Kael knew that walking through Barren and openly asking questions about Dissonance or a cure for the blight would be a spectacular form of suicide. In a place like this, information was not a right; it was a commodity, and ignorance was a vulnerability to be exploited. He needed to learn the rules of this new, ugly game before he could even think about playing. He needed to listen.
His search for a place to do so led him to what passed for the settlement's heart: a sprawling, grimy tent known only as "The Hole." It served as a tavern, a gathering place, and a den of whispered conspiracies. The air inside was thick with the foul, sweet stench of a crudely fermented crystal liquid that was the local poison of choice. Kael, fighting a wave of nausea, navigated through the throng of bodies to the makeshift bar, a long, uneven plank of petrified wood laid across two barrels.
He pulled out one of the few valuable items he possessed: a small, vibrantly colored crystal he had found in the Chime-Wood, its facets catching the dim light of the tallow lamps. He pushed it across the bar. The barkeep, a hulking man with a milky, unseeing eye and a latticework of scars where his eyebrow should have been, glanced at the crystal, grunted, and slapped a chipped clay mug filled with the murky, bubbling liquid in front of Kael.
Kael took the mug, the warmth of it seeping into his cold hands, and retreated to a dark, shadowed corner. He took a single, tentative sip of the drink. It tasted like sweet rot and regret. He set it down and focused on his true purpose. He made himself small, pulling his hood up to shadow his face, and he listened.
The noise of The Hole was a tapestry of desperation. He heard a group of grizzled miners complaining in low, angry tones about a new vein they'd struck in the peaks. They called it a "screaming vein," a type of crystal so infused with a chaotic, unstable resonance that it shattered their tools and sent maddening vibrations through their bones. One man showed his companion his hands, which trembled uncontrollably.
At another table, a pair of traders spoke in hushed, paranoid whispers about a Warden patrol that had been spotted near the pass, their perfect, harmonious glow a terrifying beacon in the gloom. They debated whether the Wardens were hunting someone specific or just making their presence known, a reminder that even here, in the armpit of the world, the Chorus Masters' reach was long.
Near him, two shadowy figures argued over a recent transaction. One accused the other of selling him a "Dissonant artifact" that had been a fake. It was just a cleverly shattered rock, not a true relic from the pre-Chorus age. The mention of a Dissonant artifact made Kael's senses sharpen. He was in the right place. He learned more in an hour of listening in The Hole than he had in his entire life in Lumina. He learned that the currency here was not just crystal or coin, but secrets, favors, and fear.
And through it all, one name kept surfacing, spoken only in a whisper, like an invocation or a curse. Vex.
When a miner needed to know which claims were truly dead and which were just difficult, he was told to "ask Vex." When a trader wanted to know the safest route to move unsanctioned goods past the Wardens' patrols, the answer was to "pay Vex." When a desperate soul on the run needed to know if their pursuers were still searching, they prayed they had something valuable enough to interest Vex.
Vex was a ghost, a legend in this cesspool of a town. A "Whisper Broker." The descriptions were fantastical and contradictory. Some said Vex was a powerful Resonator who had fled the Chorus Masters' purge of unorthodox thinkers, using a network of spies to gather information. Others swore Vex was a Dissonant, a powerful one who could literally "hear" secrets carried on the vibrations of the rock, a psychic eavesdropper. The only points of agreement were that Vex was dangerously paranoid, impossibly well-informed, and ruinously expensive.
Kael knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his gut, that Vex was his only real lead. He was done stumbling through the dark. He needed a map, and Vex was the only one who might have one.
He finished the foul drink in his mug, the last sip no better than the first, and made his way back to the bar. He waited until the one-eyed barkeep looked his way.
"I need to find Vex," Kael said, his voice quiet but firm.
The barkeep let out a harsh, grating laugh that sounded like rocks grinding together. "Do you now?" he sneered, wiping the counter with a filthy rag. "And I need a new eye. Looks like we're both out of luck." He leaned forward, his one good eye narrowing. "Vex finds you, boy, if your secret is worth buying or your coin is worth taking. And from the look of you, you ain't got either."
Kael had expected this. He had planned for it. He reached to his belt and slowly, deliberately, drew the Jag-Wolf fang. He didn't brandish it like a threat. He laid it gently on the rough wooden bar. The dark, serrated crystal seemed to absorb the dim light of the tavern, its latent power a palpable presence.
"This came from a Jag-Wolf I killed in the wastes," Kael said, his voice steady. "I did not come here to buy common gossip. I need to know where I can find more creatures like this. Strong ones. Ones touched by Dissonance."
He wasn't just asking a question. He was making a statement. He was selling a piece of his story, a demonstration of his capability, to prove he was a serious player. It was a lure, baited with his own violent past.
The barkeep's cynical demeanor evaporated. He stopped wiping the bar and leaned closer, his good eye scrutinizing the fang. He saw the expert serrations, the unnatural sharpness, the faint, dark hum of power within it. His gaze then flicked up to Kael's face, then down to his leg, where the edge of the silvery, scarred tissue was deliberately left peeking out from under his makeshift bandage.
The barkeep nodded slowly, a single, decisive motion. He picked up the fang, weighed it in his hand as if testing its truth, and then set it back down in front of Kael.
"Stay here," he rumbled. "Drink slow."
An hour passed. It was the longest hour of Kael's life. He nursed another mug of the vile drink, his body coiled with tension, ready for a fight or a flight. He felt a dozen pairs of eyes on him, on the fang that still lay on the table in front of him. He was no longer invisible. He was a curiosity. A target.
Just as he was about to give up, a small, urchin-like child, no older than ten, darted through the crowd. The child, gender indeterminate under layers of dirt and rags, didn't say a word. They simply slapped a small, folded piece of thin crystal-paper onto his table and vanished back into the throng before Kael could react.
His heart pounding, Kael picked it up. It was cool to the touch. He unfolded it. On it, drawn in what looked like charcoal, was a single, crudely rendered symbol.
A spiral, with a sharp, straight crack running through its center.
He looked up. The child had reappeared near the back of the tavern and was pointing a grimy finger toward a dark, narrow alleyway between The Hole and the next hovel. Then, they were gone.
It was the invitation. Vex would see him now.