Chapter 38: The Forager's Worth

Caleb pushed open the plain pine door, stepping out of the archive’s cramped, dusty air into the cool, orderly space of the main storeroom. The clean scent of the sterile storeroom was a pleasant change from the smell of old paper that had filled his nose. The hours of intense study left his muscles stiff while his mind buzzed with the anticipation of finally getting answers. He took a moment to stretch, rolling the ache from his shoulders.

Selara was at a large wooden desk in the center of the room, a piece of furniture he didn't remember seeing before. Her silver-blond hair was tied back in an efficient bun, and she was writing in a thick ledger. A pen scratched methodically across the page as she cross-referenced it with another document. She finished her line of text, closed the book, and only then looked up.

"You're here." Her gray eyes were impersonal, her assessment purely professional. "Any questions?"

Right. No time for pleasantries. Now or never. Caleb composed his next words, knowing this was his opportunity to probe for information about his Soul Impartments without revealing too much. "Speaking of learning, I encountered some terms in the texts that confused me. There was something about... Soul-Bound Legacies? And I thought I read something similar, maybe a 'Soul Impartment,' but I'm not sure if they're the same thing."

Selara tilted her head, forehead crinkling. "Soul-Bound Legacy, yes. Standard terminology for hereditary bloodline abilities that can't be extracted or transferred. But 'Soul Impartment'?" She shook her head slowly. "I've never heard that term before. Where did you see it?"

Alarm bells screamed through his mind. Crumb, I’ve made a mistake! She doesn’t know! Does anybody know?! The thought of being a complete anomaly in this world sent a shiver down his spine.

He backpedaled with a forced laugh. "I... must have misread something! One of the older texts had some foreign language sections. The script was difficult to make out."

"Ah." Selara's expression cleared immediately. "You probably encountered Anima Legatum—the old Mythren'dir term for Soul-Bound Legacy. The script can be tricky if you're not familiar with it."

Anima Legatum. Caleb seized the lifeline gratefully. "Yes, that's the one!"

Relief flooded through him as Selara accepted the explanation without suspicion, continuing on.

"Anima Legatum—or 'Soul-Bound Legacy—refers to bloodline abilities that are permanently bound to a family line or species," she explained, flipping through the pages. "Unlike unbound bloodlines, which can be extracted and transferred through difficult alchemical processes and rare natural treasures, these powers are inherent and immutable. Dragon's breath, for example, or some of the more famous abilities of the Mistblood."

"The Mistblood?" Caleb's interest sharpened. That's what Narbok is always going on about.

"The Mycari's elite warriors, before the Dominion destroyed their kingdom." Selara's voice carried a note of grudging respect. "Masters of stealth and assassination, with an inherited power suite cultivated from rare species adaptations here in the Virethane. There are some in Deadfall who claim the bloodlines are alive in them, though..." She shrugged dismissively. "Most of the true Mistblood died in the battle defending their matriarch. What remains is probably just diluted offshoots."

"Some of the trainees I could be fighting in The Reaping Tournament claim the lineage—do you think they'll use them in the matches?"

"Probably. The Reaping tournament is when most young fighters reveal their true capabilities for the first time." Selara gave a small nod. "You'll find out soon enough."

Caleb groaned internally. Another unknown variable to worry about in an already challenging situation. He forced himself to refocus on the opportunity before him.

"There is one thing the books didn't mention that I've been struggling with," Caleb said, tone going somber. "Why do the Mycari hate half-elves so much?"

Selara’s expression hardened, the professional mask giving way to something colder. "Because this town, this entire province, is built on a betrayal. Before the Dominion, this was the Mycari kingdom. Their Matriarch, Vireth Almyra, and her Mistblood warriors were the most feared mercenary-assassins on the continent. Emperor Caelverax I—spirits curse his name—hired them, used them to win his wars, and then had them slaughtered when he no longer needed them."

The story resonated with the fragments he’d read, but her telling of it was laced with a venom the old texts lacked. "Here? This is where it happened?"

"This is where it ended," she corrected, her voice fierce. "The Dominion named this village 'Vireth's Fall' as a monument to their victory. The surviving Mycari didn't take that well. They began assassinating any official, any merchant, anyone who used the name. After a few dozen bodies, the Dominion decided a compromise was in order. 'Deadfall' was the result."

No wonder they're such jerks. I'd be angry too. The name wasn't just a horrid descriptor, it was a scar.

"The Mycari that are left," Selara continued, "hate the Dominion with every fiber of their being. And since most humans here are Raxi citizens, they hate humans by association. But half-elves..." She gave a grim, humorless smile. "They see you as a walking symbol of that betrayal. A constant, visual reminder of their downfall, their bloodline tainted by their conquerors. In their eyes, you're worse than a human."

Caleb absorbed her words, the deep, unyielding hatred that now made Narbok’s animosity seem so much clearer. It wasn't just bullying; it was generational fury.

Selara seemed to read the look on his face and her expression shifted back to business. "That's enough history for one day. Knowledge of the past is useful, but it won't keep you alive in the present. Your observation skills will. Time for a practical lesson."

She gestured toward a small wooden tray on the corner of her desk. On it lay six sprigs of what appeared to be identical green herbs, each with small, bell-shaped leaves. "Five of these are pristine-grade waxy bell-leaf. One was picked too late and has a touch of frost-blight. Find it."

Another test, then. Caleb squared his shoulders and stepped forward, his [Spiritual Perception] encompassing the six small plants.

Fortunately, the revelation was instantaneous. Five of the sprigs felt vibrant, their clean green aura tasting of earthen loam. The sixth, however, carried a different spiritual impression. Its spiritual signature was fainter, the healthy green now stained with a gritty texture and an unpleasant, icy taste that betrayed the frost-blight. He discerned the correct sprig in an instant.

Easy.

Caution spiked through him. Too easy. If he pointed it out instantly, she would ask how, a question he wasn't sure he could afford to answer. This wasn't the same as the training yard with Captain Hatch, where the danger of standing out was a known quantity. Selara had never even heard the term 'Soul Impartment,' which made his very existence an unknown variable. Advertising the impossible speed of his learning could invite the kind of attention that dissected anomalies to see what made them tick. He needed to be a competent apprentice, not an inexplicable prodigy. Not yet. Not until he knew he could trust her. Slow down. Act the part.

Caleb picked up one of the healthy sprigs, bringing it close to his eyes. He made a show of inspecting the edges of the leaves, rubbing one between his thumb and forefinger as if testing its texture. He set it down and repeated the process with three more of the good ones, a careful performance of elimination. Finally, he picked up the flawed specimen. His spiritual sense guided his eyes to a series of minuscule, dark spots near the stem, a physical imperfection he may not have noticed otherwise.

"This one," he said, holding it up. "The leaves are slightly more brittle, and there's a discoloration here."

Selara leaned forward, her eyes intent. She took the sprig and examined the spots he indicated. After a moment, she gave a single nod of approval. "Good eye. Better than most."

She set the flawed sprig aside and immediately picked up two of the pristine ones. They were, to his senses and his eyes, twins.

"Now, a harder question," she said, her tone unchanged. "Both possess matching spiritual properties and physical characteristics. Which one is safer to use in a children's remedy?"

Caleb used his [Spiritual Analysis] on both specimens, searching for any subtle difference in their signatures. The examination revealed nothing—they were spiritually identical down to the finest detail he could discern. Physically, they appeared to be exact twins.

"I..." He hesitated, his confidence wavering. "They appear the same to me."

Selara nodded sagely. "They are the same. You won't find this information in any of the books I've loaned you, as waxy bell-leaf grows on the other side of the world. Did your reading touch upon the treatises about the Veraxian Cycle's influence on rare flora?"

When Caleb said nothing, she continued. "A general principle every forager must learn is that the light of our two suns can alter a spirit herb's properties. Aurum's first light sometimes enhances healing and restorative aspects. Cinder's second dusk can do the opposite, strengthening a plant's defensive compounds, its poisons and toxins. The twin light of highsun throughout midday seems to have more of a neutral effect."

She held up the sprig in her left hand. "This one was harvested at first light, when the plant's natural healing compounds are at their peak concentration. Safe for children, gentle on the stomach, minimal side effects." She lifted the other sprig. "This one was harvested at second dusk, when the plant produces defensive alkaloids to protect against nocturnal herbivores. Still technically safe for adults, but it would give a child stomach cramps for hours."

He rocked back on his heels. His supernatural Abilities, growing Skills, careful study—none of it mattered if he lacked the fundamental context of when the plant was harvested.

"And that is the lesson," Selara said, her firm voice holding a teacher's patience. "It's why an alchemist's most valuable asset isn't a rare ingredient, but a trustworthy forager." She set both sprigs aside. "Your capabilities can tell you what a plant is, and its current state. They can't tell you its history, and sometimes, the history is what matters most. The forager's word is the guarantee this sprig won't harm a child."

"That makes sense," Caleb said, meeting her gaze directly. "The forager provides the one piece of information no Ability or book can replicate."

Selara acknowledged his answer. "You learn quickly. Most new foragers see only the ingredients, not the chain of trust required to use them safely. That alone puts you ahead of the curve."

He latched onto her mention of learning, hoping to pull some more information out of the opportunity.

"About those foreign texts I referenced before," he said carefully. "Do you have any books that might help with translation? I'd like to understand more of what I was reading."

Selara snorted. "Those foreign volumes were just filler to make the collection look more intimidating. Academic texts from dead kingdoms, most of them outdated by centuries." She studied him, her gray eyes calculating. "But if you're genuinely interested in expanding your knowledge..."

She gestured toward a locked cabinet against the far wall, its dark wood surfaces carved with protective runes that pulsed faintly with contained energy.

"My private library contains practical texts that Aurelian would never dirty his hands with. Field guides written by working foragers, tactical manuals from active delvers, requisition requests from alchemists that actually care about turning a profit." Her tone grew serious. "But access isn't free. Prove you're a good investment—show me you can apply what you learn in the real world—and I'll consider sharing what I know."

The challenge was clear, and Caleb felt a spark of excitement despite the pressure. He had come to The Golden Mortar for Aurelian's alchemical genius, hoping to find a way to earn more money and fast-track purging the Contamination that clogged his spiritual pathways. But the master alchemist was a distant peak, shrouded in arrogance and contempt.

Selara, on the other hand, was offering something far more immediate. His goal had been to use her as a path to her brother, but he now saw how shortsighted that was. Her offer represented the entire foundation he lacked. She was providing priceless, fundamental knowledge of how to survive in this environment, how to gather resources, and how to build the reputation needed to warrant not just Aurelian's attention, but beyond. He had sought a solution from the wrong person. Golden ticket indeed.

Caleb stood a little straighter and looked her in the eye. "I understand. Thank you for the opportunity."

"Don't thank me yet. Proving yourself won't be easy." Selara returned to her ledger, her attention already elsewhere. "Now go. I have work to finish."

Caleb stepped out into the fading light of highsun, the shop's front door closing with a soft thud behind him. The street was quieter now, the day's commerce winding down. He stood there for a while, letting Selara's lesson settle.

The forager's word is the guarantee.

Trust. Context. History. The words repeated with the significance of his earlier conversation. Selara, a worldly expert by his reckoning, had never heard the term 'Soul Impartment.' His very foundation was an anomaly. He was a man without history, and that made him understand her lesson on a visceral level. She was right; power without a foundation was just another way to fail. It was a lesson he should have known already. In his old life, he'd built a career on reliability, on being the person others could count on when it mattered.

Selara’s parting lesson connected with a truth he'd lived by for decades. The forager’s word is the guarantee. In his past life, that guarantee had been his entire career. He hadn't been a man of grand power or vision, but he had been reliable. It was one of the few pieces of his own history that he'd already established on Veraxus. His foundation here was a mystery, his Soul Impartments an unnerving blank spot on the world’s map. But for Leo and Corinne, he could be what he'd always been. Someone they could count on.

He thought of Jack's face the first time he rode his bike without training wheels. The look of terror mixed with desperate hope, trusting his dad to catch him if he fell.

I won't let you fall.

He turned toward the Hearthsong Inn, where two kids would eventually expect him to be their safety net. Leo and Corinne didn't have mighty legacies or elite training. They had him.

He would be enough.