Chapter 12: The Seed Core

  Raven turned the small stone over in his palm, feeling the oddly polished surface, slick and cold like glass smoothed by running water. He had picked it up in desperation, hoping it might help Darryl. Now, it was just another mystery in a world that refused to make sense. He glanced at Uri, who stood watching him with that ever-present unreadable expression.

  “You clearly know something,” he muttered, shifting his grip on the stone. “What is it?”

  Uri flicked a finger toward it dismissively. “A trait stone. It’s a crystallization of a creature’s nature, solidified through ether.”

  Raven frowned. “You’re saying monsters drop these?”

  “Sometimes,” Uri corrected. “They only form if there’s enough ether in the area. But even then, they’re… lesser. They don’t hold the same depth as inherent traits.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Lesser how?”

  “They’re generalist in nature. More like a crude mould than something tailor-made for a person’s soul.” Uri stepped closer, tapping her temple. “An inherent trait is part of you, something tied to your essence. Trait stones? They’re just an overlay. They come with skills, sure, but they don’t evolve naturally with you. They don’t grow in the same way something truly yours would.”

  Raven glanced back at the stone. “So, you’re saying it’s useless?”

  Uri shook her head. “Not useless. Just… not optimal.”

  He turned the stone over once more, unsettled by the way it seemed to pulse faintly against his skin. Something about it unsettled him, like it didn’t belong to him—like it was foreign in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He thought back to Brad and the others, how quickly they had latched onto their own stones. But they hadn’t known what they were giving up.

  His fingers curled around the stone. For a moment, he thought about using it anyway. A free skill, something to boost his chances in this new world. But no—his gut told him this wasn’t the right choice.

  With a sharp exhale, he shoved the stone back into his pocket. “Not worth it,” he muttered.

  Uri arched a brow, mildly impressed. “Smart.”

  "Don’t worry," Uri said, her tone matter of fact. "The trait you already have will provide you with the skills you need to survive—at least until you unlock more of your traits."

  Raven’s fingers unconsciously brushed against his grimoire. His mind flashed back to the fight with the brute, to the way he had slipped through solid flesh like a ghost and reappeared behind it, blade in hand. The skill had come to him instinctively, almost effortlessly. If that was only the beginning, then what else could he do? If more skills like Phase were hidden within him, waiting to be unlocked… He could become something truly dangerous.

  “You said ether saved my life. I barely understand what that even means. If I’m gonna survive this, I need to know how it works.”

  Uri tilted her head, studying him for a beat before nodding. “Alright. You need to start with ether cycling.”

  “Ether what now?”

  She sighed. “All creatures naturally absorb ether from the atmosphere, but right now, you’re doing it passively. Like a leaky bucket catching rain. If you want to actually use it—store it—you need to cycle it through your body. Magic isn’t just grabbing ether from thin air. It needs to be refined.”

  Raven folded his arms. “And you’re going to teach me?”

  Uri smirked. “I’m going to try. Whether you learn or not is on you.”

  She gestured at the air. “Close your eyes. Try to focus on the sensation you get after you kill something—that tingling feeling in your body.”

  Raven hesitated but did as instructed. The room around him faded, and he turned his attention inward, searching for that strange pulse he had felt before. It wasn’t immediate, but slowly, he became aware of something—an energy moving through him, faint and subtle.

  “That’s ether,” Uri said. “Now, instead of just letting it drift, direct it. Focus it toward your core.”

  Raven furrowed his brows. “And where’s that?”

  “Near your heart,” Uri answered. “Picture drawing the ether inward, pulling it into one point.”

  Raven gritted his teeth and concentrated. The sensation was elusive, like trying to hold onto smoke. He could feel it moving, but controlling it was another thing entirely. The ether resisted him, slipping through his mental grasp every time he tried to force it.

  Minutes passed, his frustration mounting. He ground his nails into his palms, determined. He was sick of feeling helpless. Sick of losing.

  He exhaled sharply, forcing his mind to still. Instead of chasing the ether, he let it come to him, guiding it rather than commanding it. And then—

  He felt it start to gather. But in his excitement at succeeding, he lost concentration. The gathered ether slipped away, dispersing and flowing freely once more.

  Uri looked at him, a hint of amusement on her face. "You will know when your core forms. Don't try to rush it."

  Raven resumed his focus, drawing in a slow, measured breath. His body still ached, but the exhaustion was pushed to the back of his mind. He had spent his life learning to control his breathing while hunting, steadying his aim even as his heart pounded in his ears. He could do this.

  This time, he didn’t force the ether. He let himself feel it—the tingling, the ebb and flow of invisible energy moving through him like unseen currents in deep water. Slowly, he willed it to gather at a single point near his heart. At first, it resisted, scattering like startled prey, but he didn’t let his frustration rise. He kept his mind calm, guiding it rather than trying to control it outright.

  The sensation shifted. The ether that had once been elusive now started to coalesce, pulling inward like water spiralling into a drain. The more he focused, the denser it became. It gathered, compressed—and then, like the snap of a bowstring, something shifted.

  A pulse echoed within him, not a physical one but something deeper, something woven into his very being. A solid presence formed—a tiny core of condensed ether nestled just beside his heart. The moment it solidified, a warmth spread through his chest, faint but undeniable. It felt like an ember, a flickering source of energy waiting to be stoked into a blaze.

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  His eyes snapped open. He exhaled, his breath slightly unsteady, but there was no mistaking it. He had done it.

  Raven flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders. He still felt the lingering ache of exhaustion, but beneath it, there was something else now—an energy, a presence.

  If I had this sooner… maybe I could’ve saved him, no, this didn’t make him powerful. If anything, it only reminded him how much he still didn’t know.

  Uri’s gaze was on him, unreadable. She hadn’t expected him to succeed so quickly. “That was… fast,” she admitted, tilting her head. “Most people take hours, even days, to compress their first core. You did it in under an hour.”

  For the first time since the world had turned upside down, he felt like he wasn't just reacting but preparing, like he was taking control.

  Uri crossed her arms, observing him with an expression that was neither approval nor disapproval—just curiosity. “Now that you have a core seed, you’re going to need to maintain it,” she said, her voice returning to that same detached, informative tone. “It won’t do you much good if you let it stagnate.”

  Raven wiped a hand down his face, still adjusting to the strange presence of the core within him. “Maintain it how?” he asked.

  “By feeding it ether,” Uri explained. “It’ll fill naturally over time as you absorb ether passively, but that’s the slow way. Hunting monsters, fighting, and actively training will force your core to grow faster. If you focus on channelling ether into it regularly, it’ll expand. Once it reaches a certain threshold, it’ll evolve into a full core, and that’s when things get interesting.”

  Raven gave her a dry look. “Define ‘interesting.’”

  Uri smirked. “Once it fully forms, it won’t just be a storage tank. It’ll start spreading roots through your body, letting ether flow more efficiently. Your skills will activate faster, your endurance will improve, and your body will process the energy better. Right now, you’re just barely scraping the surface of what’s possible.”

  Raven processed that in silence, thinking about his ability to phase through enemies and phase enemies themselves if he could do it faster, automatically then he could be untouchable.

  His fingers tightened into fists. He had spent the last day reacting to the world, fighting on instinct, driven by rage and grief. Now, for the first time, he felt like he had a direction—a path to follow.

  But where did that path even lead?

  He let out a slow breath, staring at the boarded windows that filtered in fractured beams of late-afternoon light. He had lost Darryl. He had burned through whatever scraps of sanity he had left in a blind rampage. And yet, somehow, he had survived.

  His eyes drifted to Uri. She had saved him—dragged him here despite everything. But why? She could have left him to die in that alley, and yet here she was, helping him.

  Maybe she saw something in him. Or maybe she was just waiting to see if he would be worth the effort.

  Raven leaned back against the counter, running a hand through his tangled hair. His body still felt sluggish, not from exhaustion anymore, but from something deeper—a hollowness that settled in his chest like a stone at the bottom of a lake. He had done everything he could to save Darryl, and it hadn’t been enough.

  A bitter thought crossed his mind. What did it matter if he had a core, if he could phase through walls, if he could fight? In the end, the one person who mattered to him had still died.

  His fingers twitched at his sides, an old reflex from the days he used to ball his fists when things got too overwhelming. But there was no one to fight here. No lizards to gut, no goblins to carve into pieces. Just the silence of an abandoned shop and the woman who had watched him fall apart without lifting a damn finger.

  He inhaled sharply, blinking the thoughts away. He couldn't do this—not now. He couldn't afford to sit in the dark of his mind and stew in his failures. The world wasn't going to slow down and wait for him to be okay.

  He had to keep moving.

  But to where? And for what? Revenge hadn’t changed a damn thing. His jaw clenched as he looked at Uri again. She was waiting—watching. Probably weighing whether or not she was wasting her time on him.

  He exhaled. “Alright,” he said, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. “What do you think I should do now?"

  Uri hesitated before answering, and that was unusual for her.

  For the first time since she had met Raven, she wasn't sure what to say. She had watched so many creatures rise and fall across different cycles, had seen countless people either embrace or reject the path Asmodeus had intended for them. But this one?

  This one she wasn’t sure about.

  When she had first sensed him, she had been curious—a human bearing an exceptionally rare trait. That alone had been enough to catch her interest. But watching him fight, watching him burn with raw emotion, rage, and grief—it unsettled her. He had lost someone, but the loss had not tempered him the way it should have. It had hardened him, twisted him.

  She had hoped to guide him. Now she feared she would simply watch him break.

  He was watching her now, waiting for an answer, his dark eyes filled with barely leashed anger and something else—something she could not yet name. If he kept walking this path, if he didn't find something to ground him, she knew exactly where it would lead.

  She folded her arms, pushing the thought away. "You should finish what you started," Uri said simply, “The hospital.”

  Raven breathed out through his nose, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling. The hospital. The people inside. It felt like another world now, a past version of himself that cared about things like helping strangers.

  "What’s the point?" His voice was flat, tired. "Even if I go back, how do I know they’re still alive?"

  Uri’s expression didn’t change. "You don’t."

  Raven frowned. That wasn’t the answer he expected.

  "But if you do nothing," she continued, "Then you’re just letting them die. And after all the fighting you did back there, that seems like a pretty big waste. "Raven frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She leaned against a counter, her cyan hair catching the fractured light. “You went through all this trouble, slaughtered half the goblins in the area, and took out their leader. If there was ever a time to go back and actually help those people, it’s now.”

  Raven’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He had been running on anger, revenge, and desperation—never stopping to consider the bigger picture. But she was right. He had left the hospital surrounded, had seen the people trapped inside with no way out. If the goblins were still alive, they were probably reorganizing by now.

  Or worse, they were finishing what they started.

  He swallowed. “You think I can make a difference?”

  Uri smiled, her gaze steady. “From what I've seen so far? Definitely,” she said, her tone carrying a certainty that unsettled him.

  Raven wasn’t sure if he liked the confidence she had in him. It felt like she knew something he didn’t.

  “But” she continued, crossing her arms, “Just because you killed a lot of goblins doesn’t mean the hospital is safe. There might be even more by now.”

  Raven tensed. “How?”

  Uri exhaled through her nose, tired of teaching for now. After a moment of silence, she explained “The hospital is sitting on top of an ether sink.”

  Raven blinked. “A what?”

  “An ether sink,” Uri repeated, shifting her weight onto one foot. “Some areas naturally draw in more ether than others. Places where energy pools instead of dispersing. The hospital is one of those places.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “And that means what exactly? Stronger monsters?”

  Uri folded her arms. "Ether sinks don’t just attract more creatures," she said. "They accelerate them."

  If that was true, then survivors were fleeing to the most dangerous place they could. "What do you mean?" he asked Uri seeking clarity.

  "Ether-rich zones push evolution forward. A creature that should take weeks to grow stronger might do it in hours instead. That leader you killed? If something worse hasn’t already replaced him, it will soon.

  Raven’s jaw clenched. It explained why the goblins were better coordinated. “So, what, I can't just kill everything that shows up?”

  Uri gave him a pointed look. “That’s one way, but you'd eventually lose.”

  Raven crossed his arms, exhaling sharply. “Then what’s the better way?”

  Uri smirked. “Get to the heart of the pool, somebody has to.”

  Raven’s eyes flickered with cautious curiosity. “And what’s at the heart of the pool?”

  Uri shrugged. “Could be anything. A rupture, a natural convergence, an old artifact—whatever is anchoring the ether in that spot. If you find it, you might just be able to shut it down or at least control the flow.”

  Raven was silent, processing the information. If this ether sink was the reason why the hospital was overrun, then there had to be a way to stop it.

  “Sounds like a long shot,” he muttered.

  Uri chuckled. “Everything about surviving right now is a long shot.”

  She tilted her head, her eyes sharp with challenge. “But I thought you were the type to take those odds.”