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

Kael trudged through Brinewatch with fish and firewood bundled beneath his arms, the slum's ash-streaked streets dragging at his boots like a curse. The ground, still damp from the morning tide, sucked and slurped with every step. Shanties leaned into one another like drunkards clinging to survive, their rust-bitten tin roofs rattling in the sea wind, walls warped from years of storms and salt.

The air reeked—sour piss, fish guts, and a faint undercurrent of sulfur from the volcanic bones buried beneath Ashport. A constant reminder: Brinewatch sat atop dead fire, and those who lived here burned slow. No matter how far he walked, that scent followed. Like the past. Like fate.

Tomorrow was his sixteenth. The Awakening. His shot to escape. Or the end of all hope.

His jaw clenched.

One more day.

He reached their shack and nudged the warped door open with his foot. Hinges screeched like a wounded gull, and the inside greeted him with its usual stink of mildew and cold ash. Home.

Elira sat hunched by the rusted stove, her back a silhouette against the weak daylight. A torn shirt hung in her lap, and her hands worked a needle through it with patient, trembling movements. The effort alone looked like it might snap her.

Sera lay sprawled on the floor beside her, scribbling with a stub of charcoal on a scrap of packaging paper. A ship, from the look of it—tall sails and rough waves, drawn from memory or dreams. Her long black hair fell over her face, but her hazel eyes peeked up when the door opened.

Elira turned too, and despite everything, her face softened. Her green eyes, dulled by years of sickness, still held warmth.

Kael stepped inside and dropped his load on the table. The wood clattered. The fish gleamed faintly in the gloom, silver scales catching what little light trickled through the cracks in the wall.

"Got something," he said, his voice low but steady.

Sera shot to her feet and threw her arms around his waist, her thin frame nearly weightless. "Fish! You're the best, Kael!"

He smiled, ruffling her hair, careful not to let her see how tired he was.

Elira didn't rise, but her hand reached for the edge of the table, resting gently on the fish-wrapped cloth. Her fingers trembled slightly, but her voice was calm. "Sit, Kael. I'll have it cooked soon."

"I ate already," he lied, forcing the words past the hollow ache in his gut. "Just came to drop things off. Got something important to do—I'll try to bring more before sunset."

Elira looked up, brows tightening with quiet concern. "Kael…"

"I'll be back," he said, turning before she could argue. He couldn't bear the weight in her eyes. Not tonight. Not when he had nothing to give but hope.

Sera bounced after him and tugged at his sleeve. "Promise?"

He paused, then crouched, eye to eye with her.

"I promise."

Her smile could've lit the whole room.

He stood again, ruffled her hair once more, and slipped back out the door. It creaked shut behind him, swallowed by Brinewatch's chorus of wind and waves and the cries of gulls circling overhead.

The shadows reached for him again, cold and familiar.

But Kael kept walking, his promise burning brighter than the sunless sky.

Talent or not—he would find a way.

****

The door creaked shut behind Kael, sealing the warmth of home away with the scent of fish, smoke, and sweat. He stepped out into Brinewatch's haze, the slum wrapped in a sickly golden light filtered through a sky that never quite cleared. The afternoon sun hovered low, struggling to cut through the mist and grime that blanketed the coast like rot.

The streets, as always, were wet. Ash-streaked water trickled through the cracks of broken stone and black volcanic soil, sucking at Kael's boots with every step. His stomach let out a growl—low, mean, constant. It wasn't hunger anymore. Hunger was a need. This was something deeper. A void that learned to live with less.

Moldy crusts, fish heads, spoiled cuts—he'd eaten worse. Not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't afford to want. Every drip he saved was a promise kept: food for Elira. Warmth for Sera. He'd swallow anything to keep that promise.

Brinewatch sprawled around him like a carcass, ribs of driftwood and bone-white stone showing through its skin of rusted metal and rotting cloth. Children darted through narrow alleys, bare feet splashing through filthy puddles. One laughed. Another shouted. It sounded too loud, too hopeful—like a firework going off in a graveyard.

Kael moved fast, eyes scanning the gutters, checking corners. The dumpsters behind taverns were best hit after the midday rush. That was when rich stomachs got too full, and waste started to stink.

The fishmonger's stall appeared on the edge of the market, its canopy sagging under the weight of old rain. A man gutted something silvery and half-dead on a cutting board slick with blood.

"Any work?" Kael asked, voice steady.

"Not today," the man grunted without looking up.

Kael moved on.

He tried the cooper's shed. A cracked door, a barrel split in half on the stoop. No jobs. Then a talisman carver's, where the air smelled of old ashwood and sweat. No luck. His pouch of floodmarks felt thinner with every refusal. The day pressed heavier on his shoulders.

He turned into a narrow alley behind the Seafarer's Respite—a crumbling tavern whose patrons drank deep and left nothing but broken bottles and food they couldn't finish. The stench hit hard: sour ale, rotted meat, piss in the corners. Kael knelt by a rusted dumpster, pried it open with stiff fingers.

Inside: fish tails. A half-loaf of bread, crust hard as stone. A bruised pear, half-split but not crawling yet.

He ate quickly. The bread scraped his throat. The pear was bitter and half-fermented. But he swallowed every bite. The nausea that followed was an old friend, easy to ignore. He wiped his hands on his shirt and stood.

Not enough. Never enough. But it would keep him upright for now.

He turned east, toward the border between Brinewatch and Mudhaven, where the slums thinned into something slightly less desperate. There, tucked behind a sagging row of clay homes, stood Taryn's Goods—a squat building with real wood beams and a reinforced door. It didn't belong here. Neither did the girl who ran it.

The bell above the door jingled as Kael stepped inside.

The scent hit him first—dried herbs, wax, old leather, faint citrus from cleaning oil. A single electric lamp buzzed softly on the counter, casting amber light through the shadows. The rest of the shop was shelves and sacks, bottles and burlap, quiet and calm.

Lira Taryn looked up from behind the counter, a sack of grain in her arms. Her silver eyes widened a little when she saw him. A smile followed, small and honest.

"You look like you've been through a storm," she said, setting the sack down with a soft thud.

Kael leaned against the counter, elbows resting on the scuffed wood. "Saltpier," he muttered. "And trash heaps. Picked the good ones today."

She winced playfully. "Lucky you."

He hesitated. "Tomorrow's my awakening."

Her expression shifted—softened. She stepped closer, her braid swaying across her shoulder. "And you're scared."

He didn't answer. She already knew.

"You'll make it work," she said, voice low. "You always do." Her hand brushed his—just a graze, but it grounded him, sent warmth crawling up his arm.

She traced her fingers lightly along the jagged scars on his forearm, old wounds he rarely let anyone see. "These say you don't quit."

He looked away. "That wasn't strength. I just didn't want to die."

"You didn't die," she said gently. "And neither did I—because of you."

Her fingers lingered a moment longer, then slipped away. She reached under the counter and pulled out two small cloth sacks—one full of rice, the other packed with dried beans.

"Crates in the back need moving. You up for it?"

He straightened, nodding. "Always."

The storeroom was dark and warm, dust curling in the slatted light. Wooden crates were stacked haphazardly—candles, preserved fruits, root vegetables, old tools. Kael got to work, lifting, sorting, moving them where she needed. His arms burned. Sweat rolled down his back. The humid air clung to him, thick with the smells of dry herbs and wood glue.

But the weight was welcome. It gave the hunger something to fight against.

By the time he finished, his shirt was soaked, and his legs ached. He wiped his hands on his trousers and stepped back into the shop.

Lira was there, leaning against the counter, watching him. Her silver eyes caught the glow of the lamp behind her, and for a moment, she didn't look like someone born in Brinewatch. She looked like something stronger—like someone untouched by the rot.

As he reached for the sacks, she caught his hand in both of hers. Her grip was firm, her gaze unflinching.

"Kael," she said, "I believe in you."

His throat tightened.

"You're going to claw your way out of this slum, talent or no talent. I know it. But stop starving yourself for it. Eat. Sleep. You look like shit."

That broke something.

He barked out a laugh—rough, tired, real. She laughed too, and the sound filled the room, cracking the stillness like sunlight breaking through a storm cloud.

"Thanks," Kael said, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "After I register my talent tomorrow, you'll be the first to know. Promise."

Her hands held his for a breath longer, then let go.

He grabbed the sacks—rice and beans, heavier than gold—and made for the door.

"See you," he said, too quietly.

"Take care," Lira replied, the words following him like a whisper.

Kael stepped out into Brinewatch's fading light, the sky bleeding into gray. The air was thick again, but the warmth in his chest held fast.

Tomorrow would come.And whatever it brought, he wouldn't face it empty-handed.