Universe Creation System: I Devour. I Build. I Rule!

5th Rotation of the Vorenith Cycle, 3448 A.E.Brinewatch, Slum District of Ashport

Kael woke to the sharp sizzle of fish in a pan and the scent of seared meat and herbs—bright, clean, and cutting through the shack's usual stink of mildew. Morning light slipped through the slats in the wall, casting a golden haze over the room. In the corner stood a gleaming new stove, a natural gas burner bought with floodmarks from Taryn's Goods. It looked almost out of place—like a piece of the inner city smuggled into Brinewatch.

His stomach growled. The E-rank Advanced Digestion talent inside him coiled and restless, never full, never quiet—but manageable now. It also proved itself to be useful. In just five rotations, he'd earned over five hundred drips—more than five full waves. It was over a year's worth of labor at Saltpier as an unawakened, and it had changed everything. Medicine. Clothing. Rich food. This stove.

He sat up, brushing his fingers over the new blanket spread across his straw mattress. Not soft, but better. Warmer. Cleaner.

Elira stood at the stove, her hair tied back in a rough braid of auburn and white, her spine straighter than it had been in months. She still looked fragile—gaunt cheeks, thin wrists—but her movements were brisk. Her green eyes caught the morning light and sparkled with something Kael hadn't seen in too long: life.

Sera sat at their new table—a real one, not the warped plank they used to balance on crates—kicking her feet and stabbing a spoon into a bowl of ashfruit like it was a game. Her cheeks were no longer hollow. Her laughter came easier. She grinned when she saw him.

"Kael!" she chirped, waving the spoon. "Mom's makin' fish again!"

Elira turned, smiling. "Morning," she said, her voice clear and steady. "Come eat."

Kael slid onto a stool beside them, fingers brushing the smooth wood of the table, still a novelty under his hands. A plate waited for him—crispy fish, its skin golden, and a heap of ashfruit drizzled with herbs. He looked from the food to Elira and Sera and felt something ease in his chest.

"Looks amazing," he said in a voice reflectant of Brinewatch's grit. "You're movin' better, Mom."

Elira touched his hand. Her fingers no longer trembled. "Because of you. This stove. The medicine. Sera's food. You've done more in five days than I could've hoped for in five orbits."

Sera beamed. "You're the best, Kael! Eatin' garbage and makin' money like a boss."

Kael laughed, the sound scraping out low and honest. "Ain't glamorous, but it works." He tore into the fish. Rich, hot, real. It didn't fill the void—nothing ever did—but it fed something else. Pride. Purpose.

"I've got rounds today," he said between bites. "Clients to check on. More drips to earn. I'll be back for dinner."

"Don't overwork yourself," Elira warned gently. "You've already done enough."

Sera leaned against him, warm and soft. "Bring more fish, though."

Kael ruffled her hair. "Deal."

He stood, tucking the fold of bills into the hidden pocket of his new pants. Five full flows and change—wealth in Brinewatch terms. His talent stirred again, eager, empty. But for once, he didn't mind the hunger.

He stepped outside. The door creaked shut behind him, and the thick, humid air wrapped around his shoulders, carrying the musk of starbloom vines and ash-dust. The slum buzzed with early voices, boots on stone, the hiss of boiling pots.

Kael walked into the morning light with purpose. He'd earned more than money this week—he'd earned hope. And he wasn't done yet.

****

Kael's boots thudded against sunbaked stone as he stepped into Taryn's Goods, the morning haze still clinging to Brinewatch like damp cloth. His gray shirt, newly laundered, clung to his skin. The shop welcomed him with the familiar scents of wax and dried herbs, grounding him like always.

His stomach stirred. The E-rank Advanced Digestion talent within him purred low and hungry—not just for food, but for more. More clients. More money. More proof he wasn't trash.

Behind the counter, Lira glanced up from a ledger, her silver eyes bright and knowing. "Right on time," she said, setting the book aside. "The blacksmith next door—Garrick—heard about you. Wants to know if you can handle non-organic waste."

Kael's brows lifted, a spark of excitement cutting through his hunger. "Non-organic? Like what?"

"Scrap metal, splintered wood, old chemical stock." She grabbed her satchel. "I've told them what you can do, but this is different—weapons-grade materials. Follow me."

Kael followed her out, his boots scuffing the dirt, to the blacksmith's shop—a squat, soot-stained building, its chimney belching faint mana-sparks. Inside, the air was thick with coal dust and molten metal, a forge glowing red.

Garrick, a hulking man with a scarred face and eyes that burned with an unnatural intensity, stood by a pile of refuse: rusted steel, splintered hardwood, and vials of acrid chemicals, some of the refuse glinting with bits of a metal that Kael didn't recognize. He had never seen anything like them in Brinewatch's slums. He couldn't tell how, but he knew they weren't just scraps. His gut told him those metals had power, and his talent stirred eagerly.

Garrick stood waiting. Massive, square-shouldered, and silent, he wore a sleeveless leather apron streaked with ash. His eyes glinted beneath his brow like a man who'd seen battle—and won. His presence felt heavy, like a higher life form, out of place in the exterior's decay.

"Show me," Garrick said, his voice low and solid.

Kael nodded, his stomach roaring. "Ain't picky," he muttered, as he reached out to grab a handful of rusted steel, but his arm was met with Lira's soft hand as she firmly grabbed it midway and stopped him.

"Wait," she said gently, her tone polite but firm. She turned to Garrick. "Sir, if I'm not mistaken… that's mithril. And that—" she pointed to a jagged shard tinged with green light "—that's orichalcum."

Kael was caught off guard. He was shocked and dumbfounded. He looked back and forth at Lira and Garrick with a stupified look on his face. Mithril? Orichalcum? He had heard of these materials in passing, but he never thought he'd ever see them, let alone eat them. These were materials that the S-rank talent holders used to harness and amplify their talents, and he—a slum rat—was about to eat them? This was beyond insane.

Garrick was familiar with Lira and her father, so he didn't take any offense to her bluntness. He understood her want to protect her friend. He replied, "Those scraps are the remains of weapons that failed reinforcement. They're worthless now. There's no need for you to worry."

Lira continued, unconvinced by Garrick's response. "Those scraps may be failed reinforcements, but they're not junk. Legendary-grade materials don't lose all of their value just because they failed reinforcement. Once Kael devours them, they're gone for good."

Garrick's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "They're worthless to me. No core resonance left. If your friend can make them vanish, that's worth twenty-five marks."

Lira held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded and stepped back. "Your call, Kael."

Kael hesitated—just a second—then stepped forward again. He grabbed a piece of steel. It was jagged and cold, cutting into his palm. He shoved it into his mouth, the metal scraping his teeth, his talent rising like a furnace in his gut. It fought him—denser, stronger—but broke apart, melting into bitter warmth that spread through his limbs. It left a bitter tang in his mouth and a refreshing feeling throughout his body. He moved to the wood, its splinters crunching, then the chemicals, their fumes stinging his nose. His stomach churned, the ache flaring before settling, the waste gone.

Garrick raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think you'd manage the orichalcum."

Kael wiped his mouth, breath ragged. "Didn't think I would either."

Just as Kael blinked, Garrick tossed a small canvas bag onto the workbench. It hit with a soft clink, not the crisp flutter of paper. Garrick wiped his hands on his apron and turned back to the forge, disinterested now. "Come back tomorrow. Payment's inside. Extra's for giving me a surprise. Haven't felt that in centuries."

Kael's brow furrowed. Centuries? Before he could open his mouth, Lira's hand clamped down on his forearm. "Thank you, Mr. Garrick, he will," she said quickly, sweeping up the bag. Her voice was polite, smooth—but a little too fast. "Come on, Kael. We're done here." She guided him out of the blacksmith before Kael had a chance to say anything of protest.