In the world of Veyrith, knowledge wasn't just power—it was currency. The threads pulled from the collective consciousness could be traded like gold coins or bartered for favors. A Seeker who discovered a method to grow crops resistant to blight might exchange it with a farmer in return for food, shelter, or protection. An artisan who uncovered a way to craft enchanted weapons might sell their secrets to mercenaries willing to pay handsomely for an edge in battle. Even language itself carried weight; certain phrases, when spoken in specific tones or written in arcane scripts, could stir magic into existence.
Books were among the most prized possessions in this society. Not ordinary books filled with mundane stories, but grimoires and manuscripts that contained fragments of wisdom passed down through generations. Some were practical—recipes for potions, blueprints for mechanical devices powered by Quartz Cores. Others were esoteric, detailing rituals to summon spirits or maps leading to forgotten ruins. These texts weren't kept on shelves out of sentimentality—they were investments, tools for survival in a world where ignorance equaled weakness.
Artifacts born from such knowledge were equally revered. Swords that glowed faintly in the presence of danger, amulets that shielded wearers from harm, lanterns that burned without fuel—all crafted using insights gleaned from the collective consciousness. But these items came at a cost. Crafting them required rare materials, precise techniques, and often sacrifices no ordinary person would dare make. Only those with access to deep reserves of knowledge—or wealth—could afford such luxuries.
And yet, despite living in a city brimming with innovation and discovery, Kael had nothing. No knowledge to trade, no skills to offer beyond menial labor. Mira's father, Gideon, had taken him in years ago out of pity more than anything else. In exchange for room and board, Kael worked tirelessly around the tavern—hauling crates of supplies into storage, scrubbing dishes until his hands cracked and bled, washing clothes stiff with sweat and grime. It was honest work, though it left little time for anything else.
But honesty didn't interest Kael anymore.
---
That night, after the last patron stumbled out of the "Rusty Anchor" and Gideon locked the front door, Kael slipped upstairs to retrieve the "Codex Umbrae." He tucked it under his coat before heading out into the cool darkness of Arathis. The streets were quiet now, save for the occasional bark of a stray dog or the distant clatter of wagon wheels. Fog curled lazily around lampposts, muffling sounds and distorting shapes until the city felt less like reality and more like a dream.
He made his way to the meditation chamber, avoiding the main entrance in favor of a side door hidden behind a cluster of overgrown bushes. The chamber was empty at this hour, its golden threads dormant, waiting for dawn to awaken them once more. Kael settled onto the cold stone floor, opening the forbidden tome carefully. Its pages seemed to hum faintly under his touch, as if alive with anticipation.
Last night's experience lingered in his mind—the void, the shadowy tendrils, the whispers promising untold power. He hadn't dared tell anyone about it, not even Mira. How could he explain something he barely understood himself? That instead of finding enlightenment, he had stumbled upon something darker, older? Something that fed on fear and uncertainty?
Kael closed his eyes, focusing inward. At first, there was only silence—the same emptiness that had haunted him for years. Then, slowly, he felt it again. The pull. The black tide rising within him, dragging him toward the abyss. This time, he didn't resist. Instead, he embraced it, letting the darkness consume him whole.
When he opened his eyes, the room had changed. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the walls, twisting into shapes that resembled clawed hands reaching for him. The air grew colder, heavy with dread. Whispers filled the space, overlapping voices speaking in languages he couldn't understand but somehow recognized. They called to him, urging him forward, promising answers if only he would listen.
Kael reached out, grasping one of the shadowy tendrils coiling in the air. Instantly, images flooded his mind—fragments of nightmares, echoes of primal fears. He saw faces twisted in terror, heard screams muffled by the void. And beneath it all, a single thread of clarity: an ability forming within him, raw and unshaped.
It was control. Over fear. Over uncertainty. Over the unknown.
To test it, Kael focused on the shadows themselves, bending them to his will. They responded immediately, pooling into denser forms, writhing like living creatures. He envisioned them taking shape—a wolf-like figure with glowing eyes, a humanoid silhouette with elongated limbs—and they obeyed, materializing briefly before dissolving back into mist.
His pulse quickened with excitement. This was real. Tangible. Unlike the vague threads of the collective consciousness, this power was immediate, visceral. Dangerous, yes—but intoxicating.
---
By the time he returned to the tavern, exhaustion weighed heavily on him. Still, he couldn't stop thinking about what he'd done. The shadows, the whispers, the sense of mastery over something ancient and primal. It was unlike anything Seekers described in their polished accounts of enlightenment. This was raw, untamed. A secret too dangerous to share.
Back in his attic room, Kael sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the "Codex Umbrae." For so long, he had envied those who could trade knowledge for comfort, for respect, for purpose. Now, he realized he possessed something far more valuable—but also far riskier. Knowledge gained from the void wasn't meant to be shared or exchanged. It was a burden, a curse. And yet, it offered him something he'd never had before: leverage.
As dawn approached, Kael drifted into a restless sleep, his dreams filled with shifting shadows and whispered promises. Somewhere, deep within him, a voice urged him to keep going—to delve deeper, to push further. To become something greater than himself.
Even if it meant losing everything.