(A/N:
Big thank you to Nikola_Radojevic_8215 for the power stones, I really appreciate.
And also, don't forget to leave a comment.
Enjoy.)
Chapter Seven — Trait.
Summoning his status again, the words Trait and Absolute remained unchanged. So too did the sub-trait—Devour.
Curious and calmer now, he poured his intent into them.
The interface shifted, expanding, lines of meaning unfolding where there was none.
Trait: Absolute
Description: In a ####### of endless possibilities and shifting paradoxes, you alone are absolute.
Effect: You are limitless.
—————
Sub-trait: Devour
Description: You have awakened the embodiment of consumption.
Effect: You are what you eat.
—————
Azeroth stared —really stared.
For a moment, he couldn't even begin to understand what he was looking at.
But then he did.
"…what the fuck?"
The words almost escaped him—barely a breath, barely a whisper—but they exploded in his head all the same. As though someone loaned his inner voice a megaphone and turned the volume to max.
His jaw hung slack. His eyes stretched wide, trembling on the edge of disbelief.
His thoughts didn't spiral—they detonated.
"Limitless? What does that mean...? infinite stat points? Skills? Techniques?"
And then there was his sub-trait.
Devour.
He'd read enough novels—enough manga—to know exactly what that Devour trope implied.
It was at this moment that everything clicked.
A single, breathless gasp escaped him.
Holy shit.
I am broken!
This, —this was completely beyond anything he had ever imagined.
For years, he'd believed his mutated physique was his golden finger—his cheat. It was the reason he could begin training at three. The reason he could do a third of things that left the hardened soldiers staring.
But now?
Now it didn't even matter.
Still shocked, he felt the need to test them out, so he took a deeper look into their effects,
But apart from his sub-trait devour which was straightforward—clear and directive, his trait, absolute, eluded him completely.
He didn't know how to go about testing it, so he just left it alone and focused on the one with clear directions — devour.
—————————
The estate grounds were quiet when Azeroth stepped out of his room—clean, dressed, and smelling significantly less like a child who had almost detonated a training hall earlier that day…
Fresh clothes, clean skin, toweled hair... and a mind that wouldn't stop spiraling. Jumping from one unfinished thought to another.
He exhaled, squared his shoulders, and pulled open his door.
Bran was waiting exactly where he promised, arms crossed, spine stiff, and an expression caught somewhere between pride and raw impatience.
Pride, for the prodigy he'd raised.
Impatience, because said prodigy was taking too long.
"Tch. Took you long enough." Bran turned, already marching down the corridor. "Come on. Let's inform your parents so we can finally start celebrating."
"I didn't take that long," Azeroth protested, hurrying after him.
"You took twenty minutes."
"I was… thinking."
"Thinking? about what?" Bran scoffed.
"Abou—" Azeroth barely began before Bran cut him off with a wave.
"You know what? Never mind. Just hurry up. I plan to drink myself senseless tonight."
Azeroth laughed despite himself and jogged to keep pace, his smaller frame swallowed by Bran's shadow.
As they walked, the estate corridors curved like a maze. Murals of ancient battles, heroic ancestors, and of course the monstrous beast heads lined the hallways. Polished floors reflected the warm light from the hanging essence lamps.
Everywhere they passed servants whispered.
Guards murmured. Every maid that passed gave Azeroth a double-take — just subtle enough to pretend it wasn't obvious.
News traveled fast it seems, faster than he could bathe.
But even then, the look in their eyes wasn't that of surprise, or awe. It was something stranger — a look resignation and the acceptance wrapped in quiet expectations.
They weren't shocked that he'd become an evolver at seven, no—it was expected.
Even if not exactly at 'seven', but still…
They were used to him doing the impossible.
It was Azeroth.
The same child who ran before others could sit.
Who stared down a warhound until it whimpered away at only a year old.
Who toppled a training dummy four times his weight at two.
Who memorized an entire military formation at four.
At age five, he head butted a bolder to rubbles.
His excuse? "It fell on me!"
People didn't know how to react to him anymore.
So they'd found the simplest solution:
Shrug it off, fill it under "it's Azeroth" and move on with their lives.
Honestly?
It was better that way.
As they rounded a corner, he overheard Bran muttering, "A seven-year-old evolver… ha. I'll be bragging about this for the rest of my damn life."
Azeroth watched his dignified mentor transform into an overexcited child and felt his respect crack in real time.
They reached the grand double doors. Two armored knights stood guard, weapons crossed—and at their sides, an object familiar to anyone from Earth, infamous in its own right.
The knight beside him also offered his own congratulations as they both stepped aside.
The doors opened.
Inside waited his parents.
Lady Seraphina Clinton looked every bit the noble she was — silver hair cascading elegantly, posture regal yet soft. Her gaze warmed the moment she saw him.
Lord Darius Clinton stood beside her, broad-shouldered and imposing even while relaxed.
His stern features eased, just slightly, as Azeroth entered.
Bran bowed deeply. "Your majesties." His earlier playfulness vanished, replaced by the disciplined vice commander.
"You may rise, Bran," Seraphina said, voice gentle.
"Thank you, your majesty." He straightened, pride swirling in his chest.
"The boy broke through today your highness, Seven years old and already an evolver."
Then added with a sign and a touch of nostalgia. "I still remember how long it took me."
The room went still.
Then Darius's face brightened, voice booming, "Marvelous! Truly marvelous."
Serena moved first, sweeping Azeroth into a warm embrace.
"I'm so… proud of you, my son" she whispered into his hair.
Darius laid a massive hand on his son's shoulder. "Well done, son. This calls for a celebration."
Bran grinned, exactly as he'd anticipated this moment. He took a polite step back. "'ll excuse myself then."
Serena was too focused on her son to respond, but Darius waved Bran off with a grateful nod. The vice commander left briskly — likely already imagining his first drink.
"So how are you feeling, any complications?"
"None. I'm…"
After the happy moment faded, Darius inevitable asked the dreaded question.
"So... what trait did you receive?"
"I… gulp."