Dust motes danced in the sparse shafts of sunlight that pierced the grimy alleys of Veridian. Lysander moved through them, a phantom against the city’s slow decay. Seven Corrupted Beasts, he’d managed today. Each one a festering wound on the city’s periphery, their presence a dark whisper of the blight tightening its grip. He could feel it, the earth itself groaning beneath the ancient stones of Veridian, a deep-seated ache that resonated with his Cinderkin blood.
Absorbing the raw, tainted energy from their limp forms was a process he approached with a mixture of reverence and dread. A jolt, sharp and electric, surged through him, an almost primal hum that thrummed deep in his bones. It was a terrible, thrilling ecstasy, this communion with raw power, a sensation that momentarily eclipsed the heavy burden of his lineage. But the whispers of the earth reminded him: this was not merely power; it was a hungry force, ever threatening to consume.
A pang of disappointment flickered. Soon, the weaker creatures would offer diminishing returns. The thrill would fade, leaving only the dull echo of what once was. Already, his connection to the earth and flame had deepened, his control over the subtle shifts in the ground, the flicker of a hidden ember, growing more precise. After five such beasts, his internal well of elemental energy felt nearly one and a half times richer than it had before Veridian’s walls.
‘It won’t be enough.’
Pure growth through absorption tapered quickly. To truly expand his capabilities, he would need to seek out creatures touched by deeper corruption, beasts that mirrored the forgotten powers slumbering beneath Veridian. Staying here would deplete the local ecology, force him into the kind of aggressive hunting that drew unwanted attention. Ancient lore, passed down in hushed tones among his kind, spoke of powerful Cinderkin making perilous journeys, pilgrimages for strength.
He had kept two of the feeblest Corrupted Beasts alive. Too small, too weak to offer any significant power, but intact enough for bounty. A scraggly desert rat with unnaturally rigid, bony spines protruding from its back, and a skittish cave-lizard whose scales shifted like oil on water, a mockery of natural camouflage. Their struggle against the binding ropes was pathetic.
He presented them at the City Hall, a crumbling edifice that reeked of stale parchment and desperation. The official, a thin man with a perpetually furrowed brow, barely looked up from his ledger. “Two of them?” Surprise etched across his face.
“Unharmed, save for the capture. The bounty should be twenty-five Scales.” Lysander’s voice remained low, even. Below the official’s desk, the stone floor subtly shifted, a barely perceptible tremor that only Lysander could control. The man’s eyes widened, a flicker of unease crossing his features.
“Ah, yes, of course.” His hand fumbled with a pouch, dropping the glinting silver coins onto the counter. “Here.”
Pocketing the Scales, Lysander felt a strange satisfaction. A small taste of the world outside his secluded hollow. The inn welcomed him back, the robust aroma of cooking food a pleasant contrast to the city’s usual decay. Maira, the innkeeper’s daughter, a girl with kind eyes and a ready smile, greeted him.
“Lysander! Back in one piece, then? Dinner tonight, I suppose? The usual stew?”
He paused. The stew was cheap, filling. But the day’s small earnings, the quiet satisfaction of the bounty, stirred something new. A curiosity. He wanted to taste what others valued. “The most expensive dish you prepare.”
Maira blinked, then a grin split her face. “Well, you must’ve had a good day! I’ll tell the chef.” She disappeared into the kitchen, a faint clatter following her.
It took nearly an hour. Lysander waited, the murmuring of other patrons a backdrop to his thoughts. The simple act of waiting for a meal felt luxurious. When the food finally arrived, carried by Maira and the chef himself, a corpulent man with flour on his apron, Lysander inhaled deeply. The scent alone was an experience.
Steaming, freshly baked bread, so soft it practically melted, accompanied by a jam that tasted of sun-kissed berries and a hint of something he couldn’t place. A roasted sparrow-hawk, its skin glazed golden, fragrant with herbs. Ribs of wild boar, slow-cooked until the meat fell from the bone, swimming in a rich sauce and topped with bubbling, melted cheese. For a boy who had only known dry rations and the occasional, pungent stew of the wilds, it was a revelation.
He ate slowly at first, savoring each bite, then with a growing hunger, a deep, primal satisfaction. Every flavor was a discovery, every texture a marvel. The table cleared quickly, a blur of motion and blissful chewing. His gaze swept the empty platters, a faint flush on his cheeks.
“No one… stole any, did they?”
Maira laughed, a bright, clear sound. “Heavens no, Lysander! But for one so quiet, you certainly have an appetite!”
“We rarely see it enjoyed so thoroughly,” the chef boomed, wiping his hands on his apron, a wide smile on his face. “A pleasure to cook for you.”
The words resonated. Lysander had found a new kind of satisfaction, one entirely separate from the deep, dangerous hum of his elemental power. A simple, honest pleasure.
---
Three days blurred into a rhythm of silent hunts and quiet meals. Lysander had tracked down over thirty Corrupted Beasts in Veridian’s blighted outskirts. Only five had been valuable enough to claim bounties for their intact forms, but the total had already surpassed a hundred Scales. He’d even exchanged some for a single, gleaming Gold Scale, heavier and more reassuring in his pouch.
His mastery of subtle elemental detection had sharpened. He no longer needed to see his prey. A faint ripple in the earth, a whisper of displaced dust, the residual heat of a creature’s passage – these were his guides. He could set a tremor to seek out the unique vibrations of a ‘burrowing blight-worm larger than a man’s forearm,’ then follow the subtle path of its burrow through the soil.
Around the inn, the mood of Kael’s group had soured considerably. Faces were drawn, voices hushed in grumbling tones about dwindling funds. They were struggling, he observed. The city offered little solace to those who couldn’t find work or catch bounties.
Late one evening, as Lysander returned to his room, two of Kael’s companions blocked the narrow hall. Hulking figures, their shoulders broad, their expressions grim.
“Hey, quiet one.” The first, a man named Borin, flexed a meaty hand. “Heard you’re doing well. Share some of that with your fellow hunters.”
Lysander’s gaze remained steady. He didn’t raise his voice. Without a sound, the floor beneath Borin’s boots shifted, a barely perceptible dip that threw him off balance. As the second man, Jax, lunged, a sudden puff of superheated air blossomed directly in front of his face, making him recoil with a yelp, eyes watering. They stumbled, disoriented, their attempts at intimidation dissolving into a clumsy tangle. Lysander stepped past them, his presence almost a whisper, leaving them sprawling in the hallway.
A few moments of confused shouting, then the innkeeper’s booming voice. Kael appeared at Lysander’s door shortly after, his face etched with shame. He bowed his head deeply. “My apologies, Lysander. They acted without my permission. I’ll see them chastised. It won’t happen again.”
“Are you in trouble?” Lysander asked, his voice soft.
Kael hesitated, then sighed, a heavy sound. “Aye. Things are tight. Veridian… she’s not what she used to be. The blight makes the creatures stronger, but not necessarily richer for the hunt.”
Kael revealed their story: they had once been enforcers in a larger, more prosperous city, but two years ago, a wandering scholar spoke of beasts and elemental magic. A foolish dream, perhaps, but it offered an escape from a life of thuggery. Yet, without elemental gifts or true training, hunting Corrupted Beasts was a brutal, often fruitless endeavor. Only three beasts in two years, and barely enough odd jobs to keep them fed and sheltered.
Lysander understood. The city’s officials, jaded by years of decline and hardship, saw hunters like Kael’s group as little more than desperate vagrants, chasing shadows while honest folk toiled. It was a cycle of despair, further tightening Veridian’s chokehold.
“Honestly, another few days and we’ll be out on the street. Not much work here for us, and the beast trails have gone cold.” Kael’s gaze met Lysander’s. “But don’t worry, we won’t ask for charity. Not after this… trouble.”
Lysander reached into his pouch. He pulled out ten gleaming Silver Scales, pressing them into Kael’s calloused hand. It was enough for them to stretch their stay for a few more days, if they negotiated with the innkeeper.
Kael stared, dumbfounded. “Why?”
“You invited me into your group, back then. When I was new to the city. Consider it repayment.” Lysander’s mother had instilled a simple code: repay kindness in kind. Kael’s initial gesture of acceptance, though perhaps self-serving, had been a kindness. The scuffle in the hall? That had been repaid in kind, swiftly and subtly.
“Still, I can’t just…” Kael began, trying to push the coins back.
“Then share information instead. Tell me what you know. About other cities you’ve visited. What to expect on the roads.” Lysander had learned much in Veridian, but his knowledge of the wider world remained thin, pieced together from fragmented Cinderkin lore. The scholar, his mother’s friend, had spoken of grander places, but little of the practicalities.
Kael’s eyes lit up. “That, I can do.”
For two years, Kael’s group had roamed, chasing the elusive promise of power. He knew the roads, the safe havens, the places touched by the blight, and the cities still clinging to their former glory. He sketched a crude map in the dirt, tracing lines between Veridian and neighboring settlements, murmuring names of beasts to seek, and others to avoid at all costs.
He spoke of crumbling bastions, ancient ruins where the blight seemed to seep from the very stones, hinting at the forgotten civilization Veridian rested upon. He warned of certain Noble families who guarded their territories with fierce pride, and of the growing superstition surrounding the 'Whispers,' the very blight itself, blamed on ancient transgressions.
But one piece of information snagged Lysander’s attention, striking a chord deep within him. A library, in a city called Eldoria, not far to the northeast. “Thousands of books, you say?”
“That’s what they say. Never been inside myself. Too grand for the likes of us.” Kael shrugged. “Only scholars and the elemental-touched are allowed entry, I hear.”
Lysander had learned to read from his mother, a skill nurtured in secret, with lessons drawn in the dust. Books themselves, however, were mythical objects, repositories of the world’s wisdom, whispered about in hushed tones. His ancestral home, a hidden hollow in the hills, offered no such luxuries. His mother often lamented the books she could no longer recall, the stories she wished to share. Now, thousands of them, within reach.
A new hunger stirred within him, deeper than appetite, more profound than the primal draw of elemental power. A desire for knowledge, for understanding. He wanted to know this world, the truth of its blight, the forgotten history that weighed on his Cinderkin soul.
“Is this enough for the Scales?” Lysander asked.
“More than enough, friend.” Kael smiled, a genuine expression this time.
Lysander had planned to leave Veridian tomorrow. Now, he knew exactly where to go.
---
The following afternoon, amidst the final hunt on Veridian’s edges, the quiet satisfaction curdled into dread. Lysander stumbled upon Jax, one of Kael’s companions, slumped against a moss-covered ruin. Blood, dark and viscous, stained the stone, bubbling from his mouth with each ragged cough. His eyes, already glazing over, sought Lysander’s.
“What happened?” Lysander knelt, his hand hovering, sensing the rapidly fading warmth.
“Rabbit… cursed thing… monster…” Jax gasped, a final, shuddering breath.
“Kael? Where’s Kael?” Lysander’s voice was urgent.
Jax weakly pointed. “Over… there…”
A few paces away, Kael lay. His eyes were wide, frozen in a silent scream, a look of profound indignation and regret etched into his features. Beside him, Borin and another companion were ripped apart, their bodies gruesome, strewn like broken dolls. A single, bloody tuft of Kael’s hair lay nearby, detached.
And then, movement. A flash of rust-brown fur behind a gnarled elder-tree. A rabbit, no larger than a house cat, its fur matted with fresh blood. Its eyes, twin points of malevolent crimson, fixed on Lysander. Its incisors, unnaturally long and curved, glistened, coated in gore. Hind legs, grotesquely muscular, tensed, digging into the soft earth.
It charged. A blur of speed, impossibly fast. Lysander threw himself sideways, a desperate, instinctual movement. The rabbit shot past where he’d stood, a crimson streak. With a sickening CRACK, the elder-tree exploded. Not from impact, but because the rabbit’s teeth had scythed through the thick trunk with surgical precision, leaving a clean, almost shimmering cut. The upper half of the tree crashed to the ground, scattering wood chips.
‘What… is that?’
This was no mere Corrupted Beast. This was something else. Lysander couldn’t afford to observe. He reached for his slingshot, a simple, unassuming tool, but in his hands, it became something more. A small stone, ordinary on its own, shimmered with a barely visible heat, its density subtly increased by the earth and flame that coursed through his blood. He drew back the leather, the air around the stone wavering slightly.