The Valerius Word Eater

To keep growing momentum, here is a High Fantasy story about a unique and dangerous profession.

The Word-Eater of Valerius

In the floating city of Valerius, secrets were physical things. They manifested as small, glowing beetles that crawled out of a person’s ear when they told a lie. Kaelen was the city’s only licensed "Word-Eater." His job was to find these beetles and consume them before they could burrow into the clouds and rot the city’s foundation.

Kaelen sat in the Royal Archive of Valerius, his stomach churning. He had just swallowed a particularly jagged lie from the High Priest—something about a missing tribute of gold. It tasted like bitter almonds and rusted iron.

"The city is full of them lately," Kaelen groaned, his skin glowing a faint, sickly green. "People are lying about the weather, their taxes, even their names. The foundation is shaking."

As he spoke, a massive, obsidian-colored beetle skittered across the floor. It was the largest Kaelen had ever seen. It didn't come from a peasant or a priest; it had crawled out from under the throne itself.

He caught the beetle at the edge of the balcony. As he swallowed it, the weight of the lie hit him like a physical blow. The King hadn't built the city on magic; he had built it on a debt to the Shadow Realm.

Kaelen’s eyes turned pitch black. He could feel the city tilting. He had a choice: keep the secret and let the city float on a lie, or speak the truth and watch it crash into the sea. He looked at Lyra, who was watching him with hope.

Kaelen opened his mouth. He didn't speak; he roared. A swarm of white moths—the physical form of truth—poured from his throat. The city plummeted for a terrifying minute before the moths caught the underside of the towers, spinning a new web of light. Valerius was no longer a golden city of lies; it was a humble city of glass, grounded and honest for the first time in a thousand years.