Riven stepped inside.
The Beast Materials shop was quiet — no else besides him and a thin man, presumably the shopkeeper, were present.
The interior was long and rectangular, carved deep into the tree's trunk and reinforced with dark timber ribs and bands of dull metal.
Along the walls ran several rows of glass-fronted vitrines — broad display cases set waist-high and reinforced at the corners. Each row was clearly divided.
The first held Lower Feral beast cores.
Dozens of them, resting in shallow grooves, each surrounded by a faint shimmering distortion that rippled like heat over stone.
Above the row, a simple metal strip bore engraved text:
"Lower Feral Beast Cores".
Further down the shop were other sections — fewer items, more space between them.
Upper Feral cores.
Shelves of processed materials — horns, plates, glands sealed in lacquered containers.
And at the very back, half-shadowed, a locked section Riven didn't linger on.
The shopkeeper stood behind the central counter, arms crossed, frame relaxed but unmoving. His hair was tied back simply and his eyes tracked Riven without curiosity.
Riven stepped closer to the first row.
The shimmer around the cores distorted the light subtly. As he leaned in, he reached out without thinking — just a finger, just—
A sharp look snapped onto him.
"Don't."
The word wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
Riven froze, hand hovering inches away.
"Sorry," he said quickly, pulling it back. "I— I want to check affinity. First time buying cores."
The shopkeeper's gaze held him for a moment longer, measuring. Then his posture shifted — not relaxing, exactly, but changing.
"Affinity check," he repeated. "You should've said so."
Riven nodded. "My… instructor told me I'd feel it on contact."
That seemed to satisfy him.
"Fair enough," the man said. "One second."
He lifted one hand and made a short, precise motion.
The shimmer around the cores didn't vanish — it withdrew.
Like water draining into cracks, the distortion sank smoothly into the floor, tracing faint lines that Riven hadn't noticed before. Only then did he realize the light hadn't been coming from the cores at all.
It was an array.
A protective cover engineered with qi.
With it gone, the cores sat exposed — still, solid, quietly pulsing with their own restrained energy.
Riven leaned in.
Up close, they didn't look refined or polished the way pills or artifacts did. They were closer to raw ore — uneven, irregular chunks with fractured edges and subtle asymmetry, as if they'd been torn from something rather than crafted. Their surfaces were faintly glassy, catching light in dull, warped reflections, like frozen sap or half-melted crystal.
If you looked closer — really looked — color bled through that glass-like shell.
Not bright. Not blazing.
Just there.
The core nearest him carried a muted red glow beneath its surface, deep and steady.
He glanced down at the small metal tag affixed to the case.
"Fire".
Makes sense.
His gaze drifted across the row — a soft blue further down, pale green beside it, a dull yellow tucked into the corner.
Simple. Honest.
No flowery names. No exaggeration.
The shopkeeper's voice came again, calm and grounded.
"Go ahead," he said. "Don't rush it."
Riven swallowed once.
Then reached forward again.
The fire core was cool beneath his fingertips.
Solid. Dense.
Nothing else.
No spark. No pressure. No sudden revelation. Just the faint, inert resistance of condensed matter holding qi too tightly to leak.
Riven withdrew his hand.
Alright.
He moved to the next.
And the next.
Each core felt different in texture — some smoother, some rougher, some faintly warm or cool — but none of them answered him. No echo. No reaction. Just silence.
His expectations thinned with every touch.
By the time he reached the one marked Water, he wasn't hopeful anymore.
None of these elements seemed to fit the gold and silver markings in his bloodline.
Still, he placed his fingers against it.
The surface was cool — colder than the others — like stone pulled from deep shade. For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then—
A tug.
So faint he almost missed it.
Not external. Not physical.
It came from inside.
Like a thread drawn tight somewhere in his chest, pulled gently toward the core. No force. No compulsion. Just a quiet sense of alignment.
Riven's breath caught.
He pulled his hand back slowly, eyes narrowing.
That was… something.
But it didn't make sense.
Water?
He'd expect a blue colour in his blood vision then. Not the ones there were.
Shaking his head, he decided to first finish checking every core.
After all he did have two elements in his bloodline.
At leasts that's what he figured.
He moved on.
Earth was heavy, inert. Lightning seemed to prickle faintly against his skin but didn't reach inward.
Then he reached Wind.
The moment his fingers brushed the surface, the same sensation returned.
That subtle internal pull.
This one was different, though — lighter. Less grounded. Like something inside him had shifted its footing, leaning forward instead of being drawn.
Riven went still.
He closed his eyes for half a breath.
Wind.
Water.
Neither matched the colors he'd seen.
But both answered him.
When he finished, he stepped back, arms folding loosely as he stared at the display.
Silver. Gold.
He didn't know what those meant yet.
But whatever they represented… they clearly didn't fit into neat elemental boxes.
Still.
Vaern had said it plainly: you'll know.
And he did.
Even if he didn't understand why.
Riven reached into his pouch again.
Two spirit stones.
For a moment, he hesitated.
This was everything he had.
Then he exhaled slowly, resolve settling into place.
If he was going to move forward, this was the way.
He set both stones on the counter.
"One wind," he said. "One water."
The shopkeeper studied him for a long second — then nodded once.
Two elements might not be good afterall. This could get expensive.
That thought followed him as the shopkeeper wrapped the cores in layered sealing cloth and slid them across the counter. Riven tucked them carefully into his inner pouch, feeling their weight.
If this was only the beginning — if his bloodline truly resonated with more than one element — then he would need more spirit stones. A lot more. Far more than a core disciple's modest allowance.
Another problem to solve.
Besides.
He had a feeling he'd need more spirit stones either way.
If he wanted to have any chance at finding a good map in six months time.
He stepped back out onto the walkway, heading back toward the lodge.
But when he reached it, he didn't go upstairs.
The image of the empty bed from that morning lingered in his mind.
Too relaxed. Too careless.
He wasn't making that mistake again.
Instead, he turned toward the front desk.
"Do you have training rooms?" he asked.
The innkeeper glanced up.
He wanted to use the cores right now. And he'd need an isolated space for that. No chance of any backstabbing.
"We do," she said after a moment. "But they cost."
"How much?"
"One halfmoon coin per week."
Riven winced internally.
A week was pointless. They'd be gone long before that.
But with the banquet being tomorrow, he didn't know when else he'd find a chance to be alone.
Still—
He reached into his pouch and set a single crescent-cut greenstone coin on the counter.
"I won't need it that long."
The innkeeper studied him for a second. "Still one halfmoon coin."
He nodded grudgingly and she slid the coin away.
"Follow me." She grabbed a small wooden token.
Stepping around the counter, she led him down a narrower staircase this time, deeper into the trunk of the tree. The air grew cooler. Quieter. And the walls thicker.
They stopped before a plain door.
"This one's yours," she said. "Use the token in that groove to enter. There's a similar one on the inside."
Riven inclined his head in thanks and stepped inside.
The room was bare and functional — a circular space with smooth wooden walls.
No windows. No distractions.
Perfect.
The door closed softly behind him.
Riven exhaled.
He'd use the cores now and then return to the room with Ziren for the night.
Time to give this a try.