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

Kael slipped back into the Talent Registrar like a thief returning to the scene of the crime.The mana conduits above thrummed coldly, blue light arcing overhead in clean, disciplined lines. Through the high, rune-glass windows, Ashport's midday sun pressed down, harder and hotter than it had any right to be. Mana-skiffs glided above the district like silent sharks, sleek and humming, a world apart from Brinewatch's grime and rust.

Kael lingered near the wall, avoiding the gaze of the gray-streaked Tester who was now finishing with a skinny kid clutching a healer's pouch. She didn't look up. Fine by him.

The ArkSeal tattoo on his palm buzzed faintly, a warm glow pulsing in time with his heartbeat.It still felt like magic.

He focused, mentally prodding at it. A translucent interface bloomed in his vision, subtle and precise—no clunky holograms or floating text, just thought-guided menus sliding into place. Listings from Ashport's Grays district flickered up again, the same ones he'd seen at the bank: one-room flats, dingy storefronts, old maintenance bunkers retrofitted into rentals. To Kael, they were all beautiful miracles. Any one of them would one million times better than the mud floor shanty shack his family has been living in for the past decade. 

One property caught his eye again—a storefront with an apartment above. 90 Dravaran Marks a month. First orbit came out to 1,300 total, deposit included. Not cheap. But for Kael? It was perfect.

The ArkSeal rendered it in 3D: concrete walls, old wood floors, actual plumbing, a stovetop, a solar-mana hybrid cell, windows with real glass. To a Brinewatch rat, it looked like a palace. His mouth went dry. Feels like I'm already standin' there.

With a thought, he pinged the seller. A curt male voice barked back—surprised at the sudden request, but not foolish enough to refuse it.

"Next." The Tester's voice snapped him back. The kid was gone. Her glare flicked toward him like a dagger.

Kael stepped up, raised his hand. "Hundred Marks," he muttered.

She scanned his ArkSeal, eyes narrowing. The system popped a request:

Confirm transfer: 100 DM?Kael answered with a thought: Yes.The number dropped—13,043 remaining.

"Paid," she said, already turning away. "Move along."

He didn't linger. Didn't curse. Didn't fight. Not today. He turned on his heel and sprinted out of the Registrar, the heat outside nothing compared to the fire in his chest. The ArkSeal's navigation flashed again, guiding him through Ashport's outer rings like a ghost in his bloodstream.

The storefront stood on a quiet corner at the edge of the Grays—gray brick and red tile, mana-lamps flickering over barred windows. Solid. Ugly. Real.

The landlord waited out front. Wiry, waxed mustache, wearing a too-clean vest and too many assumptions. His lip curled as Kael approached—mud-stained boots, sweat-soaked shirt, Brinewatch in every step.

"You booked this?" he asked, skeptical.

Kael didn't answer right away. He just lifted his hand.The ArkSeal flashed—Balance: 13,043 DM.

The man's mouth snapped shut.Kael smiled. "Still got a problem?"

Inside, it was bare-bones but clean. Shop downstairs, three small bedrooms upstairs. An actual toilet. A sink. Real doors. A window that opened. Privacy. Space. Dignity.Kael ran a hand along the wood banister. He didn't need the storefront to sell anything, but having a legitimate address was important, so customers could find him. Though, he questioned that now that he had experienced the ArkSeal technology. But it wouldn't hurt, either way.

No more sharing a room with Mom and Sera. No more pretending not to hear them crying, or bleeding, or struggling to keep it together when the food ran out. No more making excuses to leave so they would have space to take care of their private issues he knew they had, but was too awkward or embarrassing to talk about.Here, they'd have doors they could close. Walls that kept more than rain out.

"I'll take it."

The landlord didn't argue. He flicked over a contract.Kael confirmed. 1,300 Marks transferred.The ArkSeal hummed. The contract locked. A mana-pad flared. Kael pressed his palm to it. Runes pulsed, then faded.

The keys dropped into his hand. Cold. Heavy. Real.

For a second, he just stood there, staring at them. He didn't smile. He didn't cry.He breathed—deep, steady, as if for the first time in years, the world was letting him.

Then he checked the time. Garrick. The thought crashed through his chest like a club. Garrick's job, Garrick's mithril—he couldn't screw that up.

Kael bolted, sprinting back through the streets, ArkSeal feeding him the fastest route. As the buildings thinned and the roads cracked beneath him, he crossed the Outer City Gate—Ashport's stone giving way to Brinewatch's muck.

His boots slapped into wet grit. The stink of ashfruit and dead tide hit him again. He didn't care. He'd done it. A foothold. A real place. Not just for him—for Elira. For Sera.

He was dragging them out, one step at a time.And nothing—no Testers, no gangs, no Elandor-damned talent system—was gonna stop him.

****

Kael Voren tore through Brinewatch's narrow lanes, boots grinding volcanic grit, breath ragged in the salt-thick air.The orange glow of Taryn's Goods flickered past in a blur. Shadows stretched long as dusk bled into night, and every heartbeat pounded louder than the last.

Garrick's forge rose from the haze ahead, hunched and brooding. Stone walls charred with years of smoke, timber sagging under its own weight, and a thick coil of black smoke spiraling from the chimney like a signal fire. Kael didn't slow. He couldn't afford to—not with a man like Garrick.

He threw the door open.

Heat slammed into him—suffocating, metallic, alive.The forge pulsed with red light. Steel hissed in oil. Sparks leapt like fireflies across the soot-dark floor. Garrick stood at the center of it all, monstrous and still, hammer frozen mid-air, eyes locked on Kael like a nail about to be driven.

"You're late," he said.The words were simple. But the weight behind them was anything but.

Kael braced himself. "We didn't set a time," he said, too fast.

Garrick's expression didn't change—but the silence that followed was thick as molten slag.He dropped the hammer onto the anvil. The clang rang through the forge like judgment. "You're awakened now," he said, voice low and hard. "That makes you a man. And a man knows time ain't about clocks—it's about respect."

He stepped forward, the floor creaking beneath his boots."In the world of men, a missed time can mean a missed chance. A missed chance can get your people buried."

Kael swallowed. "I didn't mean—"

"Stop talking." Garrick turned his back. "You're here. That's enough for tonight."

Kael didn't breathe until the blacksmith reached back into the coals, drawing out a glowing rod with a pair of tongs. Then the question came, quiet but razor-edged.

"Those mithril scraps." His voice didn't rise. He didn't turn. "Where'd they go?"

Kael froze. He thought Garrick hadn't noticed. Thought maybe the scraps were beneath his attention. But of course he'd noticed. Nothing in this forge moved without Garrick knowing.

"I… I ate them," Kael said, voice barely above a whisper. "My talent. Digestion… it changed. I took them to test it in private."

For a beat, the forge was silent but for the crackle of flame.

Garrick didn't flinch, just nodded slow. "Knew it. I can see it in you—your potential's shifted."

He set the rod down, eyes hard. "If you'd sold 'em, I'd have gutted you myself or locked you in the basement to choke on scraps till you croaked. You dodged death by dumb luck, boy. Take it as a lesson—use your damn brain with folks you don't know. Not everyone's as patient as me."

Kael swallowed, nodding quick. "Yes, sir."

Garrick jerked his chin at a heap of metal near the wall. "Eat."

Kael moved. The pile was scrap—offcuts of copper, tin, even a few shining slivers of what might've been silver or mana-threaded alloy. He took a breath, knelt, and started. One by one, he devoured them. His talent stirred with every bite—metal breaking down in his mouth, dissolving with a warm, humming pulse in his core. He didn't stop until the pile was gone.

When he stood, Garrick was waiting.

He held out a coin. A Gold Mark. Clean, heavy. Real. Its gleam caught the forge's glow like a promise wrapped in fire.

"One a week," Garrick said. "Gold High Marks. Worth a hundred Dravaran Marks each. You show up on time, devour what I give you, and keep your mouth shut. You tell no one about this shop. You tell no one about me. You tell no one what you're doing here."

Kael took the coin. It was heavier than it looked. Or maybe that was just the weight of the deal settling on his shoulders.

"I understand," he said.

"Do you?" Garrick leaned in, voice dropping low. "This ain't charity. This is business. You screw up once—I'll know."

Kael nodded, fingers curling tight around the coin. "I won't."

Garrick turned away, already reaching for his next piece of steel. "Then get out. And next time? Don't be late."

Kael didn't argue. He slipped out the door, back into Brinewatch's night.

The Gold Mark pressed cold against his skin. His stomach still buzzed with consumed metal. His lungs burned from the sprint. But none of it mattered.

He'd made it. A deal struck. A door opened. A path carved in molten iron. And he wasn't turning back.