match its immediate surroundings, an effective, if unsophisticated, camouflage. After securing them tightly with precisely knotted ropes, Ren transported them through the city streets to the Imperial Registry of Anomalies, a grey, imposing edifice where such bounties were processed. The official in charge, a man whose uniform suggested more authority than his nervous glance, widened his eyes in mild surprise. “Two of them?” he inquired, his voice a little higher than strictly professional. “Yes. Apart from a minor concussive impact from a stray stone, they were captured unharmed. Together, the bounty should be twenty-five Caelian Shards, correct?” Ren stated, his tone even and unyielding. “Hmm, well…” The official hesitated, his gaze darting between Ren and the bound creatures, a familiar avarice dimming his eyes. He seemed poised to attempt some subtle bureaucratic slight-of-hand. Ren merely held his gaze, a quiet certainty in his own assessment of the situation, allowing the silence to stretch. The man quickly relented, the faint challenge in Ren’s posture apparently more compelling than his own petty greed. “Here you go.” He slid a small pouch across the counter. The efficiency of earning money in this particular fashion was another quiet observation Ren had made since descending from the Grey Spires. Twenty-five Caelian Shards heavier, Ren returned to the inn. The serving girl, a young woman with a perpetually cheerful demeanor, greeted him with a wide smile. “Still in one piece, dear? You’ll be having dinner here tonight too, won’t you? The usual bread and soup again?” Ren had been about to order the cheapest menu option, a habit born of necessity and maintained by practicality, just as he had for every meal since his arrival. But then, a subtle shift occurred in his thinking. Since he was demonstrating an unexpected aptitude for acquiring wealth, he reasoned, it was an opportune moment to broaden his understanding. He harbored a deep-seated curiosity about the hidden mechanics of the world, and that extended even to the mundane phenomenon of culinary pricing. “I’ll have the most expensive thing you’ve got,” he announced, the words feeling somewhat novel on his tongue. At his declaration, the serving girl’s eyes widened, her cheerful smile transforming into one of genuine astonishment. “Wow, you must’ve done well today! I’ll let the chef know right away!” she exclaimed, practically skipping toward the kitchen. What Ren hadn’t initially realized, in his analytical approach to the menu, was that the inn’s most luxurious offering took nearly an hour to prepare. He spent the wait observing the other patrons, the shifting patterns of dust motes in the light from the oil lamps, and the subtle creaks of the old building, his patience an unshakeable constant. Yet, when the food was finally laid on the table, a truly elaborate spread that demanded the attention of two servers, he felt a rare, quiet confirmation that the wait had been entirely worthwhile. There was freshly baked, soft bread, still warm, accompanied by a tangy fruit jam that sparkled with crystallized sugar. A whole roasted sand-fowl, its skin glazed with aromatic seasoning, lay beside a platter of dune-hog ribs topped with sizzling, melted crystal-cheese. Each mouthful was a revelation, a complex tapestry of sensations that dwarfed the simple sustenance of his past life in the arid, austere Grey Spires, where meals consisted of little more than pungent lamb meat and gritty grain porridge. He devoured the meal with a controlled ferocity, his meticulous exterior giving way to a more primal, yet still precise, hunger. Bite after bite, chew after chew, he systematically consumed every morsel. Before he knew it, everything on the table had disappeared without a trace, leaving only clean plates and a lingering sense of profound satisfaction. “...No one stole this while I wasn’t looking, did they?” he murmured, a rare, quiet irony in his voice. “Of course not! But for someone so thin, you really do eat a lot, dear!” the serving girl chuckled, clearing the plates. Even the chef, a broad man usually confined to the kitchen’s sweaty confines, emerged, wiping his hands on his apron. “It’s rare to see someone enjoy it this much, so I’m glad I prepared it!” he boomed, a comment that quietly indicated how infrequently this particular menu item was ordered. Regardless, Ren had come to a new understanding of the small, profound joys of finely prepared food, an experience he cataloged with the same diligent curiosity he applied to his Telluric studies. *** Three days passed with a predictable rhythm. Ren had successfully hunted more than thirty Vein-Beasts, a testament to the refinement of his Resonance Sense. Of these, only five were substantial enough to earn bounties at the Registry, but even that was enough to pocket over a hundred Caelian Shards, a portion of which he converted into more easily stored Gold Coins. The remarkable results were largely thanks to his improved proficiency with his unique form of Telluric perception. After several experiments, he had discovered that when a target was outside the immediate range of his Core Resonance, he could still track it by searching for its telluric traces in the environment. To use the first blade-crawler he had caught as an example, Ren would set his Resonance Sense to target the ‘minute energetic imprint of a crawler larger than a child’ and then follow the faint, residual trail to locate the creature. It was a subtle, almost academic application of his ability, yielding consistent, practical results. While Ren was achieving these quietly remarkable results, Joric’s group seemed to be struggling. Their expressions grew steadily darker over the days, and their complaints about how, at this rate, they would struggle even to pay for their room, became more frequent and more vocal. Ren observed their plight with a detached, analytical interest, noting the disparity in their hunting methods and results. One evening, two of Joric’s associates, burly men with rough hands and expressions etched with frustration, followed Ren up to his room as he went to rest. Their voices were low, laced with a clumsy attempt at intimidation. “Hey, skinny!” one grunted, raising a fist, though it was more for show than immediate action. “We heard you’ve been making some money lately. Share some with your fellow hunters,” the other added, stepping into the narrow hallway to block Ren’s path. Naturally, it took less than a minute for both of them to find themselves thoroughly disoriented, having abruptly lost their footing. A flicker of movement, a precise application of leverage, and the two men found themselves out of their depth, momentum betraying them as they tumbled down the stairwell with a clatter that punctuated the inn’s usual murmur. Ren merely stepped over their prone forms and entered his room, closing the door quietly behind him. After a brief commotion, once the serving girl had intervened and the situation had been explained – a process that involved more apologies from Joric than Ren’s direct, concise account – Joric himself appeared at Ren’s door, bowing his head in a gesture of sincere contrition. “I sincerely apologize for their behavior, Ren. I’ll scold the two of them thoroughly. This kind of thing won’t happen again, I assure you…” “Are you having a hard time?” Ren interrupted, his voice even, his gaze direct. Joric hesitated, then sighed, his rough features softening slightly with an honest admission. “Yeah, we’re a bit tight on Caelian Shards, to be frank.” He elaborated, recounting their story. Joric and his associates used to be little more than street enforcers in a sprawling city with a population exceeding one hundred thousand. Two years ago, they had encountered someone who claimed to have become a Telluric Adept after hunting Vein-Beasts, a story that had apparently ignited a spark of ambition within them. They had promptly abandoned their old life of petty crime to become Vein-Hunters. However, it was not an easy path for those without an innate attunement. To make matters worse, unless a Vein-Beast was potent enough for its unique energetic signature to linger on its corpse, or its physical form was undeniably anomalous, no bounty would be awarded for the body alone. As a result, they had wandered from city to city, barely scraping by with odd jobs while continuing their arduous, often fruitless, pursuit of Vein-Beasts. ‘To think it took them two years to catch just three beasts worthy of bounty,’ Ren mused, a quiet assessment forming in his mind. Well, what could one expect from people who were neither true Telluric Adepts nor professional hunters, but mere former street enforcers trying their hand at a highly specialized pursuit? On top of that, if they had to take on menial side jobs just to survive, it would be impossible to dedicate their full time and focus to hunting. Hearing their story, Ren started to understand why imperial officials often treated Vein-Hunters as little more than vagrants or, in some cases, outright thugs. People who gambled their lives chasing something that might or might not succeed while others were diligently contributing to the Empire’s intricate machinery; it wasn’t hard to see why they weren’t looked upon kindly. “Honestly, after about three more days, we probably won’t even be able to afford our rent here. Veridian is too small, so there’s not much odd work we can do. But don’t worry, we’re not planning to ask a young friend for money, especially after the trouble my boys caused. It’d be shameless to ask…” Joric trailed off, running a hand over his stubbled chin. “Here.” Ren rummaged through the small, well-organized pouch at his belt and handed Joric ten Caelian Shards. It was enough for the four of them to stay at the inn for about three more days if they negotiated a bit with the innkeeper. Joric stared at the coins in Ren’s open palm, a dumbfounded expression slowly spreading across his face. “Wait, why?” he asked, genuinely confused. “You were kind enough to invite me into your group, thinking it’d be dangerous for me to travel alone,” Ren explained, his voice measured. “Consider this repayment for that kindness.” The moral code Ren had learned from his mother, deep within the Grey Spires, was simple and stark: treat others the way you wanted to be treated, and repay kindness or enmity in kind. From that perspective, the goodwill Joric had shown in the past was certainly worth at least a few Caelian Shards. As for the trouble caused by his subordinates, Ren considered that debt already repaid, precisely, with his fists. “Still, I’d feel bad just taking this…” Joric began, his innate gruff honesty resurfacing. “If you feel that way,” Ren interjected, “then share some information with me instead. Tell me about the cities you’ve visited during your hunts, or anything else that might be useful.” One of the lessons Ren had learned since leaving the Spires was that information was a currency in itself, often more valuable than hard coin. While Kaelen had given him a general understanding of the Empire’s geography and the locations of the major Resonant Lineages, Ren lacked the finer, practical details about individual regions, information gleaned from direct experience. Hearing Ren’s proposal, Joric’s face lit up, the shadows of worry momentarily lifting. “That’s no problem at all! I know plenty!” Having spent two years traveling to various cities in search of Vein-Beasts, Joric knew quite a lot. He not only sketched out a simple, though somewhat crude, map showing nearby settlements but also enthusiastically recommended specific types of Vein-Beasts that could be hunted there or, in Joric’s case, beasts he advised Ren to avoid entirely. Given that Vein-Beasts were becoming increasingly scarce around Veridian, this kind of localized information was highly valuable. Wandering aimlessly from one city to another, like his last unplanned journey, was not something Ren wished to repeat. Once had been more than enough. Joric also shared stories, tales of how certain cities contained ruins left behind by the Progenitor Dynasties or how specific Resonant Lineages held sway over particular, energetically rich territories. Ren absorbed it all, meticulously filing away each detail, recognizing the quiet power inherent in such knowledge.

A Curious Appetite