The air reeked of sewage and smelted iron. Seventeen-year-old Kael Veyne crouched beneath a crumbling aqueduct, his calloused fingers tearing into stale bread stolen from a Frostspire noble's trash. His bright brown eyes scanned the alley—rotfang hyena packs patrolled at dawn. Weakness meant death here.
A shadow loomed. A grizzled man in a patched hunter's cloak leaned against the aqueduct, chewing on a smokeless herb. Rurik, a mercenary with a serpent tattoo coiled around his neck, tossed Kael a waterskin. "You fight like a cornered rat," he said, voice gravelly. "But rats don't survive Dead Zones."
Kael ignored him.
"Garrick Ironvein wants you at Rose Gold University. Gave me this to shut up." Rurik flicked a recommendation letter stamped with a Terror-core seal. "But first, you'll learn to walk before you stab."
They left Ironreach at dusk, avoiding toll roads patrolled by House Frostspire's knights. Kael's stolen dagger stayed unsheathed.
The Ember Road glowed faintly, paved with dwarven rune-stones that absorbed sunlight. At night, they pulsed like veins of molten gold.
Essence Mutations: Trees bore crystalline leaves that chimed in the wind. A six-legged fox with obsidian fur darted past—its eyes glowed Beast-core blue.
Rurik knelt, tracing the fox's tracks. "First lesson: Essence seeps into everything. Mutates what it touches. That fox? Its pelt's worth ten silver marks. Its core? Fifty."
Kael scowled. "Cores are for sorcerers. I need steel, not spells."
"Fool." Rurik pried open a rune-carved locket—inside, a shard of Monster-core pulsed. "This powered the cannons that broke Lockstar's walls. Strength isn't just fists. It's knowing."
They camped in a hollow beneath a World Tree root—massive, gnarled, and humming with faint green light.
Rurik taught Kael to skin the obsidian fox. "Cut here. Essence-mutated guts poison you if ruptured."
They roasted the meat on sticks. Kael grimaced at the gamey taste. "Add this." Rurik tossed him a glowing moss. "Sunmoss. Neutralizes toxins. Tastes like ash, but you'll live."
Rurik gestured to the World Tree root. "You know why Saints are buried here? Their corpses leak essence for centuries. That's what Dead Zones are—graveyards of the godly."
Kael sharpened his dagger. "What's that to me?"
"Everything." Rurik tapped his own chest. "Body Ranks need cores. Enlightened? Beast-core. Master? Monster. Each rank lets you absorb more essence. But sorcerers…" He spat. "They cheat. Carve runes, skip the pain."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Pain?"
"To ascend ranks, your body breaks. Bones snap, muscles tear. You either rebuild stronger or die." Rurik rolled up his sleeve—scarred flesh pulsed with Abomination-core sigils. "I'm Master-rank. Took three cores and two near-deaths. Nobles? They buy pre-shattered cores. No pain, no gain."
Kael stared into the fire. "Weakness."
"Aye. But even the strong need this." Rurik tossed him a rune-stone. "Basic fire starter. Channel essence through it."
Kael gripped the stone. Nothing.
"Focus. Essence is in you too. Faint, but there."
A spark flickered. The fire roared. Kael dropped the stone, hand blistered.
Rurik laughed. "First lesson's free: Talent means nothing without control."
At dawn, they reached the Rotfen, a swamp where willows wept black sap. Rurik halted.
The water shimmered with bioluminescent algae. Croaking echoed—not frogs, but Veilwraith tadpoles, their translucent bodies squirming in the muck.
Ruins of an elven watchtower loomed ahead, strangled by vines.
Rurik crouched, inspecting trampled reeds. "Knights. House Frostspire's sigil." He pointed to a snapped banner: a silver stag impaled by thorns.
Kael tensed. "We fight?"
"We survive." Rurik led him through the swamp, avoiding quicksand pits. "Nobles hunt Veilwraith cores here. Mental Sorcery lets them erase rivals' memories."
Kael's lip curled. "Cowards."
"Smart cowards. That tower?" Rurik nodded to the ruins. "Elves built it to guard Tarrasque's Prison. Now it's a bandit den. Remember: Strength isn't just killing. It's choosing battles."
At the swamp's edge, they found a dying Veilwraith—a shadowy figure, its core (Monster-rank) flickering.
Rurik tossed Kael a jagged knife. "Finish it. Core's yours."
Kael drove the blade into its chest. The core burned cold in his palm.
"Now eat it."
Kael froze.
"Body Rankers absorb cores through the gut. Hurts worse than fire. But it's the only way to ascend."
Kael swallowed the core. Agony ripped through him—veins turned black, eyes bleeding. He collapsed, writhing.
Rurik watched, impassive. "Enlightened rank or death. Your choice."
At dusk, Kael awoke. His vision sharpened—he could count midges in the air. His muscles hummed.
Rurik nodded. "Enlightened. Now you sprint for hours, lift boulders. But one core's just the start."
Kael flexed his hand. "What's next?"
Rurik pointed west, where Rose Gold University's spires pierced the horizon. "They'll teach you sorcery. Runes. Politics. But remember—" He gripped Kael's shoulder. "Nobles will call you a weapon. Prove them right. But never their pawn."
As they neared the university cliffs, Kael glimpsed a Storm Leviathan circling offshore—a living Dead Zone, its Terror-core crackling. Rurik's warning echoed: "The strong don't fear monsters. They become them."