KAEL VOREN – WINDOW 7
The glowing blue letters pulsed across the holo-display above the queue, the flicker cutting through the waiting hall’s thick air. Kael stood slowly, his legs stiff, every joint protesting with the lingering ache of his midnight awakening. That gnawing, unnatural hunger still coiled deep inside him like a furnace with no off-switch. Even now, hours later, it felt like his body was digesting its own bones just to keep him moving.
He slipped past the other kids and their watching families, weaving through a minefield of whispered prayers, quiet sobs, and the occasional outburst of rage or joy. The smell of ozone from mana conduits mixed with sweat and fear, a pungent cocktail that clung to the stone walls and refused to dissipate.
Window 7 loomed ahead, a sleek alcove carved from black stone and polished mana-glass. Faint blue runes pulsed along the frame, feeding into the orb resting inside its diagnostic cradle. Behind the reinforced glass sat a middle-aged woman in a crisp gray uniform. Her hair was pinned tight, streaked with iron, and her face bore the expression of someone who’d seen a thousand dreams crash against this booth—and stopped caring.
“Name,” she said without looking up, fingers tapping her tablet in rhythmic, mechanical flicks.
“Kael Voren,” he managed, his voice drier than dust. His mouth still tasted faintly of rusted tin and ash.
She gestured to the orb. “Place your hand inside the aperture. Keep still. Don’t resist the scan.”
Kael slipped his hand into the slot. The orb was cold—glass-smooth, almost wet to the touch. It pulsed the moment his fingers made contact, vibrating with a low hum that climbed up his arm and into his skull. Light danced inside it—first red, then blue, then white—then faded.
The tablet chimed.
The woman finally looked at him.
“Active talent,” she said.
Kael exhaled, chest tight. Good. That was good. That meant it wasn’t a dud. Not Null. Not F-rank.
The screen flickered. She paused.
“E-rank.”
A breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding escaped his lips in a shaky gasp. E-rank wasn’t a death sentence. It wasn’t great—but it wasn’t hopeless either. If it was combat-based, maybe something like Swift Strike or Stone Skin, he could find dock work. Or maybe alchemy? Enchanting? Even an E-rank brewing or scavenging skill could land him a place under the Saltpier warehouse.
His mind began spinning with possibilities.
Then the woman spoke again.
“Talent name: Advanced Digestion.”
The words hit like a punch in the gut.
Kael blinked. “Advanced... what?”
“Advanced Digestion,” she repeated, her voice as bland as the stone slab between them. “You can consume materials normally inedible or hazardous. Metal. Wood. Rotten food. Industrial scraps. Most toxins.” She tapped the screen again. “Your digestive system neutralizes harmful substances before they cause damage. Nutrient extraction rate is abnormally high. Mana resistance in stomach lining confirmed.”
Kael’s tongue felt like sand. His mind reeled.
“So I can eat garbage,” he muttered.
The tester's eyes flicked up from her tablet, lingering on his face a moment longer than necessary. Her voice, just barely, softened.
“Talents evolve,” she said. “It’s rare—but not impossible. Advanced Digestion can lead to Metabolic Conversion. That one’s D-rank. It lets you break down what you eat into fuel. Physical boosts. Faster healing. Mana restoration. Even elemental resistance if the diet’s right.”
She said it gently, like she was offering him a window instead of a cell.
Kael didn’t answer. The memories of last night crept in like mold—his teeth crunching through tin, swallowing splinters, devouring anything he could grab. The hunger that came with it hadn’t left. Not even now.
He stepped back.
The woman didn’t stop him.
“I’ve seen worse,” she offered, though her voice sounded like she was talking to herself more than to him. “Just... don’t stop pushing it. Some of the greats started with garbage too.”
He nodded, barely.
Then he turned and walked away.
The Registrar buzzed around him—cheering, sobbing, bargaining, despair. Kael heard a boy cry out that he got C-rank Pyromancy. Another collapsed in tears after being told he had Null. Kael moved past them, each step echoing louder than it should have, as if the whole building knew what he’d just heard.
He passed back into the waiting hall, toward the doors that led into Ashport proper.
Garbage, he thought. I got garbage. No claws. No flame. No blade or aura. Just teeth. And a hunger I can't put out.
But as he reached the threshold, his jaw clenched. His stomach twisted again—not from nerves, but from need.
No.
He had something. Something real. Something alive.
And now, he had a choice.
To let it rot—or make it grow.
