The room was made of ash. Not dust. Not smoke. Ash. Everything around Veyne—walls, air, even the floor beneath his feet—was dense with the weight of things that had burned and would never live again.
He took one cautious step forward and left a footprint in what might once have been dreams, or perhaps memories. The world here was suffocatingly silent. No whispers, no shifts in stone, not even the breathing hum of the Tower's usual presence. Only a stillness so pure it became oppressive.
Revelation Instinct: Domain Analysis.
The whisper of his skill bled into his mind. Veyne's eyes shimmered faintly with white fire as lines traced themselves across the walls, mapping something deeper than the physical space. They glowed briefly before vanishing—faint veins of regret, pain, and forgotten guilt woven into the ash.
He was not alone here.
Far ahead, standing hunched in the middle of the room, was a being without form. No limbs, no eyes. It stood like a pillar made of melted memory, pulsing with grief. Revelation Instinct gave it a name:
Warden of Forgotten Fires.
It hadn't noticed him yet—or pretended not to. That was worse.
Veyne stepped toward it.
His body was lighter now. The Hunger of the Endless thrummed just beneath his ribs. It wasn't a simple power. It wasn't brute strength or magical force. It was a craving. He could feel the world bending around his presence, recoiling from what he might take.
Consume or be consumed, the Tower seemed to murmur.
He reached into the air and let the Hunger activate, just a flicker.
The result was immediate. The ash near his hand melted, not from heat but from loss. The essence that had once filled it—the memory, the sorrow—drained into his body like blood through a straw.
He staggered slightly, the rush overwhelming.
A vision slammed into his skull:
A boy, crouched in a field of fire, holding his mother's bones.
He blinked, and it was gone. But the aftertaste remained—bittersweet, hollow.
The Warden turned toward him.
Its head—or what passed for one—tilted, smoke pouring from a jagged tear down its side. It opened a mouthless maw and let out a shriek that echoed without sound, vibrating inside Veyne's bones.
The ash around them coalesced, forming shapes—echoes of people long gone. Soldiers, farmers, children, all with burnt-out eyes and gaping mouths. Illusions? Constructs? Or true fragments of souls the Tower had devoured?
They charged.
Veyne didn't run.
He reached into himself and pulled. The Hunger of the Endless uncoiled like a beast awakening.
He whispered, "Feast."
The first wave reached him—hands clawing, mouths wailing.
He inhaled, not with lungs, but with something deeper. The souls collapsed into nothingness, their forms breaking apart into glowing threads that danced around his body before disappearing into his chest.
It hurt.
It always hurt.
Power surged. Revelation Instinct flared.
He saw the Warden clearly now. Not just as a creature—but as a sinner. It had once been a Guardian of the Tower, tasked with preserving what the Tower wished to forget. But over the years, it fed on what it kept, until it became part of the very ash.
A mirror, in a way.
It charged.
Veyne caught the blow, stumbling back. The creature was heavy, impossibly so. Each strike weighed like a mountain of unprocessed guilt. Its fists were pages torn from dead memories.
He screamed—not in fear, but in fury—and thrust his hand into the creature's chest.
Hunger of the Endless: Core Drain.
He drank.
It thrashed, but it was too late. Veyne devoured not just its power, but its meaning. The moment it realized it had once wanted to protect, not harm—the regret—it became fuel.
It collapsed into nothing.
And then, silence returned.
Veyne stood among the ashes, panting. His body trembled. Not from weakness—but from the sheer volume of essence now residing in him.
He looked down at his arm. Veins pulsed silver beneath the skin. Revelation Instinct burned brighter than ever.
A message etched itself into the ash below him:
[Essence Gained: Firelong Regret]
[Skill Evolution: Revelation Instinct → Devouring Insight]
His eyes widened. The Hunger was changing him. Not just giving him strength—but reshaping the very way he perceived reality. Devouring Insight would let him see not only the truth—but the cost behind it.
But something lingered.
In the distance, behind where the Warden once stood, a child's laughter echoed.
Veyne turned slowly. A figure stood at the far end of the room—a boy no older than ten, dressed in scorched robes, face half-shadowed. He held a book in one hand and a dagger in the other.
"You shouldn't have eaten it," the boy said softly. "Now it knows you're real."
"Who knows?" Veyne asked, voice ragged.
The boy didn't answer. Instead, he pointed to the ceiling. The ash above began to swirl, slowly forming an eye—massive, lidless, watching.
Veyne's skin crawled.
The Tower had noticed.
Not just the floor or the room—but the Tower itself. A slumbering intelligence awakened by what he'd taken.
"I'll see you again," the boy whispered, stepping backward into shadow. "Just not as yourself."
And he was gone.
The ceiling sealed shut. The eye blinked out.
And behind Veyne, a new door rose from the ground—blackened steel, etched with flames that moved like breath.
He stood still for a moment longer, letting the burn of stolen essence settle.
Then he walked forward.
Because hunger was not a choice now.
It was a path.
And the Tower had just started to fear him.