Kaelen’s strength vanished. Each muscle screamed, a chorus of protest against the crystalline dust that flaked his skin. A shimmering film of sweat and grit clung to him, a miserable second skin in the harsh desert air. Veil-essence, normally a flowing river within, felt like a stagnant puddle, refusing his command. It had never been so utterly, painfully absent. This, Roric had ensured.
He had pushed beyond any limit known, beyond the agony of the previous trials, until every nerve-ending frayed. Now, Kaelen sprawled, face down, breath rasping against the sharp grains of the ground. His limbs twitched, hollow vessels after the raw exertion of Veil-skimming for hours under Roric’s relentless gaze.
No sound from Roric. Only a distant shimmer of heat, a distorted outline against the vast, empty expanse. The Elder was a specter of indifference, his back a rigid monument to disdain. Kaelen had wanted to hide this failure, to clench his teeth and stand, but gravity itself seemed to conspire, pinning him to the frigid crystal.
Moments stretched into an eternity of burning lungs and trembling limbs. A shadow fell over him, cool and deep. Raised his head, grit scraping against his cheek. Roric stood, looking down with an expression Kaelen couldn't decipher – perhaps a flicker of pity, quickly masked by cold calculation.
“Wasted effort,” Roric’s voice sliced through the silence. “An idiot’s tax on my time.”
Roric settled onto the crystal beside him, posture surprisingly fluid despite the harshness of the environment. From a pouch, he retrieved two pieces of preserved essence-chew. One disappeared into Roric’s mouth with a slow, methodical chew. The other, a dry, dark rectangle, he tossed near Kaelen’s face. A silent order: get up, eat.
But lifting a hand felt like hauling a stone. Mouth was parched, throat raw. Swallowing the dry essence-chew would be a feat of will. Without proper rehydration, his body would just reject it, or worse, struggle to process the scant nutrients.
Roric knew this. He always knew.
Chewing, Roric spoke, words slow and deliberate, each one a hammer blow. “Old world offered comfort. Weakness was tolerated. Kindness, a common currency. Sundering changed everything. Now, the strong devour. Survivors monopolize. Pain? Hardship? Then fall. Death is an easier rest.”
Kaelen’s jaw clenched, a fresh wave of frustration mingling with the exhaustion. He had seen glimpses of the old world through the Veil’s echoes – ephemeral, fading memories. But none of those phantom lives had spoken with such brutal, cutting truth.
“Crawl into dust if you seek peace,” Roric continued, voice hardening. “But if you crave breath, through every agonizing shred of it, rise. Now, fool!”
Roric fell silent, returning to his slow, deliberate chewing. Ignored Kaelen entirely. He hadn’t touched water all day either, Kaelen realized. Roric consumed the essence-chew with a slow, almost ritualistic care, building saliva, preserving what little moisture remained within. Not a single drop was wasted.
Sun began its descent, bleeding crimson across the crystalline peaks. Desert temperatures would plummet after dark. Hypothermia, Kaelen knew, was a swift, silent killer. He couldn’t afford to stay here, immobile.
*Not like this. I won’t die here.*
He moved, a graceless, desperate crawl across the sharp, reflective surface. Every inch was an Everest. Fingers scraped, knees buckled. Reached the essence-chew. Opened his mouth, teeth scraping against the hard, gritty protein. Sand, fine as dust, clung to it. Didn’t care. Chewed, slowly, painstakingly, the rough texture a torment on his dry tongue. Swallowed. A hard, unyielding knot in his throat.
A spark, a flicker of something, deep within. A faint hum of Veil-essence. Pushed himself. Sat up, swaying slightly. Roric tossed another piece. Kaelen caught it, this time. Chewed, not speaking, not thanking. Each bite, a minuscule return of strength.
Roric’s voice, quiet now, held a strange, almost clinical resonance. “Body and Veil are not separate. A strong vessel invites the flow. To command power, command your flesh first.”
Kaelen nodded, a silent acknowledgment. Felt it to his core. While he lay helpless, trying to coax Veil-essence, it had remained stubbornly distant. Only after the physical surge from the essence-chew did the internal river begin to stir, a slow, hesitant trickle.
Veil-essence, enough to survive the coming night, now pulsed faintly. A sigh, ragged and drawn, escaped him. Passed the precipice of death. The world, bleached of color by his exhaustion, now held a renewed, fragile beauty. Void-stars emerged in the rapidly darkening sky, scattered like shattered glass across an endless canvas. He stared, mesmerized. Back in the enclaves, shrouded by the denser Veil, such a sight was a forgotten myth. Had never realized the sheer, desolate grandeur.
“A good place, this. Still untouched by our hunt.”
Roric’s voice shattered the quiet reverence. Kaelen startled. Only Roric and himself out here. Who was he speaking to? Kaelen cautiously turned. Roric sat, his hand resting on a jagged obsidian shard, a relic of the Sundering, planted firmly in the crystalline dust. Whispers seemed to emanate from it, faint and distorted, as Roric conversed.
*He speaks to a rock? A fragment of something dead?*
Roric continued, seemingly oblivious to Kaelen’s uneasy gaze. “Indeed. My memory blurs beyond the old landmarks. Your wisdom is sharp.”
Finished, Roric looked at Kaelen. A chill, inexplicable and profound, settled over Kaelen. It had nothing to do with the encroaching cold. Tonight, would be merciless. Shivering, sleepless, he endured the biting winds, the frigid crystal, a mere shadow of warmth. Roric, meanwhile, slept soundly, curled in a tight ball, undisturbed by the harshness.
Sunrise, a harsh, silver light, broke the horizon. Roric stirred. His first act: wringing his clothes. Droplets of liquid ghost-mist, condensed from the night air, collected in his cupped hand. He drank it. Kaelen watched, a sudden, sharp realization dawning. Roric had spread his clothes to gather the dew. Kaelen, belatedly, mimicked the action, but his clothes yielded only a meager amount. A bitter taste of resentment, unwarranted yet potent, rose in his throat. Roric’s every action, every subtle movement, was a lesson in survival. Every small detail, geared toward endurance in this unforgiving world.
*I must learn. Every breath, every trick.*
Kaelen clenched his fists, resolve hardening. To survive, to master the Veil, he needed Roric's cruel tutelage. Mimic every move, every grim efficiency. Someday, he would surpass this unrelenting mentor.
He squeezed the last drop of dew from his clothes, the meager moisture barely wetting his throat. Roric was already standing, a silhouette against the rising sun. “Move.”
Kaelen nodded. No point asking where. Roric wouldn’t answer. In a single day, Kaelen had glimpsed the core of the Elder: self-centered, devoid of sentiment. Roric would lead, but Kaelen would survive on his own. He had to be quicker, smarter.
Roric moved ahead, a swift, unburdened stride. Kaelen followed, mana fully replenished after the night's uneasy rest. Unleashed the skill he had finally grasped yesterday: Veil-skimming. A thin layer of Veil-essence solidified beneath his feet, allowing him to glide, not walk, across the crystalline dust. Mana management remained paramount. The near-death experience of yesterday, a stark reminder. Each pulse of Veil-essence, counted and conserved.
*How can I replenish what I spend?*
Roric might know. But Roric wouldn’t speak. Kaelen had to figure it out, as always. He Veil-skimmed, thoughts turning over strategies, refinements. Sun climbed, blazing a path across the sky. Desert sands began to radiate heat, a twin assault from above and below. Gritted his teeth. Endured. Patience. Veil-skimming grew smoother, a more natural extension of his will.
Sun began to set. Roric stopped. Kaelen sagged, relieved. Mana held. Exhaustion, however, was a heavy cloak. All day, the precise mental command of Veil-skimming, the physical endurance of the desert. Felt like collapsing. Forced himself to stand. Roric tossed a piece of essence-chew. This time, no undignified struggle. Caught it. Tore it into smaller pieces.
Chewed slowly. Moistened each fragment with what little saliva he could muster. Swallowed, each mouthful a conscious act. He ate, measured and deliberate. Glanced at Roric. Roric had barely touched his own portion. Kaelen, despite his efforts, had consumed half of his piece. A sense of defeat. Bit his lip. Deliberately slowed down. So slow, a single piece took almost thirty minutes.
*Still hungry.*
Growing body still ached with emptiness. One piece, barely a tease. Another, and the hunger would return. Couldn’t ask Roric. Pride, a stubborn, fragile thing, forbade it. He’d sleep hungry.
First, something else. Removed his clothes, spread them on the ground. For the morning’s ghost-mist. Next, shelter. Desert cold was nothing to Roric, whose abilities defied Kaelen’s comprehension. For Kaelen, it was death. A bunker.
Some Veil-essence remained. Exerted control. Crystalline dust shifted, flowing like water, forming a shallow pit. Large enough for one. Stepped inside. Then, using Veil-essence, he shaped the surrounding dust, building a roof over his head. Crystalline particles, normally loose, solidified under his will, holding firm. Consumed mana to create it, but once formed, it held without further effort. Breathed a sigh of relief. Last night’s shivering memory faded. Tonight, warmth, and rest.
Thought of Roric. Should he offer a place? Shook his head. No one to hear anyway. If Roric couldn’t bear the cold, he would find his own shelter. He would. With that thought, Kaelen drifted into sleep. Outside, temperatures plummeted. Inside his crystalline sanctuary, a surprising warmth held.
He woke to a strange sensation. A faint vibration, humming through the crystalline floor. Sat up, pressed a hand against the ground. The hum grew, a slow, resonant thrum. Emerged from the bunker. Roric already stood, obsidian shard pinned to the ground before him, gazing into the dense darkness just before sunrise.
Kaelen followed his stare. Nothing but impenetrable gloom. For ordinary sight, perhaps. Not for Roric. Not for the whispers emanating from the shard.
*Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!*
The vibrations intensified, a relentless rhythm. Kaelen’s pupils contracted. *Dozens, no, hundreds.* Roric’s face twisted into a grin, a feral, almost joyful expression. Like a child witnessing a promised explosion. “Survive on your own, fool! Ha!”
Kaelen couldn’t share the grim amusement. Roric would offer no help. That stark certainty, a cold blade. *Alright. I will survive.*
The vibrations became a roar in the ground. Through the deep pre-dawn gloom, forms emerged. Hundreds of glittering eyes, reflecting the dim light of distant void-stars, closing in. Rapidly. “Glint-Striders,” Roric breathed, a note of relish in his voice. “A pack of them.”