The three brownish motes of Ant soldier Essence swirled lazily in the temple of Jonah's mind. They were quiet, but full of promise. He had the components, the spiritual blueprint of a tough, earthy creature.
He had the paint. But trying to create something with just paint resulted in a formless, useless smear. He knew, with an instinct that felt as old as his own bones, that he needed a canvas. A base. A foundation to build upon.
A strange new sensation stirred within him. It was a faint, almost imperceptible pull, a magnetic tug toward… something. It wasn't a thought; it was a feeling, a hunger from the empty lab in his head. It was searching for something with latent energy, something brimming with the potential for life.
He pushed himself off the bed. He had to trust this feeling. It was the only part of his new power that was giving him any directions at all.
Jonah slipped out of his room; his socked feet silent on the plush green carpet. The hallway was empty. The other Awoken were likely either asleep, dreaming of future glory, or too stunned by their new surroundings to move. But Jonah's Cinderfall instincts were screaming at him: don't waste time. Opportunity doesn't wait.
He followed the strange pull through the silent, opulent train cars. It led him past a lounge with chairs so soft they looked like they might swallow you whole, and through a dining car with tables set with gleaming silverware. Finally, the pull grew strongest near a simple metal door marked "STAFF ONLY."
The smell hit him. The warm, delicious smell of roasting meat and spices coming from underneath it. The kitchen.
He hesitated for only a second before pushing the door open.
The train's kitchen was a world of polished steel and chaotic energy. A cheerful, round man with a bushy mustache and a surprisingly tall chef's hat was humming to himself as he chopped a pile of glowing green mushrooms. On his wrist, a small, simple tattoo of a magic wand was visible. A Mage Mark.
The man looked up with a friendly smile. "Well now, what have we here? One of the new awoken? You lost?"
Jonah felt a blush creep up his neck. "I, uh, was just… exploring."
"Must be your stomach doing the exploring!" the cook boomed with a laugh. "Good! The Awakening takes a lot out of you. We're preparing a recovery stew. Full of ingredients to help settle your new powers." He gestured with his knife to the glowing mushrooms. "Lume-caps for energy, a bit of Razorback boar for stamina, and Sun-petal herbs to soothe the soul. An Elite fight with their body, so you've got to give it the right fuel."
Jonah's eyes widened. They ate magical plants and beast parts? In Cinderfall, they were lucky if the meat wasn't gray.
Seeing Jonah's interest, the cook's smile grew wider. He was clearly proud of his work. "Want to see the pantry? We've got all sorts of good stuff."
Jonah nodded eagerly. The pull in his gut was practically vibrating now, centered on this very room.
The cook led him to a large, walk-in refrigeration unit. The cold air that blasted out was clean and crisp. Inside, various cuts of strange-looking meat and bizarre vegetables were neatly organized on shelves. But Jonah's eyes were drawn to a simple wire basket on a low shelf.
In it sat a single, massive egg.
It was pale white, with a smooth, almost polished shell. It was easily four times the size of a normal chicken egg, closer to a small melon. It looked unassuming, yet the strange pull in Jonah's mind zeroed in on it like a compass needle finding north.
"What's that?" Jonah asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
The cook followed his gaze and let out a chuckle. "Ah, that thing. That's a Gale-Strider egg. Supposed to be incredibly nutritious, packed with kinetic energy. Good for agility, they say." He sighed dramatically. "There's just one problem."
"What's that?"
"You can't crack the blasted thing!" the cook exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "The shell is as hard as iron. I've tried a hammer, a cleaver… I even tried a low-grade fire spell, and all I got was a slightly warmer, very angry-looking egg. It's useless to me. More of a paperweight, really."
As Jonah leaned closer, the God Mark on his bicep, hidden beneath his sleeve, began to hum with a faint warmth. The energy was undeniable now. And with it came another crystal-clear message in his mind, a silent, internal whisper from his power.
` [Suitable Genesis Core Detected: Avian Type] `
Genesis Core. The canvas.
His heart hammered in his chest. This was it. This was the foundation he needed. The useless, uncrackable egg was the key.
He had to have it. But what could he possibly trade for it? He had nothing. No money, no status. He was just a dusty kid from the mines. His hand instinctively went into his pocket, a nervous habit, and his fingers brushed against something small and hard.
It was a rock. A small, fist-sized piece of iron pyrite he'd found weeks ago. It was worthless, but it was full of sharp, glittering gold-colored crystals. He'd kept it because it looked pretty. In a world of gray, he'd always been drawn to anything with a little bit of sparkle.
It was a stupid idea. A long shot. But it was all he had.
"Sir," Jonah began, his voice low and tight. He pulled the rock from his pocket. "You said it's a paperweight to you. Would you like to trade it for another paperweight?"
He held out the lump of fool's gold. The bright lights of the kitchen made the crystals glitter brilliantly.
The cook stared at the rock, then at Jonah's earnest, desperate face, and then at the stubbornly intact egg. A slow grin spread across his face.
"A weird rock for a weird egg?" he mused. He reached out and took the pyrite, turning it over in his hand. "You know what, kid? I like your style. It's a deal."
Jonah's shoulders sagged with relief. The cook handed him the Gale-Strider egg. It was surprisingly heavy, its shell cool and smooth against his palms.
"Thank you," Jonah breathed, clutching the egg to his chest like the most precious treasure in the world.
"Don't mention it," the cook said with a wink. "Just don't come crying to me when you can't get it open for breakfast."
Jonah didn't answer. He was already backing out of the kitchen, his mind racing. He didn't need to get it open for breakfast.
He rushed back to the silence of his private room, the heavy egg held securely in his arms. He had the blueprint. He had the foundation. The workshop in his mind was no longer empty.
It was time to build.