The days in the cistern, which they called the "Rusted Chain," settled into a new, strange kind of routine. It was a rhythm of hard work, shared silence, and wary coexistence. Kaelen was no longer just Kaelen; he was "the Decay boy," a walking, talking curiosity and a potential bomb.
Bramble kept him busy. The work was never-ending: reinforcing tunnels, clearing blockages in old waterways, breaking down salvaged metal for smithing. It was physical, mind-numbing labor, and Kaelen was terrible at it. His new body was weak, unaccustomed to strain, and he often fell into his cot at the end of the day feeling like he'd been trampled by a horse.
But it was during these tasks that he practiced. Under Bramble's watchful, critical eye, he learned to direct the void.
He couldn't lift heavy beams like Bramble, whose acid-weakened hands could still haul immense weight. He couldn't sense weak points in the stone like Thorn, who could tap a wall with a thorny finger and listen to its integrity. But he could age the rust on a stubborn bolt until it powdered away. He could weaken a section of collapsed tunnel so others could break it apart with picks. He was a living tool, a specialist in endings.
It was during one such task—weakening the mortar around a cracked support beam—that Wisp approached him. The boy had taken a shy liking to Kaelen, perhaps seeing another young soul out of place.
"Does it hurt?" Wisp asked, his voice a whisper in the damp air. He was fading in and out of sight, a nervous habit.
Kaelen paused, his palm resting on the cold stone. "Does what hurt?"
"The nothingness," Wisp said, becoming fully visible, his large dark eyes serious. "When I fade, it feels… cold. Empty. Is it like that?"
Kaelen considered it. He'd never had the words for the feeling. "It's… heavy," he said finally. "Like you're holding up a weight that wants to pull everything down into a quiet sleep. It doesn't hurt. It just… is."
Wisp nodded sagely. "My nothing is light. Yours is heavy." He then pointed at the wall. "You missed a spot. Left of your hand. The mortar's thicker there."
Kaelen focused, and sure enough, he found the spot, guiding a trickle of entropy into it. The mortar crumbled silently. He looked at Wisp in surprise.
The boy shrugged, a faint smile on his lips. "I see things when I'm faded. Things that are about to break. They look… tired." And with that, he shimmered and was gone.
This was how Kaelen learned the Unattuned's skills were more than party tricks. They were survival mechanisms, honed by fear and necessity. Bramble's acid could eat through locks or enemy armor. Thorn's toxins could disable a threat or, in tiny doses, numb pain for surgery. Wisp's fading made him a perfect scout. Morwen's role was less clear, but she seemed to know everything that happened in the city's gutters, her knowledge itself a weapon.
He was starting to feel a fragile sense of belonging when Morwen found him one evening after the communal meal of thin stew.
"We need to talk, boy," she said, her gravelly voice low. She led him away from the main fire to a quieter alcove.
"What is it?" he asked, a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach.
"Word's come up from the gutter," she said, her eyes glinting in the dim light. "The Church's search hasn't slowed. They're offering a bounty. A big one. For the 'Ashen Blight.'"
The name hit him like a physical blow. He'd heard them scream it, but to know it was now his official title… "How big?"
"Big enough that every cutthroat and bounty hunter in the city is sharpening their knives," she replied grimly. "But that's not the worst of it. The Hounds are involved. House Malkuth's personal trackers."
The memory of the Gevurah's earth-sense thrumming through the ground made him shiver. "They'll find this place."
"Not if we're careful. But that's not why I'm telling you." She fixed him with a hard stare. "The bounty notice… it has a description."
Kaelen's blood ran cold. "Of me?"
"Of a scrawny orphan boy with black hair, dark eyes, and a face that looks like it hasn't seen the sun in a decade. Which fits half the urchins in the city." She paused, letting the relief wash over him for a second before crushing it. "But that's not what's interesting. It's what else it says."
She leaned closer. "It says you are 'highly dangerous, capable of accelerating decay and aging matter with a touch.' It says you are 'a willing agent of the Outer Dark.'" She watched his reaction. "How would they know that, boy? Only those in the square saw what you did. The priests, the guards, the crowd."
Kaelen frowned. "They saw me turn stone to ash. They could describe it."
"Could a farmer describe the precise mechanics of a lightning strike?" Morwen countered. "They saw a result. They felt fear. They wouldn't use words like 'accelerating decay' or 'aging matter.' That's the language of someone who understands what you did. Someone who knows what your power is, not just what it looks like."
The implication settled over him, cold and heavy. "There's… someone else? Someone who knows?"
"Or something," Morwen said. "The Church's doctrine on Heretical Elements is old. Ancient. They didn't just make it up one day. They recognized what you are because they've seen it before. Or they think they have."
The world, which had momentarily shrunk to the size of the cistern, suddenly felt vast and terrifying again. He wasn't just a random mistake. He was a specific kind of mistake, one that had a name and a history he knew nothing about.
"What do I do?" The question was a whisper.
"You get better," Morwen said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You stop being a boy who has a power and become a man who commands it. Bramble and Thorn will train you. Not just to use it, but to fight. Because they're not just going to capture you, Kaelen. The bounty is for your head. They want you dead because whatever you are, they're afraid of it."
She left him there in the alcove, the weight of her words pressing down on him heavier than any stone he'd moved for Bramble.
He wasn't just hiding from the Church. He was hiding from a history he was now a part of. The void inside him felt deeper, darker, and more ancient than he'd ever imagined. It wasn't just his power.
It was his inheritance.
And someone out there knew exactly what that meant.