A guttural snarl ripped through the air, quickly silenced by a concussive blast. Kaelen stood over the twitching remains of the Arcane Aberration, his hand still tingling from the raw force he’d unwittingly unleashed. The creature’s head, a malformed mass of twisted horn and matted fur, was an unrecognizable ruin. It had been an instinctual surge, a desperate reflex, but the primal impact left his arm aching, his breath ragged. Joric, the grizzled sentinel, approached with a slow, cautious gait, his hand hovering near the hilt of his worn blade. The old man’s gaze, however, wasn’t on Kaelen. It was fixed with a chilling apprehension on the aberration’s mangled form. “Be wary, lad!” The warning sliced through the sudden quiet. Kaelen’s muscles tensed, responding before his mind fully processed the words. He’d barely registered the old sentinel’s urgency when the headless corpse lurched. A sickly, pale green light pulsed from the ruined neck, an undulating shimmer that began to coales an ethereal form where flesh and bone had been. One moment, the aberration was a lifeless husk; the next, it was a reanimated horror, its spectral new head coalescing into a distorted, luminous replica. It sprang, a swift, unnatural blur of motion, directly at Kaelen. His boot shot out, a hard, desperate kick that connected with surprising force. The creature sailed backward, a flailing mass of spectral energy and dead flesh, tumbling over crumbling debris before coming to an awkward halt a dozen paces away. It showed no sign of injury. “Physical blows are useless against a Spectral Echo!” Joric called out, his voice strained. Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “How do I stop it?” “Fire! Or concentrated lightning!” A shiver ran down Kaelen’s spine. Fire. He’d felt it before, a latent heat beneath his skin, but never with intent. He extended his hand, focusing on the embers he sometimes felt stir within him. A faint flicker sparked at his palm, a timid, hesitant ember that immediately guttered out. The Spectral Echo was already scrambling back to its feet. Joric’s eyes, sharp and assessing, widened slightly. He’d seen Kaelen’s initial, devastating strike, but the sputtering flame now confirmed something profound. Wizards who could directly manipulate magic without proper channels were rare, often raw and untrained. And powerful. Kaelen seemed utterly ignorant of the basic principles. “Don’t just wish for it, boy!” Joric urged, his voice ringing with a newfound respect. “Shape it! Project it!” Kaelen felt a surge of frustration, mingled with a deeper, more primal instinct. He remembered the feeling of pushing a heavy stone, the focused intent of sending something away. He held his hand out again, not just wishing for flame, but visualizing it. A raw, elemental heat gathered, growing rapidly into a swirling orb of crimson fire above his palm. It spun, tight and contained, then shot forth, a fiery projectile, propelled by a will Kaelen hadn't known he possessed. The orb struck the Spectral Echo with a sizzling crack. An unearthly shriek tore through the air as the magical flames adhered to the creature, burning with an unnatural intensity. The aberration thrashed, rolling on the broken flagstones of the ancient plaza, trying to extinguish the magical conflagration, but the fire only intensified, feeding on its ethereal form. Kaelen concentrated, pouring every ounce of his burgeoning power into the inferno, feeling a strange, intoxicating draw as his will became one with the destructive element. Unlike Joric’s earlier, futile attempts to slash the creature, this attack was devastating. The Spectral Echo’s screams grew weaker, its luminous form dimming. After what felt like an eternity, but was likely only thirty seconds, the pale green light gave a final, desperate flare before imploding into nothingness. The physical remains of the aberration smoldered for a moment, then crumbled into fine ash. Both Kaelen and Joric exhaled, a synchronized release of tension. The quiet of the Lower District settled once more, broken only by the distant lapping of canal waters. “Is it truly over?” Kaelen asked, his voice hoarse. Joric nodded, eyes still scanning the shadowy corners of the ruins. “For now. Absorb its essence, lad. Unless you fancy another visit from an Echo.” Kaelen hesitated, then extended his hand over the cooling ashes. Joric’s instructions were simple: imagine inhaling something invisible. As Kaelen focused, a wispy, verdant aura, similar to the Echo’s brief manifestation, rose from the ashes and seeped into his skin. A profound, chilling sensation rippled through him. It felt as though something was being carefully, deliberately, stored within his very core, a raw power grafting itself onto his own. A thrilling, yet eerie, pleasure made his entire body hum, a nascent strength awakening within. “This is your first time absorbing arcane energy?” Joric’s voice held a note of disbelief. “Yes.” Kaelen’s response was a whisper, still mesmerized by the strange new feeling. “Impossible…” Joric muttered. Arcane power typically grew slowly, a gradual accumulation with age or through arduous training. To display such raw force, then to absorb an Echo’s essence with such a natural affinity… it spoke of an innate capacity far beyond anything Joric had witnessed in a long time. The sentinel cleared his throat, a sudden formality entering his posture. “I’ve been unforgivably disrespectful, young one. May I inquire after your House? Your lineage?” Kaelen bristled. He disliked the sudden shift in Joric’s demeanor, the deference. He didn’t want the old man bowing to some phantom title. “First, let’s see to your wound,” Kaelen said, sidestepping the question. Joric was still bleeding freely from a deep scratch above his eyebrow, a memento from the initial skirmish with the aberration. --- A low groan escaped Joric as Kaelen carefully applied a poultice of local herbs to the sentinel’s laceration, binding it with a strip of clean linen. Kaelen’s quiet dwelling, a small, crumbling apartment nestled precariously within a forgotten tier of the Veridian Spires, was sparsely furnished but always stocked with basic remedies. Instantaneous magical healing was a draining endeavor; Kaelen knew from past attempts to soothe his mother’s aches that even minor mending would consume most of his latent power. “My apologies, young master. To think I made one of your station tend to my wounds.” Joric’s voice was tinged with a new, unwelcome humility. “I’ve told you,” Kaelen sighed, his gaze sharpening, “I have no station. I’m just a scavenger, barely surviving in the Lower District, with no knowledge of my father’s name.” He held Joric’s gaze, trying to convey the depth of his irritation, the fervent wish to be treated as an equal. After a brief, silent staring match, Joric relented, a wry smile gracing his lips. “Alright, alright… I’ll cease the formalities.” Kaelen allowed a small, tired smile in return. “But tell me,” Joric continued, his tone gentler, “why does one with such raw power, a fledgling arcanist, waste their days here? No disrespect to your… foraging… but it hardly seems fitting.” The question mirrored one Kaelen had posed to Joric yesterday, asking why an old sentinel hunted aberrations in the Spires’ forgotten passages. Kaelen couldn’t answer with Joric’s earlier pride. There was no pride in his quiet life, only necessity. “It’s a long story.” Kaelen’s voice was flat, detached, as he began to recount his childhood. The strange sparks of power that had flickered even then. His mother’s hushed, terrified warnings about the powerful Guilds and Patrician Houses above, the dangers of drawing attention, of being noticed. Joric listened intently, nodding slowly as Kaelen finished. “She was wise.” “You think so?” Kaelen raised an eyebrow. He’d expected Joric, a man clearly steeped in the hierarchy of the Spires, to dismiss his mother’s fears as paranoia, to assure him the world above wasn’t as predatory as she’d painted it. “Twenty years ago, my own Guild, the Sentinels of the Argent Gate, clashed with the Great House Volkov in the Nexus Wars,” Joric said, his gaze distant, lost in memory. “Of our three thousand pledged blades, over nine hundred fell.” “Nearly a third,” Kaelen murmured, a chill tracing his spine. “Every man and woman I called kin, my closest comrades, my wife, my son… all among that third. Only I remained.” Joric’s face was etched with a complex sorrow Kaelen couldn’t fathom. He could only guess at a grief as profound as his own, when he’d lost his mother, perhaps even deeper. A heavy silence descended. Finally, Joric shook himself, a faint spark returning to his eyes. “Your mother’s caution was sound, lad, for most. But if there’s one truth she overlooked, it’s this: your inherent talent surpasses even the most seasoned Sentinel.” “Does it?” Kaelen asked, skepticism lacing his tone. “It’s a little embarrassing to admit, given my current state, but I am a Sentinel of no small repute. Yet, you effortlessly dispatched an Aberration that would have challenged even me, and you did it without a single lesson in essence absorption.” Joric paused, taking a sip from a tin cup of water Kaelen offered him. “That level of ability, young one, places you not just among the patrician class, but among the very highest echelons of our city’s arcanists.” The words felt unreal, a distant echo from a world Kaelen had always been taught to fear. Perhaps Joric was merely overestimating him, swayed by the recent struggle. “My mother said my father was a common guard, nothing more. Could she have lied?” “Exceptions exist,” Joric explained, “just as not all children born to adept arcanists are powerful themselves. Sometimes, a high-level arcanist is born from common stock, or a patrician yields someone less capable. These instances are rare, but they do happen.” Kaelen thought of the old chandler’s family in the adjacent district—two short parents, their first son short, but their second son, who bore a striking resemblance to a burly dockworker, had grown impressively tall. “For that reason, I believe it would be beneficial for you to leave this forgotten tier,” Joric pressed, his gaze earnest. “Why?” “Because the Spires need more arcanists like you. Humanity is not yet the undisputed ruler of this world. The Arcane Aberrations, the Elder Spirits, and various forgotten races, driven into the deep places by ancient powers, all lie in wait, ready to resurface. Meanwhile, the great Guilds and Houses squabble amongst themselves. A powerful, principled arcanist like you is desperately needed, even if it’s just one more.” Joric’s voice deepened. “Besides, it’s a tragedy to see such talent wither in obscurity. You’re not truly content living this life, are you?” Kaelen remembered his evasiveness when Joric had first asked about his work. He remained silent for a long moment, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Your mother’s fears, while understandable, are largely exaggerated for someone of your caliber,” Joric continued, sensing Kaelen’s internal struggle. “A common scavenger might be at risk, but even the Great Houses show a measure of respect to fellow arcanists. And one as powerful as you? There is no question.” “So, I wouldn’t be dragged off by some powerful Guild against my will?” Kaelen asked, the old, ingrained fear clawing at him. “In this city, as in all things, there are no absolute guarantees,” Joric admitted, his honesty stark. A torrent of thoughts raced through Kaelen. A part of him yearned to believe Joric’s words, to embrace the hidden potential he’d just glimpsed. Yet, the deep-seated apprehension of the Spires’ elite, instilled by his mother, refused to vanish. These conflicting emotions created a heavy, internal tension. Joric waited patiently on the worn cot, his bandaged head resting against the crumbling stone, giving Kaelen the space he needed. After what felt like an age, Kaelen finally spoke, his voice low, almost a whisper. “What could I gain if I ventured into the Spires proper?” Reading the flicker of determination in Kaelen’s eyes, Joric smiled, a genuine, hopeful expression. “That depends on what you seek. Wealth, renown, true influence… or perhaps even family, friendship, a cause worth fighting for.”

Echoes in the Veridian Depths