The Hall of Truth stood silent, as if even the wind dared not disturb what was to come.
Children from every noble house gathered in perfect rows, their family insignias embroidered across ceremonial cloaks. The sun filtered through the crystal dome above, refracting into a spectrum of divine light. Beneath their feet, ancient runes pulsed in rhythmic harmony—an eternal heartbeat of the world's will, etched into white marble older than memory.
Lucien stood among them, the Arkanveil sigil stitched in gold over his heart, his hands folded calmly behind his back.
To any observer, he looked like the rest—nervous, reverent, hopeful.
But inside, his mind moved like a blade through mist.
Formation density: 81.3%.
Mana pressure: triple baseline. The pillars will flare in twenty-two seconds.
His red eyes, half-lidded in stillness, took it all in. The structure hadn't changed from the novel. Good. He shifted slightly, the heel of his boot tapping the smallest indentation in the stone—exactly where the protagonist had stood in the original timeline.
He, however, would stand there first.
---
The ceremony began with the chime of the Celestial Bell.
One toll.
Then silence.
A robed oracle, face hidden beneath silver veils, stepped into the center of the dome. Her staff glowed softly as she spoke the Rite of Calling.
"In the name of origin, blood, and choice…
Let the soul be unveiled.
Let the flame of fate rise."
The runes flared white.
Hundreds of children gasped as warmth surged through them, a whisper in their veins.
Lucien felt it too.
But unlike them, he did not embrace it.
He controlled it.
Held it in place.
Tamed it.
The energy sought his soul like a key seeks a lock. And once it found the twin doors of his destiny…
They snapped open.
---
The dome filled with light.
A pillar of blue fire roared upward around him, shattering the calm like thunder through glass.
Screams echoed. Some flinched. Others cried out in awe. The trait orbs above each child flared to life, marking the moment their path was chosen.
For most, one orb glowed.
For a rare few, two shimmered.
But none blazed like his.
> [TRAIT AWAKENING COMPLETE]
Trait 1: [Adaptation – Grade: SSS]
Trait 2: [Devour – Grade: EX (Hidden)]
He let out a soft breath, and with it, lied to the world.
> [Public Trait Registered: Adaptation (SSS)]
[Secondary Trait: Concealed]
He could feel the Devour Trait pulsing beneath the surface, a beast held on a leash. It whispered promises—of power, of hunger, of supremacy. But he said nothing.
The world was not ready.
And neither was he.
---
Cries erupted around the chamber.
"He awakened two Traits!"
"That's impossible!"
"Only the original Hero—!"
"Wait… That's the Arkanveil boy!"
Dozens of eyes locked on him—curious, envious, reverent.
But Lucien didn't look at them. He kept his gaze forward, unreadable. Only his siblings, seated among the honored family rows, caught the subtle flicker in his eyes.
Aleron stood. His fist clenched, not in anger, but pride.
Seris blinked, stunned. Then smiled.
Caelum practically jumped off his seat, shouting "I knew it!" loud enough for the back row to hear.
Lyria just clapped, bouncing excitedly in her chair.
Their joy warmed him more than any flare of magic ever could.
---
But others watched too.
The High Oracle, veiled and silent.
A robed scholar from the Dawn Archive.
A masked agent bearing the insignia of the Crown.
And worst of all… the eyes of the future hero, the boy from the rival family, narrowed in quiet judgment.
Lucien saw him across the room—tall, proud, and confused. This isn't how it went, that look said.
Good, Lucien thought. Keep guessing.
---
After the ritual, each child was called to the center to declare their Trait publicly. It was tradition, designed for alliances, opportunities—and control.
Lucien's name echoed through the dome like a drumbeat.
"Lucien Arkanveil. Age fourteen. Trait: Adaptation."
He stepped forward with the poise of a prince.
When the oracle asked, "Do you accept your fate, child of Arkanveil?"
He paused.
A long, deliberate moment.
"I do," he said at last. "But fate… will have to keep up."
Gasps. Some laughter. A few murmurs of disapproval.
But the Oracle only nodded, her lips curling beneath the veil.
"Then walk your path, Lucien Arkanveil. And let the world be your witness."
---
Later, in the shadows of the emptying hall, he stood alone.
Or so he thought.
"Two Traits, huh?"
Lucien didn't turn. He knew that voice.
The protagonist—Ronan Dreylis—approached with a practiced smirk.
"That's rare," Ronan said. "Unexpected."
Lucien finally met his gaze. "So is finding someone else in my shadow."
They stared at each other.
One destined for the hero's path.
The other, walking away from the villain's.
For now.
"See you in the trials," Ronan said at last.
Lucien simply nodded.
Oh, you will.
---
That night, as the stars blinked overhead, the Arkanveil estate celebrated.
Toasts were raised. Music echoed. The boy who awakened a miracle was the pride of the house.
But in his room, Lucien sat before the mirror, watching his reflection flicker as the Devour Trait stirred behind his eyes.
"Let them cheer," he whispered. "I've only just begun."