The path to power began with lunch.
Kael stumbled away from the training yard, vision tunneling down to a grey point. The metabolic crash proved immediate and brutal. His hands shook with a palsy he couldn't control, and his left shoulder throbbed, a hot, sickening pulse marking where the ligament had snapped.
He ignored the mess hall. The watered-down gruel wouldn't suffice. He required pure, concentrated fat, not volume.
Kael dragged himself to the Sutler's Camp, weaving through the tents until he found a butcher tossing offal to a pair of rib-thin dogs.
"Meat." Kael slapped a Silver Stag onto the blood-slicked counter. "High fat. Suet. Lard. Anything dense."
The butcher froze. He stared at the silver glinting on the wood, then up at Kael's gaunt face.
In the Black Rain, questions were dangerous; coin was absolute. The butcher snatched the Stag, biting it once to check the metal. He grinned, revealing yellow teeth.
"Silver talks," the butcher grunted, unlocking a reinforced iron box. "I don't care how you got it. You pay, you eat."
He piled product onto the wood: a brick of rendered beef tallow, a slab of smoked pork belly, and oily offcuts of mutton. He then counted out a fistful of copper coins—nearly eighty—and spilled them into a leather sack.
Pleasure doing business," the butcher smirked, wrapping the slick bundle in coarse brown paper.
Kael took the pouch. It dropped against his flank like an anchor. He cinched his rope belt tight to keep his trousers from sliding down under the sudden, shifting mass.
He found a blind spot behind a supply wagon and tore open the paper.
The tallow was a block of cold, solidified white suet. It looked like soap. Kael sank his teeth into the waxy block, tearing off a chunk.
The texture coated the roof of his mouth like paste. To a normal man, the grease would induce vomiting. To Kael, it tasted like survival. He chewed mechanically, forcing the congealed fuel down his throat.
Burn it. Patch the damage.
[ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ]
[ CALORIC RESERVES RESTORED: MEDIUM ]
[ INJURY DETECTED: LEFT ANTERIOR DELTOID LIGAMENT ]
[ INITIATING: SCAR TISSUE FUSION ]
The process felt less like healing and more like industrial repair.
Kael hissed through his teeth as the System diverted the crude energy to his shoulder. It fused the fibers rather than knitting them. He felt the heat, like hot wax poured into the joint to seal a crack.
The pain dulled, replaced by a stiff, wooden sensation.
He rotated his arm. It moved, but it clicked. The range of motion had tightened.
It's not fixed, Kael realized, testing the joint grimly. It's welded. One hard impact, and it would snap again.
A temporary patch on a sinking ship. But for now, it would hold.
[ The Next Morning ]
The real training began.
Garric paced before the twenty remaining recruits like a wolf circling a pen.
"You have strength," Garric barked. "But strength without breath is flailing. Today, we learn the foundation of the Guard: The Earth Breath Stance."
Garric dropped into a low, wide squat, feet rooted, hands forming a circle as if embracing a great tree.
"Breathe from the gut. Draw the earth's stability into your marrow. Align your bones so they carry the load, not your muscles."
Kael prepared to mimic the stance. The sack of eighty copper coins swung at his side, throwing off his center of gravity.
Subtly, Kael shifted the pouch, shoving it deep inside the fold of his tunic and tightening his rope belt until the rough knot dug into his iliac crest. It bruised him, but it clamped the copper firmly against his ribs, silencing the tell-tale jingle.
System, Kael thought, ignoring the pressure.
[ TARGET: EARTH BREATH STANCE ]
[ PROFICIENCY: NOVICE (1%) ]
[ OPTIMIZATION COST: 2 AETHER POINTS ]
Execute.
[ AETHER POINTS: 4 -> 2 ]
[ INJECTING NEURAL PATHWAYS... ]
A wave of hunger spiked, but the tallow he'd gorged on cushioned the blow.
Correction complete.
Kael's stance shifted. His feet rooted into the frozen earth. His spine straightened, vertebrae stacking into a perfect, load-bearing column. The burning in his muscles vanished, replaced by a dull, manageable tension. He stood rigid as a statue.
"Good," Garric muttered, passing by.
The instructor paused for a fraction of a second. He noticed the slight stiffness in Kael's left shoulder—the way Kael favored it, protecting the patch-job.
Garric said nothing. He gave a curt nod, respecting the grit, and moved on.
The session ended. Kael turned toward the gate. Now that he moved freely, the bag of coins thudded against his thigh with every step—a constant, grounding reminder of his secrets.
He headed toward the overlook of Ironforge City when a voice cut through the air.
"Kael?"
Kael stopped. He recognized the voice. It dripped with a concern that felt entirely manufactured.
Eren.
He turned. His younger brother stood there, dressed in a clean linen scholar's tunic that tunic that cost more than Kael had earned in three years. Eren looked well-fed, cheeks flushed with health—a stark contrast to Kael's gaunt, ash-grey complexion.
"By the Gods," Eren sighed. "Look at you. You look like a corpse, brother."
"I'm alive, Eren. What do you want?"
"We were worried." Eren stepped closer, his face arranging itself into a mask of pity. "Aunt Martha said you vanished. We thought you'd died in the cold. I told her, 'No, Kael is stubborn, he'll do anything to survive.'"
Eren smiled, opening his arms. "I'm glad you made it into the selection. Truly."
Kael stood stiffly as Eren embraced him. It wasn't a hug. It was a frisk.
He felt Eren's hands pat his back, then slide down to his waist. Eren's forearm bumped against the hard, dense lump beneath Kael's tunic.
The hug ended instantly. Eren stepped back, the smile vanishing. His eyes darted to Kael's waist.
"You're holding out," Eren whispered.
"I don't know what you mean," Kael said.
"I felt it." Eren's eyes narrowed. "That's a lot of metal, Kael. Heavy metal."
"It's equipment."
"Equipment clanks. Coin thuds."
The brotherly mask fell away. In its place was the face of an addict needing a fix.
"Scholar Valerius is holding a symposium," Eren said. "I need five Silver Stags for the entry fee. It's my chance for an apprenticeship."
"Five Stags is half a year's wages. No."
"No?" Eren let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You're walking around with a bag full of coin, spending it on god-knows-what while Aunt Martha coughs in a cold room, and you tell me no?"
"That coin is for survival. Not for your vanity."
Eren's expression hardened. He leaned in close, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Survival? A recruit with a bag of silver? That sounds like theft, brother. If I tell the Guard Captain you're hoarding stolen wages... they won't just kick you out. They'll hang you."
Eren crossed his arms, looking triumphant. He thought he had played the perfect card.
Kael stared at him. He remained still.
Slowly, Kael stepped forward, invading Eren's space until the scholar flinched back, unsettled by the coldness in Kael's eyes.
"Do it," Kael said softly.
Eren blinked, his smirk faltering. "What?"
"Go ahead. Walk to the Guard Post right now. Tell them I have stolen silver."
"I... I will!" Eren stammered.
"And when they arrest me," Kael continued, ticking the logic off on his fingers, "they will confiscate everything I have. The Captain will take the silver for himself. I will hang. And you?"
Kael leaned down, eyes cold.
"You get nothing. No silver. No apprenticeship. Just a dead brother and an empty pocket."
Eren's mouth opened, then closed. The color drained from his face. He realized the trap. He couldn't report Kael without destroying the prize he wanted.
"You need me alive, Eren," Kael whispered. "You need me to pay your debts. If I die, your source dries up."
Eren stood there, impotent and furious. His threat dissolved against the hard wall of Kael's logic.
"The bank is closed," Kael said, brushing past him. "Don't block the path."
Kael walked away, feeling the heavy thud of the coins against his leg. He had a beast to feed, and it wasn't his brother.