The lukewarm, lumpy gruel was a feast. Adam ate with a focus that bordered on reverence, each bland mouthful a sacrament to his new, functioning body. The gnawing void in his stomach, a lifelong tenant, had been evicted. In its place was a demanding, efficient engine. He could feel it processing the nutrients, converting the beige paste into usable energy, reinforcing the forged steel of his muscles and bones. It was a miracle he would never take for granted.
Across the table, Master Jet watched him, her glacial eyes missing nothing. She'd seen the change in him, the way he held himself, the new sharpness in his gaze. An ossuary rat didn't just shed his skin; he molted into something else entirely. Something… more.
"You know," she began, breaking the silence, "for a kid who just chewed his way out of a personal hell, you're remarkably… put together. Most come out screaming, catatonic, or so deeply traumatized they need a month of sedatives and therapy just to form a coherent sentence. You're just… eating."
Adam finished a mouthful, placing the spoon down with precise control. The Perfectionism noted the slight smudge on the utensil, the imperfect alignment of the tray with the edge of the table. He ignored it, focusing on the woman before him.
"The nightmare was the therapy," he said, his voice even. It was easier to speak now, the raspiness fading. "It sanded down all the rough edges. All that's left is what works."
"A pragmatic little monster, aren't you?" Jet mused, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips. "Fine. Let's talk business. The Academy. It's not a charity. It's an investment. The city-state invests resources in you—food, shelter, basic training—and in return, you become a asset. A defender against the things that go bump in the nightmare, a tool to expand our territory in the Dream Realm, or at the very least, not a liability who opens a Gate in a crowded hab-block."
"Understood," Adam said. It was a simple transaction. Cleaner than most in the ossuary.
"Good. Now, the fun part. Your Aspect. It determines your path, your training, your value. So, what did you get? Don't be shy. I've seen everything from [Pyromancer] to [Gourmet Chef]. The latter wasn't much use in a fight, but the man runs a five-star restaurant now. There are worse fates."
This was the first test. The first opportunity to build the facade, to hide the terrifying, divine engine at his core. He had rehearsed this in the shower, the silence of his mind allowing for perfect, uninterrupted planning.
"It's called [Origin Mimic]," he said, layering a hint of uncertainty into his tone. It wasn't a complete lie. It was a carefully pruned truth. "I can… copy things. Movements, mostly. Fighting styles. If I see someone do something, I can understand how they did it, and with practice, I can do it myself."
Jet's eyebrows rose a fraction. "A learning Aspect. Uncommon. Potentially very useful. No direct combat boost, but the versatility… What's the fidelity? Can you perfectly replicate a master's technique after seeing it once?"
"No," Adam said, shaking his head. This part was true, a necessary limitation to make the lie believable. "It takes time. Practice. The more I see it, the more I understand the principles behind it, the better I get. It's like… downloading the blueprint, but I still have to build the house." He paused, then added the crucial, misleading part. "And it has a secondary function. A weaker one. I can… encourage the body to heal. A little."
He held up his left hand, showing her the perfectly smooth palm where the cut had been. "I tested it. It works, but it's slow. It drains me. It's nothing like a dedicated [Healer] Aspect."
He watched her carefully. A dual-function Aspect was rare, but not unheard of. It was a plausible cover for the reality of his three separate, Divine powers. [Origin Mimic] could explain his rapid skill acquisition. The minor 'healing' could be a pale shadow of [Sovereign of the Physical World]'s biomass manipulation. It was a good lie, built on a foundation of truth.
Jet leaned back, her chair creaking. "[Origin Mimic] and a minor regenerative utility. Not bad, kid. Not bad at all. The Academy instructors will have a field day with you. They love puzzle-box Aspects." She folded her arms. "That might also explain your… other prize. It's not common knowledge, but those of us who handle new Sleepers, we're briefed to listen for certain things. You mentioned a 'grand prize.' A True Name."
The air in the cafeteria seemed to grow colder. This was the real gamble. To claim a True Name was to mark yourself as extraordinary. It would bring scrutiny, envy, and danger. But to hide it completely was also a risk; the PSO had their ways of finding things out. He had to offer a sacrifice, a piece of the truth to protect the whole. And the name he'd chosen to offer was the shield, the one that would make people wary, not covetous.
He met her gaze, his new amber eyes unwavering. "Yes."
"Are you going to tell me what it is?" she asked, her voice deceptively casual. "since you already made its exsitance known to me a small detail of it already went to your file. The Academy will know. It's better coming from you than from a soul-scanning artifact on your first day."
He took a slow breath, the image of the crimson, starless sky of his Soul Sea flashing behind his eyes. The title felt like a brand, a confession of a fundamental rot. But it was also a weapon.
"Origin of Evil," he said, the words dropping into the silence between them like stones into a deep well.
For the first time, he saw a genuine, unguarded reaction on Jet's face. Her icy composure cracked, replaced by a flicker of something stark and unsettled. She didn't flinch, but she went very, very still.
"Origin of Evil," she repeated, the words tasting foreign. "You're sure?"
"The Spell wasn't ambiguous," Adam replied, his voice flat.
She was silent for a long moment, her gaze turning inward. "I've seen True Names before. [Dawn's Herald]. [Stone Heart]. [Unbreakable]. They're… grand, aspirational. That one… that's sounds interesting to say the least
" i didn't choose it he said, ''and that was the absolute truth. "It chose me. Maybe the Spell saw something in my nightmare. Maybe due to the the choices I made to survive." He let the implication hang in the air, a subtle reinforcement of his 'pragmatic monster' persona.
Jet finally nodded, a slow, deliberate motion. "Alright. 'Origin of Evil' it is. I'll add it to your file." She stood up, the moment of vulnerability gone, replaced by her usual brisk efficiency. "Finish up. The car's waiting. We'll get you processed at the Academy."
The journey out of the PSO fortress was a sensory overload. The heavy reinforced doors hissed open, and Adam stepped out of the sterile, controlled environment into the sprawling, chaotic reality of the city. The air, even here in the more fortified central districts, was a far cry from the ossuary's greasy chill. It was sharp, filled with the smells of ozone from passing mag-lev transports, cooked food from street vendors, and the faint, ever-present undertone of industry.
He slid into the passenger seat of a sleek, armored PSO cruiser. Jet took the driver's seat, the vehicle humming to life with a subdued purr. They pulled away from the curb, joining the river of traffic.
Adam stared out the window, his Perfectionist mind cataloging the flaws with a relentless, automatic efficiency. The permacrete was cracked in a haphazard, inefficient pattern. The signage was inconsistently lit, with several letters flickering or dead. The people moved with a jarring lack of synchronization, their paths crossing and colliding in a messy, unoptimized dance. It was all so… noisy. So imperfect.
But beneath the criticism, a deeper part of him was reeling. The scale of it all. The buildings weren't just hab-blocks; they were towering spires of gleaming alloy and shimmering glass, reaching for a sky he could actually see—a pale, smog-streaked blue, but a sky nonetheless. People wore clothes with color, with intact seams. They walked without the constant, hunted look of the ossuary. They had purpose.
This is the world I was never part of, he thought, a strange hollow feeling opening in his chest. This is the prize.
"It's a lot, isn't it?" Jet said, not taking her eyes off the road. "The first time out. Feels like you've landed on another planet."
"It's… inefficient," Adam said, the word escaping before he could filter it.
Jet barked a laugh. "That's one word for it. I prefer 'a mess.' But it's our mess. And it's a damn sight better than the alternative." She gestured vaguely towards the distant, shimmering barrier walls that separated the central districts from the outskirts. "Out there, it's all just varying degrees of the ossuary, kid. We've just carved out a halfway decent piece and called it ours."
They drove in silence for a while, moving from the administrative sectors into a more residential and commercial area. The architecture became less brutalist, more ornate, though his Flaw still found a thousand tiny faults.
"The Academy," Jet began, shifting topics. "It's not a summer camp. The other Sleepers… they're not like you. Most are Rich kids from the great clans. They've been training for this since they could walk. Tutors, weapons masters, private coaches. They have Memories passed down through generations. They'll look at you and see dirt. They'll test you. Try to break you if you get in their way It's what their kind does."
"I'm used to it," Adam said, his gaze fixed on the passing city.
"Not like this," Jet countered, her voice grim. "In the ossuary, a knife in the dark is just business. Here, it's a game. A political move. They'll use rules you don't know, social weapons you can't comprehend. Your True Name… 'Origin of Evil'… it will frighten some. It will make others want to prove they can dominate the source of wickedness itself. You're a walking challenge to their entire worldview."
"Good," Adam said, a slow, cold smile touching his lips. "Let them try."
Jet glanced at him, and for a second, he saw something in her eyes that wasn't pity or professional detachment. It was recognition. The look of one predator acknowledging another.
"Just remember," she said, "the Academy has one rule above all others: no killing. Maiming is frowned upon but happens. Humiliation is a national sport. You break the no-killing rule, and all this," she gestured around the car, the city, "vanishes. You'll be back in a cell deeper and darker than the one you just left. Understood?"
"Understood."
Soon, a new structure came into view. It wasn't a single building, but a vast, walled campus nestled against the inner side of the city's primary defensive wall. The architecture was a blend of ancient fortress and modern institution—soaring towers of white stone stood beside geometric structures of steel and glass. The Awakened Academy. The training ground for the city's future protectors and masters.
The cruiser passed through a heavily guarded gate and glided to a stop before a majestic, columned administration building. The air here felt different—sharper, charged with latent energy. He could feel it on his skin, a faint buzz that resonated with the new power in his soul.
Jet led him inside, through echoing marble halls lined with portraits of severe-looking men and women in Awakened regalia. They ended up in a small, windowless office that smelled of old paper and ozone. A tired-looking clerk with a data-slate barely looked up.
"New intake," Jet announced, her voice echoing in the small space. "Adam. Ossuary district. Sleeper. Aspect: [Origin Mimic]" She paused, then delivered the line with deliberate weight. "And he claims a True Name."
The clerk's head snapped up, his bored eyes widening. "A True Name? On a first…?" He looked at Adam, then at Jet, seeking confirmation.
"He claims it," Jet repeated, her tone making it clear the claim was to be taken seriously. "Needs verification."
The clerk swallowed nervously and fumbled in a drawer, pulling out a small, crystalline orb set in a bronze base. It was inert, dull.
"The Veracity Lens," Jet explained to Adam. "Standard procedure for any major claim. It reads intent, the resonance of your soul with your words. It's not perfect, but it's good enough for this. Place your hand on the base and state your name, your Aspect, and your True Name for the record."
This was it. The moment his carefully constructed half-truths faced their first real test. He felt a trickle of cold sweat down his spine, but his face remained a calm mask. The silence in his head was a perfect, placid lake.
He stepped forward and placed his palm on the cool bronze. The moment his skin made contact, the crystalline orb flickered to life, glowing with a soft, neutral white light.
"State your name," the clerk instructed, his voice trembling slightly.
"Adam."
The light remained steady, white.
"State your Aspect."
"[Origin Mimic]."
The light pulsed, a gentle, accepting white. He had spoken the truth.
The clerk took a deep breath. "State your True Name."
Adam looked directly at the orb, pouring his will into the statement, focusing on the absolute, searing truth of the title the Spell had branded upon him.
"Origin of Evil."
The light pulsed, a gentle, accepting white. He had spoken the truth once more.
back into place, though a muscle in her jaw was twitching. "Log it," she commanded, her voice harsh. "Aspect: [Origin Mimic]. True Name: Origin of Evil. Verification: Positive."
She turned to Adam, her gaze complex, a mixture of wariness, pity, and a grim, newfound respect. "Welcome to the Academy, Sleeper Adam. Your file is now complete." She gestured towards the door. "I'll take you to the dormitories. Try to get some rest."
As he followed her out, the clerk still staring in stunned silence, Adam kept his face neutral. But inside, the silent, perfect engine of his mind was already calculating his next move. The facade was holding. They believed his limited truth. They were terrified of the name he'd given them. most importantly he finally advanced in life from the streets which he had been thrown to now being a sleeper preparing for his first true nightmare not the trail he encountered to receive his currant power but a visit to the dream realm and make sure he succeed and came back safely he needed to train like hell.