"Six seconds," the supervisor repeated, her voice sharp as glass. She was young, perhaps mid-twenties, but her eyes held the cynical authority of someone who had seen too many Tier Zeros lie for a scrap of food. "Failure to comply is classified as hostile resource hoarding, Tier Zero."
Lorn did not move to open his sack. He stood rigidly, using the passive tension of the Gate Warden's Brace to hide his trembling.
"My find is real," Lorn said, meeting her gaze steadily. "It is enough Aetherite to run the barrier for longer than a week. It is worth more than the wages of every scavenger here combined."
He paused, letting the silence press down. Clork was vibrating with restrained fury, his chain ready to strike.
"If I hand the stone to Clork here, it disappears into his ledger, and I get a ration bar," Lorn continued, his tone flat, logical. "The Village gains its resource, but loses a potential scout capable of finding more. I need assurance that I can continue scouting the deep zones without being punished for breaking formation."
The supervisor's cold professionalism cracked slightly. A Tier Zero—a Trench-Rat who smelled of cemetery dirt—was demanding terms.
"Your terms?" she challenged, her voice a low hiss.
"The Organization recognizes my name, Lorn Cairn, as an active scout," Lorn stated. "I am exempted from the Common Quarters labor detail and granted immediate access to the infirmary for a proper assessment. In return, the entire find is yours, and I will report all subsequent finds directly to you, and only you."
The supervisor studied him, her sharp gaze taking in the impossible composure afforded by the Mental Fortress. She wasn't seeing a physical threat; she was assessing the psychological profile of an efficient, dangerous asset.
"Done," she snapped, cutting off Clork's sputtering protests. She pointed to a thin metal bracelet on her wrist. "The name is Vera. We honor agreements, Cairn. But one lie, one attempt at hoarding, and you will be sacrificed to the barrier generator."
Vera pulled a small, engraved knife and cut the canvas sack from Lorn's waist. She reached in and extracted the massive chunk of Aetherite Stone. The blue veins pulsed, throwing crystalline light onto the ash-covered ground.
A collective gasp went up from the huddled scavengers. Gris swayed, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and admiration.
"Clork," Vera commanded, not looking away from Lorn. "Take him to the infirmary. Ensure he is cleaned and fed. From now on, Lorn Cairn reports to me."
Clork's face was a study in pure hatred, but the badge of the three-pronged flame—the Organization's authority—was absolute. He reluctantly took Lorn's arm, his grip unnecessarily rough.
The walk through the village was different this time. The hostility was replaced by stunned silence. Lorn, the fresh Trench-Rat, had just leveraged a fortune and survived Clork's wrath.
The infirmary was a small, relatively clean room presided over by a harried, middle-aged woman named Talia. The medical assessment was quick and humiliating, but Lorn used the time to study Talia's focused, intricate movements.
[SKILL ACQUIRED: FIELD TEND (F-RANK)] Source: Observed systematic trauma evaluation by Talia. Description: A basic diagnostic and sanitation skill for quickly assessing minor injuries and avoiding infection. Mastery Level: 10%
The results of the assessment were predictable: dangerously underweight, chronically malnourished, Tier Zero—but possessing abnormally stable Aether-Flow reserves. The Eternal Core had masked the depth of his exhaustion, convincing the physician he was merely weak, not collapsing.
Afterward, Lorn was given a change of slightly cleaner clothes and a bowl of hot, nutrient-dense broth—the highest-grade ration he had ever encountered.
Clork returned Lorn to the perimeter of the Common Quarters after sunset, shoving him back toward the door with one final, hard warning.
"You won this round, Cairn. But the Organization always wins the game. You're a leash on my neck now, and I'll be waiting for you to choke."
Lorn entered the Common Quarters, the silence heavy with the gaze of the Tier Zeros. He was no longer just a Trench-Rat; he was now officially someone to be feared, or at least, watched.
He found Rath sitting alone, polishing his mangled left hand with a scrap of cloth.
"You're a fool, Lorn Cairn," Rath murmured, not looking up.
Lorn sat beside him, sipping the last of his broth. "I got us a week's protection for the Village, Rath."
"No," Rath corrected, his voice grave. "You got yourself protection from tomorrow's labor. You showed them your worth. You revealed your ambition. And now, you're on a very short, very visible leash."
He looked Lorn in the eye, his gaze sharp and ancient.
"You had a safe lie," Rath said, referencing the amnesia story. "Now, you have a dangerous truth. Vera will send you to places where the Aetherite is thickest, where the Wraiths and Demons are waiting to peel the skin from your bone. Your skills won't matter if the Organization decides your life."
Rath leaned back, the lamplight catching the scars on his face.
"But... you also bought yourself time," Rath finally conceded, a tiny, weary smile touching his lips. "And you showed every single person in this room that a Tier Zero Trench-Rat can bargain with a noble and survive. It was stupid. It was dangerous. But it was glorious."
Rath then lowered his voice, the weary smile fading into a grim line. "You asked how people ended up here, Lorn. Remember, everyone here in the area originated somewhere."
He leaned closer, sharing the dangerous secret he had withheld until now. "Take that chick you were with—Eiara. You saw the way she moves. She's no common scavenger. She's running low, but she has class. Her full name was Eiara 'Vana'. She's from a ruined noble household, a founding family of the Northern Citadel. She doesn't want us to mention her last name, but you should know who you're dealing with. Her story, as you might say, is tragic."
Rath settled back, the discussion closed. "Now survive long enough to use that glory, Lorn. Or it will be your epitaph."
The conversation ended there, leaving Lorn with the taste of both victory and dread. He was stronger, elevated, and utterly exposed.
To be continued...