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

Rotation 25, Seraphyne Cycle, 3448 A.E.

Kael's Sixteenth Birthday

The shack was still.

No wind, no movement—just the long sigh of waves crashing far off beyond Brinewatch's broken edge. The darkness inside was total, split only by the faint moan of wood settling beneath the night's cold breath.

Kael lay on the straw mattress, Sera curled against him like a bird seeking warmth. Her breaths were soft, even. His mother lay a few paces away, hidden beneath her threadbare blanket, her chest rising and falling with brittle effort. The air smelled of mildew, ash, and yesterday's rice—thinned out by time, but lingering.

And then something changed.

A warmth bloomed low in his chest. Gentle at first. Like a match struck in the dark. It pulsed once, slow and deep. Not pain—just presence. Something waking. Something ancient and immense.

Kael's eyes snapped open.

For a moment, all was still.

Then the warmth twisted.

It surged outward, clawing through his limbs like fire, hot and raw and alive. It wasn't pain. Not exactly. But it hollowed him out from the inside like a furnace starved of fuel. His stomach clenched, and a wild, ravenous hunger ignited in its place—not the dull ache of Brinewatch's daily famine.

No.This was primal.This was need.

He doubled over, trembling, hands clutching his gut as if he could hold it all in.

Sera stirred beside him, sitting up fast. "Kael?" she whispered. Her eyes glinted in the dark, wide and worried. "Kael, what's wrong?"

He couldn't answer. His mouth was too dry. His thoughts too loud. Every breath felt like it cost something.

Elira was already moving—pushing herself upright, coughing through the strain. "Kael." Her voice was thin but urgent. "Is it… your Awakening?"

He forced a nod, though his jaw had locked. His fingers dug into the straw mattress. Sparks danced behind his eyes.

He stood—too fast—stumbling toward the table, his legs barely listening.

The sacks were still there. What little food remained.

He tore them open with shaking hands.

Dry rice spilled across the plank. Beans rattled to the floor. He grabbed a handful, cramming it into his mouth. The grains cracked like gravel. He didn't taste them—he just needed them gone. His throat worked in jerks. Another handful. Then another.

But the hunger only screamed louder.

His body convulsed with urgency. Not enough. Nowhere near enough.

His eyes darted to the dented tin cup.

He snatched it up and bit down—hard. The metal screamed between his teeth. Something inside him pulsed, and suddenly the cup didn't resist. It dissolved on his tongue, disintegrating into a warm, metallic wash.

Sera gasped.

"Kael—what are you doing?!" she cried, scrambling to her feet.

Elira reached for him, unsteady. "Stop! You'll hurt yourself!"

But Kael couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. The hunger was in his blood now, and it wanted everything.

He reached down, grabbed a broken chair leg, and bit. Wood splintered between his molars. His jaw ached, but he chewed it down, swallowed it. Every breath came faster. A cracked plate followed. Then a spoon.

Sera sobbed from the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees. "Kael, please—please stop! You're scaring me!"

He froze.Her voice broke through the noise.Like light cutting through a storm.

His hands fell open.

Splinters dropped from his lips.

The hunger still thrashed inside him, a beast only briefly sated. But for the first time, he felt it listening—not gone, not defeated, but... leashed. Barely.

He sank to the floor, the dirt cool beneath his hands.

Elira knelt beside him, her breathing rough. She touched his arm—barely a brush—but it grounded him.

"You're burning up," she whispered. "Whatever this is, Kael… you're still you."

"I think…" he rasped, blinking through sweat. "I think I just awakened."

They sat there in silence, the shack stripped bare—food gone, chair broken, cup dissolved. The candle flame sputtered, casting the walls in long, stretched shadows.

Kael looked up at Sera, who still hadn't moved from the corner. She stared at him like he might disappear.

His fists clenched.

The first threads of dawn crept through the shack's gaps, gray and cold and new.

Kael stood slowly, body trembling but intact. His voice was hoarse, but sure. "I'll be back before lunch. With food."

Elira caught his hand, squeezing gently. "Be careful," she said. "Whatever this is... it's still you."

Sera crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his ribs.

"Don't eat any more chairs, okay?" she whispered, her voice thin.

Kael laughed, a breathless sound that cracked in his throat. "No promises, kid."

He stepped into the light, the mud-slick streets of Brinewatch waiting like an open wound.

The hunger stirred beneath his skin, quiet—for now.

But he felt it.Waiting.Watching.Ready.

It wasn't a talent made to help him survive.It was a talent that demanded he devour the world to do it.

And he would.

****

The shack door groaned closed behind him, and Kael set off into the muddy dark.

Three full KiloElons1. No tram. No bike. Just wet feet, burning calves, and the gnawing void of a hunger that hadn't quieted since his awakening.

The path from Brinewatch to the Grays was more swamp than street—shanty homes leaning like drunks in a gutter, their patchwork walls rattling in the wind. The air reeked of rot, old piss, and driftwood mildew. Barefoot kids chased a dented can through ankle-deep sludge. Gang enforcers lounged at corners, watching with the patience of men who'd long stopped caring. And the dust-heads—gods, the dust-heads. Wasted on psyche powder and blue haze, they lay twitching in gutters and curled in alleys like broken puppets, eyes rolled to the ceiling of their minds.

Kael ignored them. He was used to it all. But he couldn't ignore the hunger. It pulsed in his chest like a second heartbeat, clawing at his insides with every step. He eventually started picking up random things to eat every once in a while. It didn't matter if it was edible or not, because none of it was.

An hour later, the city wall rose from the haze like a fortress, smooth and dark, carved from mana-forged stone. Arcane runes shimmered across its surface, glowing a soft, steady blue. The gates to the Grays loomed open—but not unguarded.

A line of teenagers shuffled ahead of him, most his age, all trying to look calm and failing. Some wore fresh tunics or pressed jackets—secondhand maybe, but still cleaner than Kael's threadbare shirt and patched trousers. He joined the line, drawing glances from a few who clearly smelled Brinewatch on him.

The guard near the gate was a lean man with a half-metal face and a bionic implant trailing down his arm like a glowing vine. He waved a scanner across Kael's chest.

"Name and district?"

"Kael Voren. Brinewatch."

The device chirped, blinking green. The gate opened with a low hum, and Kael stepped inside.

The Grays hit like a slap to the face.

Real roads. No mud. Solid pavement. Sidewalks clean enough to walk barefoot. Buildings actually stood upright. Brick walls lined with glowing conduit channels. Mana-lamps steady, not flickering. Holograms danced in mana-glass windows—ads, news, talent rankings. Scooters zipped by in designated lanes. People moved with purpose. Hair brushed. Clothes intact. Nobody looked like they were dying.

The hunger inside Kael sharpened. Not just the physical kind. The other kind. The one that saw what they had and wanted it all.

The Talent Registrar stood just ahead—a towering building etched with rune carvings and wrapped in glowing mana conduits. It looked like a temple made by someone who worshipped bureaucracy and mana tech in equal measure. Inside, the hum of holograms and arcane machinery buzzed like bees in his ears. Screens lit the stone walls: talent rankings, beast tide reports, guild announcements. Kael had only seen tech like this a handful of times in Brinewatch—backroom relics powered by cracked mana batteries, always half-fried. This felt like a different world.

He registered his ID, was given a wait number, and joined the others in the cavernous lobby.

The waiting area was filled with rows of cold metal benches and the silence of dread. Dozens of teenagers fidgeted, whispered, stared blankly ahead. Families clustered together, parents clutching their children's hands like they were stepping into battle. The air smelled of sweat, ozone, and disinfectant. Mana veins in the walls glowed faintly, pulsing like veins beneath translucent skin.

Kael sat on the edge of a bench, his body sore, his mind fogged, the hunger gnawing like acid in his gut. He rubbed his eyes, fighting the urge to bolt. His entire body still ached from last night—his awakening had lit him on fire from the inside. That hunger… it wasn't natural. It still wasn't. And whatever it was, it hadn't left him.

Nearby, a boy stormed past, fists clenched, muttering, "F-rank garbage." His parents trailed behind, silent and pale. A girl came next, sobbing openly. Her family tried to comfort her, but they looked just as hollow. Then another walked out beaming, a C-rank badge pinned to his chest, arms raised like he'd won the lottery.

The highs were high. The lows were bottomless. Most would leave broken.

Kael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching as a girl with mud-caked boots and wild hair argued with the old man beside her.

"Why the hell do we have to walk KiloElons1 just to register?" she snapped. "Why even put the damn place behind the walls if everyone has to come?"

The man was older, maybe late fifties, with a long scar cutting across his jaw like a brand. He didn't look up when he answered.

"It's the beasts, kid," he said, voice rough as gravel. "Beasts awaken too. Faster than us. Stronger. More of 'em, and they don't need talents to rip a man in half."

Kael stilled. His eyes locked on the man.

"They're born mean and grow meaner. Air, sea, land—doesn't matter. All built for war. And the only thing keeping them back is people like you... if you're lucky."

The girl scoffed. "Sounds like bullshit."

"It is bullshit," the man said, finally meeting her gaze. "But it's true anyway."

He leaned back, stretching his legs.

"Look around. Ashport's huge. Twenty-four KiloElons wide, thirty-two if you count the outer districts like Mudhaven or Brinewatch. One-point-two million people. Most outside the walls. You ever hear someone call Mudhaven 'Shield District Eight'? That's what it is. Just a meat shield for the valuable talents inside. Registrar's in here because they don't care how far you walk—just that you make it before they put you in the dirt."

Kael didn't move. He let the words sink in like cold water.

This wasn't a ritual. It was a filter. The city didn't want to uplift them. It wanted to weed them out.

His name flashed on a hovering screen—KAEL VOREN – WINDOW 7

His throat went dry.

He stood, legs heavy, blood rushing in his ears. The hunger surged again, not physical this time, but deep. Existential. A pressure behind his ribs that said move.

He walked toward Window 7.

Not to be ranked.

But to be reckoned with.