Night fell without ceremony.
The village slept beneath a cloud-smeared sky, the moon a pale, drifting eye that offered light without warmth. Its glow spilled across wooden rooftops leaning against one another like tired men bracing for collapse. Small. Vulnerable. Insignificant. And yet tonight, warmth dared to exist.
Laughter rolled through the narrow streets—soft, restrained, unmistakably human. It was not celebration, but relief. A storm had passed. The beast tide had not yet come. And for a single night, the village allowed itself to breathe.
At the settlement's edge, a modest house drew a quiet crowd. Lanterns swayed as villagers pressed close, their faces marked by exhaustion, curiosity, and something more fragile—hope. Edmar stood in the doorway, swaying slightly as he cradled a newborn. His grin was unguarded, almost foolish, the expression of a man briefly forgetting how cruel the world preferred to be.
"Edmar finally has something more important than profit," an elder muttered, fingers combing through a white beard.
A merchant beside him snorted softly. "Always said business was numbers first. Guess he lied."
Edmar laughed, then faltered as he looked down at the infant in his arms. His fingers trembled—not from fear, but from reverence. As if holding the child too firmly might cause him to vanish.
"As much as I hate to admit it," he whispered, voice rough with awe, "your mother won our bet."
The newborn cried—thin, sharp, alive. Edmar leaned closer, brushing a finger against a tiny hand that closed around it with instinctive strength. The gesture was simple. Absolute.
"You'll be called… Al."
The warmth dimmed with a sudden knock.
Silence rippled outward.
A tall man stepped forward, his presence parting villagers without effort. Long hair tied neatly behind his back. Movements measured. Authority worn lightly—but unmistakably.
"Chief?" Edmar blinked. "I thought you were occupied."
The man's lips curved faintly. "Am I meant to miss my sister's child?"
Edmar shifted, instinctively angling his body to shield the infant. "She's exhausted. The midwife won't allow visitors."
"Wise." The chief's gaze lingered on the newborn—just a fraction too long—before hardening. "It's the beast tide."
Edmar stiffened. "Didn't the mayor send reinforcements?"
"He did. Three days ago." The chief's voice lowered. "An A-rank hunter was found dead near the outer forest."
The crowd inhaled as one. Whispers stirred, fragile and fearful.
"Then… we evacuate?" someone asked.
The chief shook his head. "Too late. This is a fragment of a greater tide. If we flee now, we become bait."
Edmar swallowed. "So we wait?"
"No." The chief placed a firm hand on Edmar's shoulder. "Tonight, I thin the strays. Pray the main tide ignores us."
Then he was gone.
Laughter did not return.
Inside the house, the infant lay on a wooden bed. Small. Fragile. Human.
And utterly incompatible.
This vessel… is inferior even to the prison.
The thought was not emotional. It was evaluative.
Bones resisted intention. Muscles screamed at the concept of motion. Every heartbeat sent pain crawling through unfamiliar nerves. The Hegemon Soul Devourer—devourer of emperors, breaker of laws, ruler of annihilation—was confined within flesh designed to do nothing but survive.
I severed my authority. Abandoned my laws. Entered samsara willingly.
And they expected dissolution?
A presence asserted itself.
Not hostile. Not benevolent.
Absolute.
It cut through his consciousness with surgical precision, stripping context, enforcing structure.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE][DESIGNATED HOST]: Al[SOUL TRANSPLANT]: CONFIRMED[ORIGINAL HOST SOUL]: TERMINATED[INTEGRATION STATUS]: STABLE
A translucent interface unfolded before his eyes—cold, orderly, indifferent. It did not ask permission. It did not acknowledge his will. It simply existed.
[SYSTEM STATUS]Name: AlRace: HumanAge: 0Cultivation: NoneSoul State: SEALEDSystem Access Level: BASIC
Understanding arrived instantly.
This was not a tool meant to empower him.
It was a containment framework.
"This system," he attempted to say. The sound emerged as a weak whisper, barely more than air. "Was not designed for me."
Pain followed the attempt. His lungs burned. His chest tightened. Mortality asserted itself with humiliating insistence.
[SYSTEM RULES ENFORCED]• Mortal Protection Law: ACTIVE• Soul Authority: RESTRICTED• External Energy Manipulation: LOCKED
A directive appeared—simple, unforgiving.
[INITIAL QUEST]Objective: Survive the First NightTime Remaining: 12 HoursFailure Penalty: Soul Dissolution
So that is the threshold.
Not conquest. Not dominance.
Survival.
Outside, the forest shifted. Ancient instincts stirred. Eyes opened where none should exist. A distant howl answered another—measuring, patient, aware.
Al lay still, his tiny chest rising and falling. The vessel was weak, but intact. Functional. Adequate.
Calculation replaced fury.
Every limit was data. Every restriction, a boundary to test. He could not act—not yet—but he could observe. Adapt. Endure.
This borrowed system. This fragile flesh.
A prison.
A sanctuary.
A weapon—eventually.
Moonlight spilled through the window, indifferent and eternal. Somewhere beyond the village, something noticed the anomaly. Something old paused in its hunger.
The infant twitched. Each movement was deliberate. Every breath, measured.
Let them underestimate. Let them watch.
Weakness was not an end state.
It was a starting condition.
And Al—sealed, bound, and patient—had endured far worse than infancy.