A palpable gloom descended upon the scavenger camp in the wake of Borin's perceived death. It was a fear colder and more persistent than the nightly chill of the Expanse. Borin had been more than their strongest hunter; he had been a symbol of survival, a rugged pillar of strength that made life in this desolate hellscape seem possible. With that pillar gone, the fragile structure of their community began to show its cracks.
Kaelen observed this decay with the detached fascination of a naturalist watching a carcass decompose. He played his part to perfection, a wounded, grieving orphan, moving slowly, his right arm held in a makeshift sling Elara had fashioned for him. His injury, which was already healing at an unnatural rate thanks to his enhanced constitution, served as a constant, visible reminder of his "proximity" to the tragedy, cementing his story in the minds of the others.
The new de facto leader was Loric. It was a role he was ill-suited for and one he clearly did not want. Where Borin had been decisive and commanding, Loric was hesitant and anxious. His eyes constantly darted towards the surrounding rock formations, seeing predators in every shadow. He spoke in clipped, nervous sentences, and his attempts to organize hunting parties were met with a new level of fear and reluctance from the other scavengers.
Kaelen understood that a direct power vacuum was inefficient. He needed the camp to remain functional, to continue bringing in resources—beast corpses—that he could potentially harvest. A scattered, starving group was of no use to him. He needed to manage the transition of power, guiding it in a direction that best served his long-term goals. The iron shank he had hidden in Loric's tent was the key to that manipulation.
The discovery came on the second day after Borin's disappearance. Loric, cleaning out the tent he had shared with the deceased Fenn, finally felt the hard, unfamiliar object tucked beneath the furs. He pulled it out.
It was the crude, ugly iron stiletto Kaelen had forged. It was stained with a dark, dried substance that could only be blood.
Loric stared at it, his face paling. He had never seen it before. It was not Fenn's; he knew all of his partner's meager belongings. It certainly wasn't his own. He was a man who favored the axe and the bow; he had no use for such a brutish, close-quarters weapon.
He emerged from the tent, holding the shank as if it were a venomous snake. "Whose is this?" he demanded, his voice tight with a rising panic. "I found this in my tent. Under my furs."
The remaining few hunters gathered around, their expressions wary. They all shook their heads. The weapon was unfamiliar, its craftsmanship crude and ugly.
"It's caked in blood," one of the men, a gaunt scavenger named Silas, pointed out nervously.
Elara came forward, her old eyes narrowing as she examined the shank. "This is not Borin's work. His hands were skilled. This is… crude. Desperate."
The seed of doubt, planted by Kaelen, began to sprout. Borin was supposedly dragged off by a beast. But what if that wasn't the whole story? A bloody, unknown weapon found in the camp's new leader's tent… the implication was ugly and unavoidable.
Loric saw the looks he was getting. The suspicion. The fear. "It's not mine!" he insisted, his voice rising in pitch. "I've never seen it! Someone must have put it there!"
"Who?" Silas shot back, taking a step away from him. "Who would do that?"
The question hung in the air, thick and poisonous. There was no logical answer. The paranoia began to fester. The hunters started looking at each other, old friendships strained by a new, terrifying suspicion. Was there a murderer in their midst? Was Borin's death not the work of a beast, but of a man? And was that man now their leader?
Kaelen watched the scene unfold from the sidelines, his expression carefully neutral. He saw Loric's panic, Silas's fear, Elara's thoughtful suspicion. It was perfect. He had shattered their trust with a single, well-placed piece of iron. A fractured, paranoid group was far easier to control than a unified one.
Over the next few days, the camp's social structure disintegrated. Loric's authority was non-existent. The other hunters refused to follow him, casting suspicious glances his way at every turn. The hunting parties ceased altogether. No one was willing to venture into the Expanse with men they no longer trusted. Their food supplies began to dwindle.
This was the moment Kaelen had been waiting for. With the camp paralyzed by internal conflict, he began his own operations under the cover of night. His shoulder, while still tender, had regained most of its functionality. The strength of a Phase 2 cultivator was more than enough to handle Borin's heavy iron-tipped spear, at least with his left arm.
He became a nocturnal predator. While the camp slept, he would slip into the wilderness, his new spear in hand. He was not just a scavenger anymore; he was a true hunter. He sought out lone Cinder-backed Crawlers, the Phase 1 beasts he now saw as little more than walking sustenance.
His first solo hunt was a revelation. He faced a Crawler, and the fight was completely different from the desperate brawl with Borin. He was faster, stronger. He could anticipate the beast's lunge, sidestepping it with ease. He used the spear's length to his advantage, keeping the Crawler at a distance, probing for weaknesses in its armored plates.
The fight ended not with a desperate, close-quarters struggle, but with a single, perfectly timed thrust of the spear into the creature's eye socket. It was a clean, efficient kill. He harvested the Impure Essence Shard, feeling the familiar, welcome rush of power, and then, remembering his cover, he carved out the physical Fire Core.
He didn't consume the shard immediately. He began to stockpile them. Night after night, he hunted, his skill with the spear growing with each kill. He was not just practicing a weapon; he was learning the art of the solitary predator. He learned to read the terrain, to use the wind to mask his scent, to understand the habits of the local beasts.
Within a week, he had accumulated four more Impure Essence Shards. His internal inventory now held one Cracked shard and four Impure shards. The camp, meanwhile, was on the verge of starvation, their days filled with whispered accusations and their nights with fear.
Kaelen knew this situation was unsustainable. He needed them to hunt larger, more dangerous prey—prey that might yield better quality shards. He needed to restore a semblance of order. His order.
It was time for the next phase of his plan. It was time to present the desperate, frightened camp with a new leader. Not a hesitant man like Loric, but a figure of quiet strength and surprising capability. A figure they had all underestimated. A figure like the quiet, wounded orphan who had somehow survived on his own while they all starved.
[STATUS UPDATE]
Current Realm: 1st - Crucible Foundation (Phase 2)
Void Corpus Stability Timer: 23 Days Remaining