The first thing I learned about Riverholt wasn't its history or its layout. It was its noise.
We came over the final ridge just as the sun broke through the heavy grey clouds. Below us, the forest didn't just end; it had been murdered. The trees had been cut down for miles, replaced by a sprawling scar of mud, shanties, and black iron towers that puffed thick, yellow smoke into the sky.
The sound hit me like a physical wave. The clang-clang-clang of a thousand hammers. The grinding screech of massive gears. The shouting of men and the screaming of steam whistles.
To Kaela and Lysara, it was just loud. To me, it was a classroom I couldn't walk out of.
My eyes locked onto a massive wooden crane lifting a crate of rocks near the city gates.
Snap.
Knowledge flooded my brain. I didn't ask for it. I didn't want it. But the moment I saw the ropes and wheels, I understood them. I knew the rope was frayed three feet from the hook. I knew the operator was pulling too hard on the left lever because the wheel was rusted. I knew exactly where the weak point was and exactly how much weight would snap it.
I looked away, trying to clear my head, and my gaze landed on a blacksmith hammering a horseshoe in an open stall.
Snap.
I learned the rhythm. I learned the exact shade of orange the metal needed to be before striking. I learned that he was favoring his right shoulder because of an old injury, and that his hammer swing was slightly off-balance because of it.
It was dizzying. My gift—the Infinite Skill—wasn't a switch I could flip. It was an open door. Everything I saw, I learned. Every trick, every flaw, every habit. The city was screaming information at me, filling my head with a thousand lessons I didn't need.
"It smells like rotten eggs," Kaela whispered, pulling her cloak over her nose. "And burnt hair."
"Sulfur and coal," Lysara said, staring at the smog with wide, horrified eyes. She clutched her staff like it was the last piece of nature in the world. "The land is... dead here. The Silver Seam is choked. It looks like oil on water."
"Keep your heads down," I said, rubbing my temples to stop the headache. "And for the love of the Void, stop walking like that."
Kaela froze mid-step. "Walking like what?"
"Like a warrior," I said. "You walk like you own the ground. You swing your arms. Your chin is up. You look like you're looking for a fight."
I pointed at the road leading to the gate. A stream of miners was trudging toward the city. They were grey-faced, bent over, moving with a heavy, shuffling rhythm.
"Look at them," I said. "Really look."
I watched a man in a ragged tunic walking past.
Snap.
I learned his walk. It wasn't just tiredness; it was a specific way of saving energy. He kept his weight forward, knees bent, feet sliding rather than stepping to avoid the sucking mud. He kept his elbows in to protect his ribs. It was the walk of someone who expected to be hit.
"If we walk in there looking like healthy, proud village kids, the Guards will spot us in ten seconds," I said. "We need to blend in. We need to be invisible."
"How?" Kaela asked, looking at the miners with distaste.
"Slump," I ordered. "Round your shoulders. Keep your eyes on the mud, not the horizon. Drag your feet a little. Imagine you've been carrying a heavy rock for three days and you know you have to carry it for three more."
Kaela frowned, but she tried it. She let her shoulders drop. She let her arms hang loose. She shrunk in on herself.
"Better," I said. "But stop scanning the perimeter. You're hunting. Stop hunting. Just... exist."
I turned to Lysara. The Elf girl stood out like a diamond in a pile of coal. Her skin was too clean, her hair too bright, her ears too pointy.
"Hood up," I said. "All the way. Hide the ears. And Lysara... stop looking at the magic. Look at the dirt."
"The dirt is filthy," she muttered, but she pulled her hood down until her face was in shadow.
"I'm going to lead," I said. "I'll do the talking. If anyone asks, we're orphans from the Outer Seam looking for shift work. Don't speak unless you have to."
I changed my own posture. I let the tiredness of the three-day hike settle into my bones. I let my jaw go slack. I copied the miner's shuffle I had just learned.
It wasn't acting. It was mirroring. I became the thing I watched.
"Let's go," I muttered, my voice dropping into the flat, hopeless tone of the locals. "Keep close."
We merged into the stream of workers.
The city gate was an open mouth of rusted iron. There were Guards—big men in stained yellow coats holding spears that looked more like clubs. They weren't checking papers; they were checking pockets.
I watched the Guard on the left. He was shaking down a merchant cart.
Snap.
I learned his routine. He checked the left side of the cart first, then the driver. He never looked at the wheels. He tapped his foot when he was impatient. He was looking for coins, not trouble.
"Stay to the right," I whispered to Kaela. "Wait for the cart to block his view. Move when he taps his foot."
We waited. The cart rolled up. The Guard stepped forward to argue with the driver. Tap, tap, tap.
"Now," I signaled.
We shuffled past on the right, hidden by the bulk of the wagon. We moved with the herd, heads down, invisible in the grey mass of people.
We were in.
Riverholt was a maze. The buildings were tall, narrow shacks made of black stone and rotting wood, leaning over the streets like drunk giants. The sky was a thin strip of smoggy light far above. Clotheslines strung between buildings dripped dirty water onto the stones.
The noise was deafening. But underneath the machine noise, there was the noise of people.
I listened.
Two women washing clothes in a trough. Snap. I learned the local words. "Dust-lung" meant sick. "Shine" meant money. "The Pit" meant the mines.
A shopkeeper arguing with a customer. Snap. I learned the trade rhythm. You never accepted the first price. You insulted the goods, then the seller, then offered half.
My head throbbed. It was too much. The Infinite Skill was a vacuum, sucking up every detail, every skill, every pattern. I felt like my brain was being stretched.
"Ren?" Lysara touched my arm. "You're twitching."
"It's loud," I said through gritted teeth. "The city. It's... teaching me everything."
"Filter it," she whispered. "Like Miren taught you. Filter the noise."
"I'm trying."
We walked deeper into the slums. My stomach gave a loud growl.
We hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. The dried fruit was gone. We were hungry, cold, and broke.
"We need food," Kaela whispered. "I'm going to pass out."
"We have no Shine," I said, using the local slang. "And we can't steal. Too many eyes."
I scanned the street. I needed an opportunity.
I saw a crowd gathered in an alleyway. Men were cheering and groaning. Money was changing hands.
A game.
I walked over, signaling for the girls to stay back. I pushed through the legs of the miners until I could see the center of the circle.
A man with a scarred face was sitting on a crate. He had three walnut shells and a small, dried pea.
"Step up, step up!" the man shouted. "Find the pea, double your Shine! Easy as breathing!"
He moved the shells. His hands were fast. Blur-fast.
A miner slammed a silver coin down. "Left!"
The man lifted the left shell. Empty.
"Oooh, tough luck," the man grinned. He scooped up the coin. "Who's next?"
I watched him.
Snap.
I learned the trick.
He wasn't moving the pea. He was pinching it. When he moved the shells, he used his pinky finger to scoop the pea out of the shell and hide it in his palm. When he lifted the "winning" shell later, he dropped the pea back in.
It was a finger trick. A cheat.
I checked my pockets. I had one copper coin left. Toren had given it to me for sweets weeks ago. It wasn't much, but it was a bet.
"I'll play," I said.
The crowd laughed. The scarred man looked down at me.
"You got Shine, dust-rat?"
I held up the copper. "My whole week's pay."
"Alright," the man smirked. "One copper. Let's see if you're lucky."
He put the pea under the middle shell. He started to shuffle. Swish, swish, swish.
I watched his hands. I didn't watch the shells. I watched the tension in his pinky finger.
There. He pinched the pea. It was in his hand, not under any shell.
He stopped shuffling. "Where is it, boy?"
The crowd leaned in.
I reached out. I didn't point at a shell.
"Your hand," I said.
The man froze. "What?"
"It's not under the shells," I said loudly. "It's in your hand. Between your pinky and your ring finger."
The crowd went silent. The miners looked at the man.
"Open your hand, Horg," one of the miners growled.
The scarred man glared at me. "The kid's crazy."
"Open it!" the miner shouted.
Horg hesitated. Then, realizing he was surrounded by angry men with pickaxes, he opened his hand.
The dry pea rolled out.
The crowd erupted. "Cheat! He's a cheat!"
While the miners grabbed Horg and started to "discuss" his business practices with their fists, I reached onto the crate. I grabbed my copper coin back.
And I grabbed the pile of silver coins he had already won.
"Winnings," I muttered.
I slipped back into the crowd before anyone noticed the small thief.
I ran back to the girls. I held up a handful of silver.
"Lunch," I said.
Kaela's jaw dropped. "How did you..."
"I watched," I said, winking. "And he had slow hands."
We found a tavern called The Pick & Shovel. It looked like a hole in the wall, spilling yellow light and the smell of stale beer onto the street.
We pushed through the door. The heat hit us first—body heat, smoke, and the smell of roasting onions. The room was packed with miners coming off the night shift.
Nobody looked at us. We were just three more dust-rats in a city of rats.
We found a spot in the corner, near a pillar. I sat with my back to the wall. Kaela and Lysara huddled close, shielding me.
"I'm hungry," Kaela whispered. "That stew smells amazing."
"It's rat meat," I noted automatically. Snap. I had seen the cook in the back chopping something small and furry. "But it's cooked well. Safe to eat."
"I don't care," she said. "If it's hot, I'll eat it."
I put a silver coin on the table. A serving girl snatched it up and dropped three bowls of brown sludge and three heels of bread.
We ate. It was salty and hot.
But I wasn't here for the food. I was here for the voices.
I tuned out the clatter of spoons. I focused on the room.
Dozens of conversations. Arguing about pay. Complaining about the cold.
I filtered. Not that. Not that.
I looked for the mercenaries. The professionals.
There. In the back booth. Four men wearing black armor. The Containment Team.
They weren't shouting. They were speaking in low, clipped tones.
I couldn't hear them over the roar of the tavern.
"Ren?" Lysara asked.
"I need to hear them," I whispered.
I reached into my bag. I pulled out the Listening Cup—the hollow gourd with the bladder skin stretched over the top.
I waited for the serving girl to pass. I slipped under the table. I crawled through the sawdust and old bones on the floor, moving toward the back booth. It smelled of spilled ale and old boots.
I reached the wooden wall behind the mercenaries. I pressed the Listening Cup against the wood. I put my ear to the copper wire that stuck out of the gourd.
The vibration traveled through the wood, into the cup. The voices became clear.
"...charges are set," a deep voice rumbled. "We blow the entrance at first light."
"Is the kid still alive?" another voice asked.
"Doesn't matter," the deep voice said. "The corruption readings are too high. The whole shaft is rotten. We seal it. Bury the kid and the curse together."
"What about the locals?"
"Let them watch. Good lesson for them. Shows them what happens when you dig too deep."
"Dawn, then."
"Dawn."
I pulled the cup away. My heart was hammering against the floorboards.
Dawn.
I crawled back to my table. I popped up onto the bench.
"Well?" Kaela whispered.
"They're blowing the mine at dawn," I said. "They aren't trying to save him. They're burying him."
I looked at the window. It was late afternoon. We had maybe twelve hours.
"Where is it?" Lysara asked.
"Shaft 4," I said. I had heard the miners talking about it earlier. "West district. Past the crushers."
"That's the other side of the city," Kaela said. "And the ground over there is bad."
"We have to move," I said. "Now."
We left the food. We slipped out of the tavern. The stolen silver was heavy in my pocket, but the news was heavier.
We moved West. The city got uglier the deeper we went. The buildings became industrial—massive stone crushers, smelters, refineries. The noise was a physical vibration in the ground.
We reached the edge of the mining district. A tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire blocked the way. Beyond it, the ground was pockmarked with holes and piles of slag.
In the distance, I saw a broken tower leaning over a gaping pit. Yellow caution tape fluttered in the wind. Guards in black armor were setting up tents around it.
Shaft 4.
"That's it," Kaela whispered. "It's a fortress."
"It's a worksite," I corrected. "Worksites have schedules. They have shift changes. They have blind spots."
I watched the Guards.
Snap.
I learned their patrol pattern. They walked in pairs. They crossed paths every four minutes at the main gate. But the east corner—near the slag pile—was neglected. The ground there was soft, so they avoided it.
"We wait for dark," I said. "We go over the east wall."
"And the boy?" Lysara asked. "If he's rotten... is he even human anymore?"
I thought about the bear. I thought about the feeling of the Void energy rushing into me.
"He's scared," I said. "He's just a kid who woke up with a loaded weapon in his hand and doesn't know how to put it down."
I looked at my hands. The black veins were gone, but the memory of them was etched into my skin.
"We're going to get him out," I said. "Before they light the fuse."
We huddled in the wreckage of an old ore cart, waiting for the sun to set. The city of Riverholt churned around us, a machine designed to grind rock and people into dust.
My head hurt from all the learning. My legs ached from the walking. But the Hollow was quiet. It knew what was coming.
It was time to use the skills I hadn't asked for.
I watched a mechanic fixing a steam valve on a passing hauler.
Snap.
I learned how to over-pressure a boiler to cause a distraction.
Okay, I thought. Class is in session.