Devour.
It sat quietly at the bottom of his system panel. Not flashing. Not pulsing. Just waiting—as if it too understood the gravity of its existence.
> [Trait: Devour (EX)]
Devour the power of others. Assimilate their gifts. Evolve beyond fate.
A trait so rare it was considered a myth. So feared that even whispers of its activation in past eras had led to purges. Wars. Extinctions. The only EX-grade Trait.
Lucien sat alone in his chambers, firelight flickering across his features. His golden hair glinted like a crown, but his eyes were fixed on the swirling data in front of him.
This wasn't just power.
It was blasphemy.
Devour didn't just copy. It took. It consumed the very essence of another's Trait—permanently. The trait was gone from its owner. And once absorbed, it became his. Not temporarily. Not partially.
Wholly.
He closed the panel with a flick of thought, and the sensation faded.
But he could still feel it. The pull. The hunger. Like a second heartbeat.
A monster curled around his soul, licking its lips.
---
He remembered the books. The ones buried in the Arkanveil vault. The ones with no titles, bound in scales or stitched in skin. He'd spent nights deciphering them.
Devour had appeared once—twice at most—in the last several millennia. One bearer had ended an empire. Another had eaten a god's chosen child and vanished into legend.
No one survived them.
No one trusted them.
That was the weight of this Trait.
Lucien rubbed his temples, feeling the pressure behind his eyes building again. It had started the moment he awakened—like a migraine made of whispers.
A cost, maybe. Or simply the toll of housing something so ancient.
You must remain hidden, he reminded himself. The world isn't ready. I'm not ready.
---
He'd nearly lost it in the Hall.
The moment Devour had fully awakened, a cascade of notifications had filled his vision. Data streamed into him. Not just his own—but hints of others. A glimpse of bloodlines. A taste of possibility.
And with it came the instinct.
To take.
To tear away a fragment of the boy beside him. To test it. To feed the hunger.
He'd clamped down so hard, he felt his muscles tear from the strain. That's when he'd stumbled. Dropped to one knee.
Sweat rolled down his temples.
He played the part of the overwhelmed child perfectly.
A healer rushed forward, chanting low spells. Lucien let his breath shake, mimicking post-awakening mana imbalance. Weakness. Confusion. Dizziness. The kind most children faked for attention. He faked it to survive.
Then came the real test.
Aleron.
Lucien heard his brother's boots before he saw him. Fast. Heavy. Alert. Aleron's blade was half-drawn, his eyes burning like coals.
"Back away from him," Aleron growled to the healer, stepping between Lucien and the world.
Lucien looked up with a smile just shaky enough. "Just… one Trait," he murmured. "Nothing special."
Aleron knelt beside him, eyes scanning him for lies. Lucien met his gaze with one he'd practiced since childhood.
The truthful lie.
And then he saw it. The way Aleron's shoulders relaxed just slightly. The tension eased. A hand gripped his shoulder—not to restrain, but to anchor.
"You scared the hell out of me, little shadow," Aleron muttered, using the nickname only he did.
Lucien laughed weakly. "Sorry. Guess I'm not a prodigy after all."
And just like that, the real mask slid into place.
---
By nightfall, the story had spread.
"Arkanveil boy fainted after awakening."
"Overwhelmed by his SSS Trait."
"Maybe he won't be that strong after all."
Perfect.
Let them think him fragile. Let them think Adaptation was his only gift.
He'd learned long ago: people feared what they didn't understand, but they destroyed what they envied.
He would not give them a reason.
Not yet.
---
Later that night, after the festivities had ended and the last candle flickered low, Lucien sat cross-legged on the floor of his private chamber. Around him were runes of concealment he had carved into the wood himself.
In front of him: a rat.
A test subject. Already dead. Killed by mana drain. Perfect for what he needed.
His eyes narrowed.
> [Do you wish to Devour this creature? Y/N]
He hesitated only a moment.
"Yes."
Black mist crawled from his palm. Slow. Silent. Like smoke underwater.
It touched the corpse—and the rat disintegrated. No heat. No blood. Just… vanished.
> [Soul too weak. No Trait found.]
Lucien exhaled.
So it's not omnipotent. Good.
There were limits. Devour only worked on beings with Traits—or skills of significant resonance. He couldn't just absorb everything. He had to choose wisely. And kill personally.
Even then, there were risks.
Assimilation. Rejection. Mutation.
He needed to be smarter than the Trait itself.
Which meant practice. Planning. And above all else—secrecy.
---
He walked to his window, looking over the Arkanveil estate, bathed in moonlight.
"Adaptation," he whispered. "The face I show the world."
His eyes flashed, red irises gleaming with the buried light of Devour.
"And you," he murmured, "the blade I'll keep hidden."
Because when the time came—when the world pushed too hard, or the enemies grew too many—
He would feed the monster.
And it would change everything.