A chill wind whipped through the Eldoria courtyard, teasing at the stiff, brocaded banner of House Eldoria. Its twin lions, once proud, seemed faded by time, much like the entire city. Kaelen stood by the iron gate, feeling the subtle shifts in the air’s flow – not just the physical wind, but the whispered currents of Aether that permeated everything. Beside him, Lyra Eldoria tapped an impatient boot against the flagstones. “Father truly takes this seriously,” Lyra grumbled, a glint of challenge in her eyes. Her tunic and reinforced leggings, pragmatic for the journey, replaced her usual flowing silks. “To think he’d pull in a guest for a mere beast hunt. Were we so incompetent?” Seraph Eldoria, Lyra’s cousin and an Eldoria Warden Captain, straightened his tunic. A thin sneer touched his lips. “You call the Lord of House Eldoria ‘fussy,’ Lyra? Watch your tongue.” Lyra’s gaze sparked, a silent retort passing between them. Then, with a practiced ease, Seraph turned to Kaelen, his expression smoothing. “First time we’re venturing out together, Vance. I am Seraph Eldoria. My honor.” “And mine,” Kaelen replied, his voice quiet, measuring the man. Seraph’s eyes, though polite, held a calculating depth. Twelve Eldoria Wardens stood behind the two nobles, their armor gleamed dully in the morning light. Unlike the Eldoria heirs, who treated this as a theatrical outing, the Wardens’ shoulders were rigid, their hands tight on their weapon hilts. Their anxiety was a tangible thing, a faint tremor in the Aether around them. Four of their brethren had vanished into the Wilds, consumed by this unknown threat. Moments later, the small procession – three nobles, twelve Wardens – marched towards Veridia’s northern gate. Citizens knelt along the cobbled streets, heads bowed low. Only the City Watch, clad in simpler armor, merely lowered their gazes. They maintained order within the city, a flimsy wall against the true dangers beyond. Kaelen knew their blades, honed for street brawls, would shatter against the raw, unbridled power of an Aether-corrupted creature. Beyond the city walls, the grand brick road of the Old Empire stretched north, cracked and overgrown. Ten days of attacks had scoured it clean of travelers. A deathly silence clung to the air, broken only by the crunch of their boots. “Just want to dispatch this swiftly and return to my chambers,” Lyra muttered, kicking a loose stone. Her casual disregard for the danger was jarring. Kaelen walked a pace behind her, his eyes scanning the overgrown edges of the road. Lyra’s carefree demeanor, the way she wore her noble status like an ornate cloak, held little appeal. He sought something deeper, something beyond the superficial glitter of House Eldoria. Seraph stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Vance, tell me. Do you find my cousin… intriguing?” Kaelen shook his head, a decisive motion. “No.” Lyra, in recent days, had offered light, teasing advances. Playful, almost performative. But Kaelen had no desire to entangle himself in the web of Eldoria politics, not for a library, not for anything. His purpose lay elsewhere, in the whispered secrets of the Aether. Seraph’s face visibly brightened. “That is… a relief.” He offered no further explanation, yet his satisfaction was clear. --- About an hour passed in the grim silence of the road. Rustling leaves and the distant cry of some unseen bird were the only sounds. Then, a mangled cart lay sprawled amidst the weeds, its wheel splintered. Blood stained the wood, dark against the faded timber. Shreds of cloth, soaked crimson, clung to a shattered spoke. An attack. Recent. “This must be it,” Seraph stated, his voice now devoid of its earlier lightness. Lyra frowned. “We warned everyone against traveling this route. They must have been coming from the northern settlements…” Kaelen knelt by the wreckage. The coppery tang of blood was faint, suggesting the assault had happened only a few hours prior. He reached out, fingers brushing a jagged tear in a fabric scrap. Aether still pulsed, a faint echo of violence. He focused, letting his senses expand, feeling the residual currents of primal energy. He sensed the distortion, a violent tearing of the Aether Veins, not a clean cut. A grotesque, malformed handprint pressed into the side of the cart, unnaturally large, five-fingered, human-like in its basic structure, yet twisted by some primal force. Kaelen remembered a cryptic illustration in a forgotten text, depicting aberrations born of unbound Aether. “It’s a Grotesque,” he murmured, rising. “A primal horror, twisted by raw Aether.” He hadn’t seen one in person, but the ancient descriptions matched the lingering Aether signature. “A Grotesque?” Lyra repeated, her brows furrowing. “Are you certain?” “Look at this print,” Kaelen pointed, the ghost of an Aether imprint still shimmering faintly to his trained eye. “The proportions, the claw marks… it’s unmistakable.” “It likely returned to the forest,” Seraph said, his hand resting on his sword. “We should track it.” Lyra shook her head. “My bloodline gift is for destruction, not tracking. Seraph, you?” “My talents also lean towards… direct engagement,” Seraph admitted, a hint of frustration in his tone. “Perhaps one of the Wardens…” “Let me try,” Kaelen offered, stepping forward. He had no true “tracking magic” as the nobles understood it, but his perception of Aether was far more acute. The blood, the disturbed earth, the lingering dread – all held faint Aetheric imprints. Lyra’s eyes brightened. “You possess such a gift?” “I’ve simply… practiced,” Kaelen replied, a calm lie. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the Aether Veins of the land surface in his mind’s eye. The vibrant flow of life energy, usually hidden, pulsed around him. Amidst it, a discordant, raw streak, like a tear in reality, led away from the wreckage, a violent trail of displaced Aether. “This way,” Kaelen said, opening his eyes and pointing towards the denser part of the forest. The hunting party left the road, plunging into the Wilds. No clear path existed, but the Wardens moved with practiced ease. Even Lyra and Seraph, despite their occasional complaints, navigated the undergrowth with a strength far beyond a commoner’s, a testament to their own nascent Aetheric development. They leaped over fallen logs, pushed through thickets, following Kaelen’s silent lead. After thirty minutes, the discordant Aether trail led them to a winding stream. Several forest deer, drinking from the clear water, bolted at their approach. Here, the raw, violent Aether trail dissipated. The creature had entered the water. “The trail ends,” Kaelen noted. “It seems it cleansed itself.” Seraph scoffed. “A mere beast, displaying such cunning?” “Or perhaps it simply wished to cool itself,” Lyra mused, though a flicker of unease crossed her face. Kaelen knew from ancient texts that Aether-corrupted creatures often displayed surprising, almost human-like, cunning. Kaelen dispelled his focused Aether-sensing, letting the myriad ambient flows return to his perception. He sought a different signature now, a lingering resonance of its unique, corrupted Aether. At once, a rank, metallic scent, laced with something ancient and putrid, hit him. It was strong, distinct, a foul stain on the pure Aetheric currents of the forest. He spun, an instinctive surge of warning coursing through his veins. Behind them, obscured moments before by dense foliage, a pair of immense, golden eyes blazed with primal malevolence. “Behind us!” Kaelen shouted, his voice cutting through the sudden silence. A guttural shriek, raw and chilling, ripped through the air. --- A towering Grotesque burst from the undergrowth. Two meters tall, its frame was a monstrous parody of a human, hunched, corded with malformed muscle, its skin a mottled grey. Disproportionately large hands, each ending in five clawed digits, scooped up fistfuls of loose earth and gravel. It hurled them with impossible force, the projectiles humming with a faint, malevolent green glow – raw Aether. “Aaagh!” One Warden cried out, crumpling as a stone slammed into his chest. “Dodge!” Seraph bellowed. Kaelen had already thrown himself to the side, rolling as a shower of glowing stones pulverized the ground where he’d stood. He watched in cold fury as Lyra and Seraph, without hesitation, shoved two Wardens forward, using them as living shields. The Wardens screamed, their bodies absorbing the impact. “U-ugh, are you alri—” a Warden choked, clutching his shattered arm. “Attack!” Lyra’s sharp command sliced through the air. The eight remaining Wardens, grim-faced, drew their blades and spears, charging the Grotesque. The creature shrieked again, a sound that grated on Kaelen’s teeth, and vanished. It leaped into the trees, a blur of grey muscle, covering vast distances in a single, impossible bound. Its speed was astonishing, a wind-swift phantom amidst the ancient oaks. The Wardens, for all their strength, couldn’t hope to keep pace. As everyone stood stunned, a small, polished river stone shot from Kaelen’s hand. He hadn’t drawn a weapon. Instead, he’d subtly infused the pebble with a focused burst of Aether, accelerating its flight, shaping its trajectory to follow the Grotesque’s escaping Aether signature. It arced, grazing several trees before curving sharply and slamming into the creature’s lower back. A sickening crunch echoed through the forest. The Grotesque screamed, a sound of agony and rage, tumbling from the branches. It writhed on the forest floor, its spine seemingly shattered, unable to rise. “Die!” Lyra roared, extending her hand. Flames erupted from her fingertips, coalescing into a serpentine pillar of fire as thick as a tree trunk. It lunged, a living inferno, biting into the Grotesque. The air shimmered, the stench of burning flesh filling the glade as the creature was consumed, the blaze engulfing a dozen meters of surrounding forest. The raw power, the speed of its manifestation, was far beyond Kaelen’s current capabilities. This was the Eldoria bloodline gift, a concentrated wellspring of Aether channeled through generations. Seraph followed, conjuring a dozen flaming spears, sending them hurtling down to ensure nothing remained but ashes. A collective sigh of relief rippled through the Wardens. Lyra grinned, a triumphant, wild glint in her eyes. “Those stones certainly gave me a thrill for a moment.” “Were you truly frightened, cousin?” Seraph taunted. “Silence. You shrieked like a panicked child.” “I did no such thing!” While they bickered, Kaelen moved to the fallen Wardens. One clutched a mangled arm. Another had a gash on his forehead, blood seeping into his eyes. None had died, thankfully, but the two who had served as human shields were the most grievously injured. Kaelen offered a pouch of salves, his gaze fixed on Lyra and Seraph. Their bodies, enhanced by generations of Aetheric cultivation, were several times sturdier than these Wardens. Yet, they had used them as disposable bulwarks. A cold knot tightened in Kaelen’s gut. His mother’s words echoed: *To nobles, Wardens are but dogs, to be sacrificed when it suits them.* Seraph, catching Kaelen’s look, tilted his head. “What is it, Vance?” “Nothing,” Kaelen replied, his voice flat. He turned away, a subtle contempt etched on his face. --- “More importantly, Vance, come quickly!” Lyra called, waving Kaelen over. “Time to absorb the Aether!” The three nobles gathered around the charred, smoking remnants of the Grotesque. Kaelen extended his hand, focusing. From the ashes, a faint, pale green luminescence pulsed, a raw, primal energy. It flowed from the creature, seeped into their outstretched hands, a cool, invigorating rush. A thrill, potent and undeniable, coursed through Kaelen as the Aether flooded his core. He measured its strength, the growth he felt. It was significant, more potent than the energies of a simple forest creature, but less than the ancient, deep Aether of some of the texts he’d read. He understood now: this was the true currency of power in Veridia, hidden beneath the mundane guild-craft. This absorption, this primal connection, was what truly strengthened the noble houses. Lyra and Seraph, too, absorbed, their faces showing the same surge of pleasure. Kaelen knew from the Eldoria library that up to four individuals could draw the full potency from a creature without diminishing the share for others. It was why noble hunting parties often numbered four. And why no Warden, no matter how skilled, would ever be invited to join this inner circle. “Ah, I cannot absorb more,” Lyra sighed, pulling her hand back. A faint green light began to leak from her fingertips, dissipating into the air. Her innate capacity for growth, for this moment, was reached. “Me neither,” Seraph grumbled, a similar leakage of Aether shimmering around him. Kaelen continued to absorb, draining the last vestiges of the Grotesque’s primal energy. He felt the envious glances of Lyra and Seraph. His own capacity, unlike theirs, still vast and unexplored, seemed to them an unfair advantage. On the journey back to Veridia, Lyra and Seraph recounted the hunt, their voices loud and boastful. They painted vivid pictures of their heroism, glossing over the Wardens they’d used as shields, the truth of their privileged cowardice lost in their self-aggrandizing tales. Kaelen walked in silence, the faint hum of absorbed Aether thrumming beneath his skin, the bitter taste of noble arrogance clinging to his tongue. Veridia was indeed a city of forgotten grandeur, but its current rulers were merely pale reflections of a might they barely understood.

Veins Unseen