The electric tang of the fermented grub faded from my tongue, replaced by the dull, metallic taste of the air in the Basin. I sat on the mossy floor of the hollow log, my chest heaving not from exertion, but from the sheer rush of power coursing through my veins.

  Level 2.

  My vision was sharper, the bioluminescent fungi outside the log resolving into distinct patches of azure and sickly green rather than a blur of light. My talons gripped the wood with effortless pressure, sinking millimeters into the bark without conscious thought.

  But the power came with questions.

  I had killed the first grub, the Level 1, and eaten it fresh. Result: Zero XP.

  I had killed the second grub, the Level 2, and let it rot for four hours. Result: Level Up.

  I needed to understand the math. Survival in the Basin wasn't about luck. Luck was a variable I couldn't control. Math was absolute.

  I narrowed my eyes at the blue pane. My throat clicked, dry and scratchy. I drove my will into the interface.

  The blue window flickered, scrolling past the attribute allocation screen.

  [COMBAT LOG: TARGET - MANA-GRUB (LVL 2)]

  Killing Blow: Beak Pierce (Critical)

  Base XP Value: 45 XP

  Larder Restriction: -100% XP (Fresh Kill)

  XP Awarded: 0

  I stared at the lines. The System was mocking me. It acknowledged the kill, acknowledged the value, and then stripped it away. It was theft.

  But then, the next entry.

  [CONSUMPTION LOG: FERMENTED BIOMASS]

  Source: Mana-Grub (Lvl 2)

  State: Fermented (Stage 1)

  Base XP Value: 50 XP

  Larder Bonus: +100% XP (Fermentation Bonus)

  Total XP Gained: 100 XP

  I blinked. My nictitating membranes slid across my eyes, moistening them, but the numbers didn't change.

  Twice the value.

  A normal monster would have killed the grub and eaten it immediately. They would have gained 50 XP.

  I gained 100.

  I did the mental arithmetic. To match my growth, the Biter would have to kill five grubs. He would have to risk injury five times. Expend energy five times. Roll the dice on death five times.

  I only had to kill once. And wait.

  I scrolled down further. There was a footnote attached to the [The Larder] skill description, one I had missed in my panic during the fall.

  [CLASS DESIGNATION: LARDER VARIANT]

  Role: Bio-Alchemist

  Description: The raw materials of the forest are toxic to your progression until refined. You do not feed; you dine.

  A Bio-Alchemist.

  The word felt alien in my brain.

  But the logic held.

  I flexed my feet. Black keratin clicked against the rotting wood. The sharp curves didn't look like instruments of war anymore.

  They were utensils.

  I looked at the jagged splinter of root I had used to impale the grub. It wasn't a trap. It was a plate.

  My siblings saw a war.

  I scanned the gloom.

  Walking steaks. Breathing XP

  Not enemies.

  Inventory.

  A dark, twisted amusement bubbled up in my throat.

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  The sound forced its way out, emerging as a low, clicking chitter.

  I stood up and paced the small length of the hollow log. The space was tight, claustrophobic, but it was mine. It was the kitchen.

  I checked the [Thorn Crafter] skill. It was greyed out, inactive.

  [SKILL: THORN CRAFTER]

  Status: Inactive

  Requirement: Raw Material (Wood/Bone/Iron) + Mana

  Effect: Shapes raw material into a System-Recognized Spike.

  I paused.

  The root splinter I used earlier... the System had accepted it, but barely. It was a "found object." To maximize efficiency, I needed to craft my own tools.

  I moved to the entrance of the log. The air outside was heavy with humidity and the scent of ozone. The Iron-Root Basin never really slept. Somewhere in the distance, a heavy thud shook the ground. Something massive moving through the trees.

  I ignored it. It was too big to be prey, too big to be a threat if I stayed hidden.

  I pecked at the wall of my log. The wood was old, rotting in places, but the core was still Iron-Wood. Hard. Dense.

  I needed material.

  I looked down at the debris on the floor. The remains of the grub were mostly gone, dissolved by the fermentation process, but the hard mandible plates remained.

  I picked one up with my beak.

  [Item: Mana-Grub Mandible]

  [Quality: Poor]

  [Durability: 5/5]

  [Description: The chewing apparatus of a larval insect. Sharp but brittle.]

  Not good enough for a spike.

  I dropped it.

  My eyes scanned the interior of the log again. Moss. Dirt. Dried leaves.

  And then, near the back, where the log narrowed into darkness, I saw it.

  Ribs.

  Not mine. Something else had died in here a long time ago. The bones were bleached white, half-buried in the humus. They were small, likely from a lizard or a rodent.

  I hopped over. The movement was fluid. My new Agility stat made me feel weightless. I didn't stumble. I flowed.

  I dug into the dirt with my talons, unearthing a curved rib bone. It was about the length of my wing.

  [Item: Bleached Rib Bone]

  [Quality: Common]

  [Durability: 12/15]

  [Description: Calcium structure. moderately dense.]

  This would work.

  I clamped my beak onto the cold calcium. Focused my intent.

  Activate Thorn Crafter.

  [Error: Insufficient Mana.]

  I checked my status.

  MP: 10/10.

  [Thorn Crafter Cost]

  Cost: 15 MP per spike.

  I hissed.

  My intelligence was 4.0. My Wisdom was 3.2. My mana pool was capped at 10.

  I physically could not cast the spell to make the tool I needed to level up.

  I paced again, the frustration rising. I had the ingredients. I had the recipe. I lacked the fuel.

  I needed to increase my MP.

  There were two ways to do that. Level up again and put points into Intelligence, or find an item that boosted mana.

  Leveling up required eating. Eating required a spike. A spike required mana.

  It was a circular trap.

  Think, I commanded myself. You are not a brute. You are a calculator.

  I looked at the skill description again.

  System Recognized Spike.

  The root splinter worked. Why?

  I recalled the moment I used it. I had jammed the grub onto it. The System hadn't recognized it as a "Thorn Crafter" spike. It had recognized it as a generic sharp object.

  [The Larder]

  Requirement: Impale prey on a [System Recognized Spike] (Thorns, broken branches, or crafted spikes).

  "Or crafted spikes."

  The "or" was the key. [Thorn Crafter] created superior spikes, likely with bonuses to fermentation speed or XP yield. But natural spikes worked for the baseline.

  I didn't need magic yet. I needed carpentry.

  I looked at the rib bone. It was curved, blunt at one end.

  I grabbed it with my beak and hopped to the entrance of the log. There was a patch of rough stone jutting out of the mud.

  I began to grind.

  Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

  The sound was rhythmic, soothing. It was work.

  I wasn't hunting. I was preparing.

  The bone dust coated my tongue, dry and chalky. I ignored it. I angled the bone, sharpening the tip against the granite.

  I worked for what felt like an hour. My neck muscles burned, but the burn was good. It was the feeling of progress.

  Scritch. Snap.

  The tip broke.

  I stared at the jagged end. I had applied too much pressure. My Strength had increased, but my control hadn't caught up.

  [Item Damaged: Durability 8/15]

  I adjusted my angle. I reduced the pressure. I started again.

  Scritch. Scritch.

  Twenty minutes later, the bone was sharp. Not razor-sharp, but enough to pierce soft flesh.

  I dragged it back into the log. I found a knot in the wood on the floor, a natural socket. I jammed the blunt end of the rib into the knot. It wobbled.

  I gathered wet clay from the log's entrance and packed it around the base of the bone. I stomped it down with my talons, packing it tight.

  I waited.

  The clay held. The bone stood upright, a pale, curved needle in the darkness.

  I looked at it.

  "System," I challenged. "Status."

  A pause. The blue light scanned the object.

  [Object Identified: Improvised Bone Spike]

  Quality: Poor

  Larder Compatible: Yes

  XP Modifier: +100% (Standard)

  Fermentation Speed: 100% (Standard)

  It worked.

  No mana required. Just labor.

  I felt a grim satisfaction. The System wanted me to rely on Mana, to be limited by my resources. I had bypassed it with physics.

  The workspace was prep-ready.

  The bone spike waited in the clay.

  The Larder was empty. To solve the equation of my growth, I needed biomass.

  Now, I needed prey.

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