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 room was a pleasant change from the musty odor 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. Caleb composed his next words carefully. "I encountered some terms in the text 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 defy extraction or transfer. But 'Soul Impartment'?" She shook her head slowly. "I've never heard that term before. Where did you see it?"

  Alarm bells rang 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 calligraphy 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, leaning back in her chair. "Unbound bloodlines allow for extraction and transfer through difficult alchemical processes and rare natural treasures. These powers are inherent and immutable."

  Inherent and immutable.

  The words snagged in Caleb's mind and suspicion took root. The World Soul had grafted something permanent into his very being.

  "While they are distinct in how they are obtained, they are functionally the same," Selara continued, her tone turning instructive. "The soul is a finite vessel. It can only anchor three unique bloodlines or Legacies. Once they take root, removing them is virtually impossible without shattering the soul itself."

  Three.

  The hunch ratcheted up into certainty.

  The emotionless void between worlds. The dispassionate, mechanical voice of the World Soul sounding in his mind.

  THREE SELECTIONS PERMITTED.

  It clicked. The limit was a fundamental law of the universe. [Perfect Memory], [Savant of the Mind], [Savant of the Body]. He had filled his soul's capacity for bloodlines.

  "That restriction is why the Houses and Guilds are so obsessive about lineage," Selara said, unaware of the revelation that had set his mind on fire. "Choosing which bloodline to invest in or join with is the most critical decision a family or organization can make. It defines the power the bloodline grants and the access it has."

  "Access?" Caleb asked, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.

  "To anima shards," she said, as if it were obvious. "Artificially created knowledge repositories. They allow the consumer to instantly learn complex techniques without years of training. But creating one requires the sacrifice of life force—the rarest commodity to trade in on Veraxus. Typically, only the incredibly wealthy will go through the effort of creating them due to how difficult it is to restore via treasures or alchemy. Those, and people on their deathbeds, trying to pass on an inheritance for their children."

  She tapped the ledger on her desk. "But here is the catch: you cannot absorb an anima shard unless you share the bloodlines of the creator. A Kaelix can't use a shard created by a Draha. The soul itself rejects it."

  Caleb processed the information, his mind racing. He was a clan of one. His "bloodlines" were unique to him, gifted by the System itself.

  "So..." he started slowly. "If you lack a bloodline? If you're a blank slate? Can those anima shards be used by anyone?"

  Selara shook her head. "No. They can only be used by others who lack a bloodline. In practice, being un-aspected should make it easy to create and obtain anima shards. The market would be the majority of people across the world. But think about it—who lacks a bloodline yet possesses the skill and the willingness to sacrifice their own life span to create a shard? No one. It's incredibly difficult and risky, and people don't get to the requisite levels of power and wealth without bloodlines." She gave a dry chuckle.

  And just like that, Caleb was locked out of the shortcut market. He would have to do this the hard way.

  "Dragon's breath is the classic example of a Legacy," Selara added, circling back to the original thread. "Or around here, some of the more famous Abilities of the Mistblood."

  "The Mistblood?" Caleb's interest sharpened, pushing the bloodline realization aside for later analysis. 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."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The story resonated with fragments he’d picked up, but her telling of it was laced with venom. "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 Mycari that are left," Selara continued, "hate the Dominion with every fiber of their being. And since most humans here are Caelveraxi 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. The hostility was generational fury, an enmity that went far beyond bullying.

  Selara seemed to read the look on his face and her demeanor 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 perception encompassing the six small plants.

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

  Easy.

  Caution spiked through him. Too easy. If he pointed it out immediately, 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 [Deception]. Finally, he selected 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 sample 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 natural 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, and careful study were all useless without 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 examples 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..

  "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 imported 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 knew 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 as merchants shuttered their stalls.

  He started walking, but his thoughts remained fixed on Selara's words.

  Soul-bound Legacies. Bloodlines.

  The terms rattled around in his head, colliding with fragments of overheard conversations and half-remembered taunts. Narbok's constant sneering about "pure blood" and "Mistblood heritage" transformed from empty posturing into a warning he had been too ignorant to understand.

  Caleb's hand drifted to his chest, as if he could feel the alien grafts the World Soul had burned into his soul.

  He'd assumed they were unique. Special. Now he knew they were just his version of what everyone else in this world took for granted.

  But mine don't match anyone else's. Which means I'm locked out of the shortcut market.

  Caleb's jaw tightened as he processed the scope of what he didn't know. How many of the tournament participants would have bloodline abilities? What did those abilities actually do? The Mistblood Legacy—stealth and assassination, Selara had said—but that could mean anything from enhanced reflexes to literal invisibility. Who knew what Narbok could actually do when the restrictions came off and the real fighting started?

  The sun dipped lower, painting the street in shades of crimson and shadow. Caleb's pace quickened as he turned toward the Hearthsong Inn.

  Leo and Corinne would be waiting at the stables after dinner. Two kids with basic training and whatever he could teach them in nine days.

  They're walking into an arena with wolves.

  His hand curled into a fist.

  I'd better make sure they're ready.