The lodging house where Silas lived was affectionately known by the locals as "The Rat's Nest," though Silas preferred to call it "The Rustic Inn of Questionable Hygiene." It was a crumbling three-story structure that looked as if a strong breeze might finally finish it off.
Standing at the entrance, however, was a barrier far more formidable than the structural integrity: Mrs. Gable.
She was a woman of magnificent proportions, with arms that could crush a watermelon and a stare that could curdle milk. She stood blocking the doorway, a broom in her hand like a halberd.
"Vane," she rumbled. Her voice sounded like gravel in a blender.
"Mrs. Gable!" Silas beamed, spreading his arms wide. "You look radiant today. Is that a new apron? It really brings out the... intimidation in your eyes."
"Don't you sweet-talk me, boy," she growled, though the corner of her mouth twitched. "You're late. Again. Do you have it, or do I have to turn your room into a storage closet?"
" storage closet? For that lovely room with the drafty window and the charming mouse population? You wouldn't dare."
Silas reached into his pocket. He didn't even need to count it. He pulled out the small pouch of gold coins he'd liberated from the hidden dungeon room and tossed it.
Mrs. Gable caught it one-handed. The heavy clink of gold on gold echoed in the quiet street. She narrowed her eyes, opened the pouch, and stared.
Her demeanor shifted instantly. The scowl melted into a look of grudging respect.
"Three months in advance," she said, weighing the pouch. "And you still owe me for the soap you stole last week."
"Borrowed," Silas corrected. "I was testing its quality for you. It was subpar. I did you a favor."
She grunted, stepping aside. "Get in before I change my mind. And Vane?"
"Yes, my landlady goddess?"
"Try not to look so... shifty. You're scaring the other tenants."
Silas paused. "Shifty? Me? I'm the picture of innocence."
He slipped past her and jogged up the creaking stairs to the third floor. His room was at the end of the hall, number 3B. It was small, containing a lumpy bed, a wobbly table, and a mirror that was cracked in the corner.
He locked the door behind him and leaned against it, exhaling a long breath.
"Okay," he whispered, the playful mask dropping from his face. "Alone at last."
He walked to the mirror and looked at his reflection. He looked tired. But his eyes—his emerald eyes—seemed to have a faint, violet ring around the irises that definitely hadn't been there yesterday.
"So, I'm a Sovereign," he muttered to his reflection. "Ruler of nothing. King of the empty set. It sounds like a philosophy major's midlife crisis."
He sat on the edge of his bed and closed his eyes. He focused on the sensation he'd felt in the dungeon—that cold, dark reservoir in his gut.
[System Interface: Activating...]
The familiar blue screens appeared in his mind, but they were edged in purple now.
Class: Void Sovereign (Level 26)
Sub-classes: None
Sovereign Authority: 0/100
[New Skill Unlocked: Void Storage]
Description: The Void is infinite. Why carry a backpack? Store items in a pocket dimension attached to your soul.Current Capacity: 10 cubic meters.
"Inventory space," Silas grinned, his mood lifting instantly. "Finally. No more lugging around dirty loot bags. I am the bag."
He looked around the room. His sword, The Last Resort, was strapped to his back. He focused on it, willing it into the Void.
There was a strange sensation of suction, a pop of displaced air, and the sword vanished from his back. He didn't feel heavier, but he could feel the sword's presence, floating in a cold, dark space just behind his consciousness. With a thought, he summoned it back.
Pop.
The sword appeared in his hand.
"This," Silas declared, "is going to make stealing snacks from the kitchen so much easier."
But the levity faded as a notification blinked insistently in the corner of his vision.
[Warning: Assimilation Process 1% Complete.]
[Sovereign's Log: The Void is hungry. It requires sustenance to expand.]
"Sustenance?" Silas frowned. "Like food? I can do food. I can do a lot of food. I hope you like spicy potato wedges, because that's what's on the menu."
He was about to head out to the street vendor when a chill ran down his spine. It wasn't the draft from the window. It was a sensation of presence.
Someone was watching him.
Silas's instincts flared. He didn't turn around immediately. Instead, he walked casually to the window, humming a tune.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Silas said aloud to the empty room. "The way the sunset hits the dust motes. Truly poetic."
He activated [Sovereign's Gaze].
The world turned grayscale. He spun around.
There.
In the darkest corner of the room, where the shadow of his wardrobe met the floor, the shadows were too thick. They were unnaturally deep, a puddle of black ink in a room that was otherwise lit by the evening sun.
Silas stopped humming. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword (which he had just summoned back, luckily).
"You know," Silas said, his voice hardening. "In most countries, entering a lady's room uninvited is a crime. In my case, it's just annoying. I have a headache, and I'm not in the mood for assassins."
The shadow rippled.
"You are not a lady, Silas Vane," a raspy voice replied. It sounded like wind blowing through dead leaves.
"Ouch," Silas winced. "That hurt. I have very delicate feelings."
From the shadow, a figure emerged. It was the man from the alleyway—the hooded figure. Up close, he looked even creepier. His robes were tattered, and his skin was pale, almost translucent. But the most striking feature was his eyes: they were gone, replaced by swirling clouds of black smoke.
"You possess the Codex," the stranger hissed. He didn't attack. He simply stood there, hands folded into his sleeves. "We felt the ripple. The Sovereign has returned."
Silas tilted his head. "Look, I don't know who 'We' are, but if this is a fan club, I prefer cash donations. If it's a cult, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I have a strict 'no soliciting' policy."
The stranger ignored the jab. "I am Malachi, a Seer of the Hollow Path. We have waited three hundred years for the Void to choose a vessel."
"Three hundred years? You guys have way too much free time."
Malachi stepped forward, his movements jerky and unnatural. "You treat this as a joke. The Void is not a toy. It is the end of all things. It is the silence between heartbeats."
"Okay, Mr. Edgy," Silas took a step back, positioning himself near the window. "Let's say I believe you. You're here to what? Welcome me with fruitcake? Or kill me and take the book?"
"The Codex cannot be taken. It is fused to your soul," Malachi said. "We are here to guide you. Or... to prune you, if you are found unworthy."
Silas felt the Void inside him pulse. It wasn't fear; it was agitation. The Void didn't like being threatened. It felt like a wild animal waking up inside his chest.
"Pruning sounds painful," Silas said. "And I think I make a rather lovely tree, thank you very much."
He needed information, but he also needed this guy out of his room before Mrs. Gable came up to complain about the noise.
"Why me?" Silas asked.
Malachi's smoke-filled eyes seemed to narrow. "The Void does not choose the strong. It does not choose the holy. It chooses the empty. The hollow vessels who seek to fill themselves."
Silas's smile faltered for a split second. Hollow? He masked it quickly with a smirk.
"Wow, rude. I'm full of personality. I'm overflowing with charisma. I am, quite frankly, too full of myself to be empty."
Malachi tilted his head, as if listening to something Silas couldn't hear. "Perhaps. But you have the talent. Tell me, Silas Vane... do you know what the first law of the Void is?"
"Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line?"
Malachi didn't blink. "To rule the Void, you must feed it."
Suddenly, the room grew freezing cold. The shadows in the room lunged at Silas. They weren't just darkness; they were solid. Tentacles of black smoke wrapped around his wrists and ankles, slamming him against the wall.
Silas gasped, the breath knocked out of him. He struggled, but the shadows were like iron.
"A Sovereign must consume," Malachi whispered, walking closer. "Consume mana. Consume light. Consume life. If you do not feed the Void, the Void will feed on you."
The pressure increased. Silas felt his own mana draining, sucked out by the shadow bindings. His vision blurred.
"Let... go..." Silas gritted out.
"Feed it," Malachi commanded. "Or die."
Silas's survival instinct kicked in. He didn't try to pull his arms free physically. He reached inside, to that cold, hungry pit in his stomach.
You want to eat? he thought, rage bubbling up. Fine. Eat this.
He didn't push his mana out. He opened the door.
Inhale.
[Skill Activated: Void Consumption (Mythic grade) (Passive/Active)]
A vortex of purple energy erupted from Silas's chest. It wasn't a spell; it was a gravitational force.
The shadow tentacles holding him didn't just break; they disintegrated. The black smoke was torn from Malachi's control and dragged into Silas's body. Silas felt a rush of energy, cold and exhilarating, flooding his veins.
Malachi stumbled back, clutching his chest. "Impossible... You consumed the Shadow Bind?"
Silas dropped to the floor, panting. He looked at his hands. They were glowing with a faint, oscillating violet light.
He stood up, straightening his tunic. The fear was gone, replaced by a strange, predatory calm.
"Okay, Malachi," Silas said, his voice low and dangerous. "I think I get it now. You're saying I'm on a diet, but the diet is everything."
Malachi looked shaken, but he bowed his head slowly. "You have passed the first trial. You have consumed darkness."
"Great," Silas pointed to the door. "Get out."
"You will need instruction," Malachi insisted. "The Void will drive you mad if left unchecked."
"Maybe," Silas smirked, though his eyes were deadly serious. "But I'd rather be crazy alone than with a stalker in my bedroom. Out. Before I see if you're on the menu too."
Malachi hesitated, then dissolved into a pool of shadows that slipped under the door crack, vanishing into the night.
Silas stood alone in the silence. He looked at the mirror again. The violet ring around his eyes was definitely brighter.
He sat heavily on his bed.
"Great," he muttered, rubbing his face. "I have a class that gives me inventory space, cool eyes, and a nutritional requirement for pure darkness. This is going to complicate my grocery list."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dried piece of meat. He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.
"Needs salt," he said. "Or maybe... just a little bit of existential dread."