Radek swallowed. Iona’s gray stare pinned him far more effectively than the Talon's metal sleeve. Tension scraped along the corridor alongside her sharp interest, cutting through his numbness.
“It’s… an appraisal,” Radek said, his voice quiet against the distant hum of the intake vents. He pointed toward the lingering vapor. “My skill. [Ingredient Appraisal]. It reveals hidden traits. What something *could* be, rather than just what it is.”
Iona’s silver eyes narrowed, studying him. She didn't move, the Talon still pinned against the wall by her grip, a low groan escaping him. “Hidden traits?”
“Like that bone marrow,” Radek continued, forcing himself to meet her stare. “It had an ‘Echo of Fortitude.’ If prepared correctly, it could… enhance constitution.” He omitted the part about his own body. He had seen the hunger in the bully's face; he did not need it in hers.
Her hold on the Talon's wrist slackened slightly, but she didn’t release him. The Talon slid down the wall a few inches, gasping for air. “A processing skill, then,” Iona mused, her voice still a low current. “Not combat-oriented.”
“No,” Radek admitted. “It’s… for food.”
“Food.” Her tone was flat, almost incredulous, yet she inhaled again, deeper this time, drawing in the last vestiges of the broth’s aroma. The scent of the familiar, yet transformative, meal. She looked past Radek, down the corridor where the other lackeys had long since scattered. Then back to Radek, her expression unreadable.
“The marrow broth,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “What did it need?”
Radek hesitated. “Time. And… the right catalyst. A specific temperature, and a few common herbs to draw out the essence. Nothing exotic.” He didn't mention the System notifications, the blue screens only he could see.
Iona finally released the boy, who dropped to the deck plates, coughing. She didn’t spare him a glance. Her attention was solely on Radek. “I have something,” she stated, her hand moving to a small, sealed pouch at her belt. It was made of Glimmerhide, a material usually reserved for senior prefects. “A gift from a recent hunt. An Aethelheart. From a Grade-Four Volatile Glimmerbeast.”
Radek’s breath caught. An Aethelheart. Grade-Four. Those traded for years of academy credits or went straight to high command. They supposedly brimmed with concentrated life force. He had only seen schematics on restricted slates.
“It’s unstable raw,” Iona continued, her thumb tracing the outline of the pouch. “The Combat Prefects tried to distill it, extract its essence. They failed. Three Awakened sent to the ward. It just… overloads.” Her gaze locked on his, testing him. “Can you stabilize it? Make it useful?”
This was it. A dangerous proposition, a massive risk. But the apathy that had clung to him for so long was still fractured from the broth. A new sensation, like a dull itch, demanded he try. He nodded, once. “I can try.”
Iona drew a small, fist-sized, throbbing ruby organ from the pouch. It hummed against the air with steady warmth. She pushed it into Radek’s palm. “Tonight. My room. After curfew.”
She turned and walked off with swift steps, leaving the bruised recruit groaning against the baseboard while Radek held a fortune in his hand.
Back in his dorm, the low hum of the air purifier was a familiar drone. Cyrus Varro, Radek’s roommate, was meticulously polishing a shard-steel dagger. Cyrus, with his easy smirk and swift wits, stood out against the academy's grim ranks. He always seemed to know things, to acquire things.
“Well, look who made it back in one piece,” Cyrus drawled, not looking up. “Heard there was a minor disturbance in Sector Gamma. Something about a top-ranker giving a Talon a new dent. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Radek?”
Radek set the core onto his desk. It pulsed softly, illuminating the dust motes in the sterile air. Cyrus’s polishing slowed, then stopped. He looked at the heart, then at Radek, his expression a careful blend of surprise and shrewd calculation.
“That core?” Cyrus whistled softly. “Grade-Four. Where in the Void did you get *that*?”
Radek summarized the encounter in the hall, skipping the exact details of his own stat gain. Cyrus listened, amusement touching his mouth.
“So, the Ice Princess wants you to play chef, huh?” Cyrus leaned back, balancing the dagger on his fingertip. “Bold. And risky. Prefect Corvin has sensors everywhere, Radek. Any unusual energy spikes, any concentrated breach signatures… they ping her console. She tracks every scrap of raw power, especially from high-tier beast organs.” He tapped the heart. “Cooking this in the open? You’d be practically ringing a dinner bell for her.”
“I know,” Radek sighed. “But… I said I’d try.”
Cyrus’s smile widened. “Good. Because I happen to know a guy who knows a guy who deals in off-market kitchenware. And spices. Good ones. Not the nutrient-paste enhancers.” He vanished for a moment into his locker, emerging with a compact, induction heating plate and a small, sealed pouch. “Just a little something for our esteemed guest. Call it a down payment.”
Later that evening, after the last patrol drone had cycled past, Iona arrived at their dorm. Her arrival crowded the small quarters. Cyrus offered her the lone desk stool with an exaggerated bow. Radek ignored them both, setting his sights on the pulsing mass.
[Ingredient Appraisal: Aethelheart (Grade-4 Volatile)]
[Latent Property: Soulfire Infusion – Grants immense, short-duration vitality boost. Danger: Extreme System shock. Risk of permanent neural damage if raw or improperly refined.]
[Refinement Path: Hearthfire Steak – Stabilizes Soulfire Infusion into permanent physical augmentation. Requires precise thermal regulation, elemental catalysts (Crimsonfire Spice, Rivenbark Root), and direct, focused intent during preparation.]
“Hearthfire Steak,” Radek murmured. The ingredients Cyrus provided were perfect. The Crimsonfire blend held heat down to the fiber, while the Rivenbark, shaved thin, pulled foreign resonance out of dense tissue. This wasn't just cooking; it was alchemical precision.
He worked quickly, meticulously. The induction plate glowed softly. He drew the edge through the dense meat, feeling thick resistance yield beneath the steel. He seasoned it, pressing the spices into the meat, visualizing the volatile energy within becoming a steady flame. The aroma that began to fill the dorm was unlike anything the Bastion had ever known – rich, savory, with a hint of something primal and potent.
He plated a small, seared cutlet, its exterior dark and caramelized, the center glowing a deep garnet. He presented it to Iona on a borrowed ceramic plate. “Eat it all,” he instructed, his voice firm.
She looked at the ‘steak,’ her silver eyes reflecting the dim light. She hesitated for only a moment, then picked up the piece. She took a bite. Her jaw moved slowly, deliberately. A flicker of something – surprise? – crossed her features.
Then, the System notification flashed, glowing a vivid blue against the stark wall:
[Awakened Iona Caldar has consumed Hearthfire Steak.]
[Effect: Soulfire Infusion Stabilized. Latent Vitality absorbed.]
[+5 Permanent Strength.]
Iona froze. The plate clattered to the desk. She stared at Radek, pupils dilated, ribs heaving under her uniform. Five unyielding points added to her baseline Strength. That rivaled a full year of brutal breach clearings, condensed into a single mouthful. Her fingers curled inward, knuckles popping as she tested the sudden density in her tendons.
Cyrus watched, his usual easy smile replaced by a calculating, almost predatory gleam in his eyes. He glanced from Iona’s stunned face to Radek, then back again. The silence in the room stretched, thick with sudden power and dangerous consequences.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” Cyrus whispered, stepping closer to inspect the empty dish.