“If the tendrils of potential reach for you, grasp them. Ascend, for survival demands it. Climb, Thane, no matter the cost.”
Kael’s voice was a low rasp, cutting through the murmuring chill of the Veridian night. Above them, the fragmented moon cast a sickly pallor upon the makeshift outpost, staining the tattered banners and the ash-dusted ground with an ethereal glow. The air was thick with the faint, metallic scent of blood and the pervasive, cloying sweetness of the Blight—a scent Thane had grown too accustomed to, a constant reminder of the encroaching dissolution.
“This world devours the weak, piece by piece.”
Thane, always quiet, always observing, shifted on his log seat. The small, sputtering fire between them did little to ward off the encroaching cold or the weight of Kael’s words. He had known Kael for cycles, ever since the Scavenger Corps had brought them together, each man a shard of broken humanity clinging to existence. Kael, with his scarred face and eyes that had seen too many sunsets over too many graves, spoke with the grim certainty of a survivor.
“If you lack the vigor, the influence, the sheer *power*, even a return to the fractured hearth you call home will bring no solace. Your meagre plot of land could be siphoned away by a well-placed whisper, your kin could be bound to service, their spirits crushed beneath the boot of those who command more than mere coin.”
Kael leaned forward, his face illuminated by the dancing firelight, casting deep shadows into the hollows of his eyes. “Cast aside your naivety, Thane. Discard the comforting lies you’ve told yourself.”
“You’re still too young, still too new to the deeper currents of this realm. But when you witness it, truly witness it, you’ll understand. Without power, without influence, your path is merely a slower descent into the grave.”
Under the bruised canvas of the night, Kael’s gaze was stern, unwavering. Thane felt the intensity of it, the raw, unvarnished truth emanating from the older man. The faint, almost imperceptible smile that sometimes played on Thane’s lips, a weary reflex, slowly receded. Kael was not speaking in parables or idle warnings. He was recounting a truth carved from suffering.
“Kael,” Thane murmured, the sound a low vibration in his throat, “has some new shadow fallen upon your own kin?”
“Me? Heh.” A desolate, bitter laugh escaped Kael, laced with a hatred that felt ancient. “I watched, Thane. With these very eyes, I watched as my sister, vibrant and full of life, was dragged from our hovel by the lackeys of a petty Baron in the Shattered Marches. Violations, unspeakable degradations, until… until her spirit broke. She is touched, now. Mad, touched by the lingering shadow of their cruelty, more a wraith than a woman.”
Thane felt a cold knot tighten in his gut. The Edicts of the Obsidian Throne, even in their broken state, spoke of justice, of retribution. “Kael, did you not seek the judgment of the wardens? The crime… that should bring a binding in chains, if not the ultimate reckoning.”
“Judgment? The wardens?” A mocking glint, brittle as shattered obsidian, appeared in Kael’s eyes. “Everyone, even the Blight-addled peasants, knows the Edicts of the Obsidian Throne are stern, unyielding. But few realize their enforcement is a tool in the hands of the powerful. If you are merely a common soul, a shard of the voiceless populace, then yes, the Edicts are absolute. But if you bear the mark of a powerful House, if you command wealth or influence, what do the solemn Edicts truly mean?”
“Perhaps to the Grand Hierarch, the Edicts govern every crumbling stone of Veridia, but my home was in the distant Shattered Marches, far from the Capital District’s gleaming spires. The Grand Hierarch’s sacred authority, his divine wrath, it did not reach us.”
“My father and I, we sought to petition the wardens, to invoke the Edicts. In the end, we were merely marked. That Baron’s whelp, he ordered my father’s life snuffed out, his body left for the scavengers. And I… I was left bleeding, my bones splintered, barely clinging to the last threads of my vigor.”
“And he still walks free. Beyond the grasp of any justice.”
“Wardens? The Edicts?” Kael spat the words, his voice raw with a pain that resonated deep within Thane, echoing the countless unseen atrocities of Veridia.
“Perhaps in the heart of the Capital District, within the shadow of the Obsidian Throne itself, the Edicts are a divine decree that no soul dares defy. But the more remote the place, the more useless that law becomes. The tendrils of the Blight are not the only things that corrupt.”
“Punishments do not apply to the privileged. They are merely for the common folk.”
“Young Thane, do not mistake this blighted realm for a benevolent protector.”
Thane remained silent, the fire’s warmth failing to penetrate the sudden chill that had settled within him. He had navigated this world for nearly two decades, his existence defined by the quiet desperation of a Scavenger, by the grim necessity of his unique ability. Yet, his understanding of the wider realm remained confined to the shadowed alleys of his birth-hollow and the brutal camaraderie of the outpost. In his crumbling village, the few remaining neighbors had clung together, their misery a shared bond. Until Kael’s words, Thane had never truly confronted the raw, brutal face of Veridia, the one hidden beneath the pronouncements of divine law and martial order. He had always believed the Edicts, though harsh, were absolute. Now, Kael’s quiet revelations had struck him like a physical blow.
“The Edicts are for the common people.”
“Punishments do not apply to the privileged.”
Thane murmured the words, tasting their bitter truth. It was as if a veil had been torn, revealing the true, unvarnished, rotting heart of this era.
“Alright,” Kael said, his hand finding Thane’s shoulder, a rough, comforting weight. “Young Thane, do not dwell too long on such shadows. I merely wished to impress upon you that this world is not simple, nor is it kind. It merely *is*.”
“I nearly danced with the Lord of Whispers today. I’m going to find what little solace sleep can offer. You should too.” A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Kael’s lips, a ghost of his former self. “We march for Ashfall Stronghold at dawn.” He turned, his silhouette dissolving into the deeper shadows surrounding his tent.
Thane remained by the sputtering campfire, the echoes of Kael’s words reverberating through his mind. Perhaps he had been naive, his focus too narrow. Still, the fragments of vigor he had absorbed, the whispers of latent skill harvested from the recently deceased over the cycles, should be enough to protect his mother and sister. If any dared to threaten them, to cast the shadow of their privilege over his kin, he would annihilate their lineage, down to the last quivering child. For now, remaining within the Scavenger Corps was tolerable. Veridia, for all its rot, was a titan of a realm, constantly warring with the Blight-spawned legions, ever striving to restore the Grand Compact. But even such a mighty edifice could crumble, as history whispered of ancient empires. He was just a single soul, burdened by an inherited curse, his current power insufficient to sway the fate of kingdoms. He had to grow stronger, to ensure his future, to ensure *their* future. Gaining rank, earning favor, rising to prominence… it was a pleasant fantasy, but he knew the truth: one step at a time. Staying alive was the fundamental truth.
Kael’s words, sharp and cold as a winter blade, had certainly given him much to consider.
Thane issued the silent command, a thought flickering into the ethereal spaces of his mind. “Activate Reliquary of Echoes.”
The unseen interface, a phantom panel known only to him, shimmered into existence: *Activating Reliquary of Echoes… Obtained Soul-Vessel Bloom: Somnus Petal (Tier I).*”
Somnus Petal… a single bloom could protect the heart’s vital points and induce a deep, dreamless sleep, but it was useless without the two other, more potent blooms that completed its cycle. A wasteful draw from the Reliquary, a bitter disappointment. Such a mundane boon from the ethereal spaces.
Thane summoned his personal panel, the ethereal script glowing in the darkness.
*Attribute Panel: Thane*
*Vigor: 336 (The greater the Vigor, the more raw strength and impact can be unleashed.)*
*Celerity: 216 (The higher the value, the swifter the movement and reactions.)*
*Endurance: 218 (A stronger Endurance means faster recovery from wounds and unyielding stamina.)*
*Acumen: 211 (A stronger Acumen brings a clearer mind and sharper thoughts. At a certain threshold, one can sense the subtle currents of the Blight-touched aether.)*
*Lifespan: 86 years and 88 days*
*Echo-Vault: 2 cubic meters*
These were the fruits of his grim harvest, the attributes absorbed after carrying hundreds of lifeless forms from the recent skirmish, their last breaths still clinging to their bodies, ripe for his unique ability. Three days of dragging corpses, feeling the cold, resonant hum of his ability as it drew fragmented echoes from the recently departed. Three days of prolonging his own existence, one dead soldier at a time.
Tomorrow, they marched for Ashfall Stronghold. According to the grim histories whispered in the outposts, that was a major bastion where the Blight-spawned legions had entrenched themselves, fiercely resisting the forces of Veridia. The casualties there would surely eclipse tens of thousands, dwarfing the tally from this border clash several times over. Vigor, Celerity, Endurance… the echoes of lost lives, the fragments of vitality he craved… they awaited him tomorrow. Thane felt a cold surge of anticipation, a primal hunger stirring beneath his weary exterior.
The pale light of predawn bled across the horizon, painting the jagged peaks in hues of bruised purple and grey. The Vanguard Skirmishers, a brutal advance unit, were already preparing their meagre morning meals, their fires spitting sparks into the cold air. The men of the Scavenger Corps ate their fill, a silent, grim ritual, and began their preparations to move out.
Before Kael, more than ninety logistics soldiers of the Scavenger Corps stood in ragged formation. None of them wore the heavy Resilient Plates of the front lines, but each bore a utilitarian Veridian Blade at his waist. In this age of pervasive Blight and constant warfare, such plates were precious, costly to forge and repair; not every soldier, even in the mighty forces of Veridia, was issued a full set. Scavenger Corpsmen were granted blades, but armor was a luxury. Only the Sharp Warriors, those who had earned a true title through grim merit, were granted the coveted Adamant Weave.
“Where is Thane?”
At that precise moment, Commander Valerius, Thane’s immediate superior, strode purposefully across the encampment, a rolled set of parchment scrolls clutched in his gauntleted hand.
“Here, Commander! Here!” Kael immediately turned, his voice a sharp, urgent bark.
Every weary eye in the company turned to watch. Seeing their Commander, they naturally assumed Thane was about to face reprimand, or perhaps, a rare commendation. Valerius approached quickly, flanked by two soldiers struggling under the weight of sealed chests.
“By order of the Grand Marshal Kaelen!” Valerius’s voice boomed, carrying across the hushed formation as he held the reward scrolls high for all to see. “Thane, a soldier of the Scavenger Corps’ First Auxiliary Unit, has achieved exceptional merit by beheading the Blight-Touched Warmaster, Vorlag the Craven!”
“In accordance with the Veridian military merit system, he is promoted three ranks to Cohort Captain and granted the first glyph of nobility! Furthermore, he is granted a new suit of Resilient Plates and a finely crafted Veridian Blade!”
“Thane!” Kael prompted urgently, a flicker of pride in his usually shadowed eyes. “Give your thanks!”
Thane stepped forward, his expression a mask of detached calm. He bowed deeply, his movements economical. “Thane gives his humble thanks, Commander.”
Commander Valerius walked up to Thane, his imposing figure casting a long shadow. He took a heavy Veridian Blade and a folded suit of gleaming Resilient Plates from the soldiers behind him, presenting them to Thane along with the official parchment scrolls. Thane accepted them with both hands, the weight of the new equipment a cold, tangible reality.
Valerius offered a rare, thin smile. “Thane, you have performed admirably. You’ve brought significant honor to our Scavenger Corps before the Grand Marshal himself. A Blight-Touched Warmaster—and the son of the Blight’s Senior General, no less—slain by one of our logistics soldiers. This is a monumental event!”
“This subordinate was merely fortunate, Commander,” Thane replied, the words a practiced formality.
“Fortunate or not, the deed is done.” Valerius clapped a gloved hand on Thane’s shoulder, a surprisingly firm touch. “My designation is Valerius. Should you find yourself in need of aid or guidance in the cycles to come, you may seek me.” He then turned, his gaze sweeping over the assembled logistics soldiers.
“Thane earned his promotion and title by slaying an enemy general. This is the military merit system of our great Veridia! It matters not your birth or station. As long as you face the enemy, purge the Blight, and earn merit through sacrifice, you will be rewarded! I hope all of you can serve Veridia and achieve great things, just like Thane!” the Commander boomed, his voice echoing with a rare, desperate encouragement. His words were a fragile hope against the endless tide of despair. His words were a lie, Thane knew, for the truly great rarely rose from the dust, but for the common soldier, it was enough. For Thane, it was a path to more bodies, more echoes, and more time.