Warm arms enveloped him. Elean’s scent, a mixture of lavender and clean air, filled Lukus’s small lungs. Her grip tightened, a silent tremor running through her. Security officers swarmed the nursery moments later, their heavy boots thudding against the polished floor. Voices rose in agitated whispers. Elean held Lukus close, her eyes scanning the room, a fierce maternal protectiveness radiating from her. “Find them,” she commanded, her voice low and sharp, betraying no hint of the recent fear. “Every last one who allowed this breach. I want answers.” Her eyes, usually soft, now burned with cold fury. The Hex family rarely tolerated incompetence. Lukus, nestled in her embrace, felt a strange satisfaction. His mother, strong and capable, would handle this. Just like he had handled the Gorne. A small ping sounded in his mind. Ding! First kill novice gift pack. Open? Yes/No *Yes*, Lukus thought immediately. His internal voice, sharper than any infant's, confirmed the choice. This was an opportunity. Ding! Host unlocked new function: Point Convert. Host can convert all energy into points. Energy? Lukus reviewed his status. His latent cosmic energy, the raw power that pulsed within him, was immense. But only a fraction of it was 'convertible' for now, linked to his nascent system. He accessed the system interface, a shimmering display only he could see. He had accumulated a small amount of residual energy from his recent, concealed power burst. *Convert all available energy*, he instructed. The system hummed, a pleasant chime confirming the transaction. His points count rose. He had a vague understanding of points as currency for system upgrades, but the specifics were still hazy. His father, Arthur Hex, arrived a short while later. A tremor of raw anger clung to him, a palpable force. His jaw was tight, a vein pulsing at his temple. He didn’t scream. He didn’t rage. Instead, his voice was a dangerous quiet as he gave orders. Security chiefs paled. Guards snapped to attention. Arthur Hex moved like a predator, swift and decisive. Over the next few days, the Hex estate buzzed with a different kind of energy. Whispers turned to rumors. Rumors turned to grim facts. Traitors, those who had compromised the family’s defenses for the Gorne incursion, were found. No mercy was shown. Lukus, sensing the shift in the manor’s aura, knew his father had fulfilled his unspoken promise. Arthur’s hands, usually gentle when holding his son, had been stained. Not with blood, but with the grim necessity of protection. He saw the cold resolve in Arthur’s eyes, a reflection of his own developing ruthlessness. Days bled into weeks, weeks into months. Lukus grew, his small body strengthening, his mind sharpening. He spent his early years observing, absorbing. He listened to conversations, studying the intricate power dynamics of the Hex family, the political landscape of their sector, the ever-present threat of the Gornes. He practiced his spatial abilities in secret, infinitesimal shifts that went unnoticed. He could move a toy from one side of his crib to the other without touching it, then return it. He could nudge a loose floorboard in the nursery. Each tiny, undetected shift honed his control. Five years passed in a blur of hidden training and meticulous observation. Lukus was a child on the outside, a veteran strategist within. His space-type abilities grew exponentially, far beyond what any five-year-old should possess. He could *step* now, not just shift. Tiny, instantaneous jumps across his room, then across the manor, always unseen, always unheard. Today, the annual Hex family physical evaluation test awaited him. A right of passage for every child born into the family. A measure of their innate mana potential, their physical fortitude, their readiness for a world riddled with threats. Lukus knew what he had to do. He stood amongst other children, all eager, some nervous. Their parents watched from the observation deck, their faces a mixture of pride and expectation. Arthur and Elean were there, their gazes fixed on him. Their hope felt like a physical weight on his shoulders. He could feel the examiner’s mana probe approaching. A delicate, golden energy snaking towards him, designed to gauge his internal reserves. Lukus activated his passive mana-damping skill, a system function he’d bought with those first converted points. It was a low-cost, high-impact skill, masking his true energy signature perfectly. Cold energy spread through his core, muffling his true power. The probe touched him. He let it read an abysmal baseline, a barely-there flicker of mana. The examiner, a stern-faced woman with a monocle, frowned. Her stylus scribbled on her data pad. “Lukus Hex,” she announced, her voice flat. “Mana aptitude: Below average. Physical strength: Below average. Reflexes: Average.” The words hung in the air. A collective gasp rippled through the observation deck. Arthur’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. Elean’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with dismay. Lukus kept his face impassive. He had practiced this expression in the mirror for weeks. A slight, innocent pout. A flicker of childish disappointment. He was a perfect actor. Later, Arthur found him in his room. His father’s usual vibrant aura felt muted, tinged with a heavy sorrow. He sat on the edge of Lukus’s bed, his large hand gently stroking his son’s hair. Lukus met his gaze, feigning innocence. “Son,” Arthur began, his voice rough. “It’s… it’s alright. Not everyone is born with immense power. Your mother and I, we… we understand.” Arthur squeezed his hand. “This just means I’ll have to work harder. The unstable dungeons, they pay well. Double shifts won’t be a problem. Your future… it will be secured. You won’t have to worry about anything.” Lukus’s stomach clenched. The words, meant to reassure, twisted into a painful knot. *Double shifts*. *Unstable dungeons*. His father, risking his life, *because of him*. The familiar shame, a cold, insidious poison, spread through his veins. He remembered lying in that hospital bed on Earth, a burden, a drain on his family’s meager resources. He remembered the quiet despair in his parents’ eyes. *Never again*. The vow solidified in his core, burning fiercely. He would not be a weakness. He would not be a burden. No matter the cost. That night, after the manor fell silent, Lukus slipped out of his window. He used *Space-Step*, a blur of distortion that brought him to the ground floor without a sound. He moved through the moonlit gardens, a ghost. His destination: the edges of the city, where the lowest-tier Gorne occasionally ventured. He needed points. He needed money. His family’s debts, though not catastrophic, were a constant hum of worry beneath the surface. Arthur’s 'double shifts' would help, but Lukus knew he could do more. He *had* to do more. His first target was a Scavenger Gorne, a dog-sized creature with chitinous plates and razor claws. It rooted through a discarded refuse pile in a dim alleyway. Lukus moved, an almost imperceptible shimmer. His hands, small and quick, were practiced. He had trained relentlessly, using system-provided simulations, honing his combat instincts. A quick, precise strike. A localized gravity pulse, barely a whisper of distortion, crushed the Gorne’s head. It crumpled without a sound. Lukus harvested its mana core, a glowing gem. The system registered the kill, adding a small amount to his points total. Night after night, Lukus hunted. He targeted creatures that wouldn't raise alarms, those easily dismissed as rogue stragglers. Scavengers, Whisper Bats, low-level Sludge Hounds. He became a shadow, a silent predator in the underbelly of the city’s outskirts. He learned to distinguish monster trails, to anticipate patrols, to utilize the urban landscape for cover. He sold the mana cores and monster parts through an anonymous contact in a back-alley shop, using a voice modulator to sound older, gruffer. The shop owner, a grizzled man with suspicious eyes, never questioned a five-year-old’s capabilities. He just paid the credits, no questions asked. Lukus kept a separate, encrypted account for his illicit earnings, a growing fund hidden from his family. He used some of his points for minor system upgrades, improving his agility, his stealth, his spatial control. Each successful hunt fueled his resolve. Each hidden credit contributed to his secret war against his own perceived uselessness. He felt the weight of the future, the coming battles against cosmic threats, and he knew he had to be ready. He couldn't rely on anyone else. One particular night, he ventured deeper than usual, drawn by a faint energy signature. An abandoned factory, long since stripped bare, offered a promising hunting ground. He found a small cluster of Void Wisps, ethereal creatures that floated through the decaying structures. They were harmless, almost, but their essence was valuable, highly sought after by alchemists and arcane practitioners. He cornered a Wisp in a grimy alleyway behind the factory. Its ghostly form shimmered, a pale blue light. Lukus extended his hand, a focused energy field containing the Wisp, slowly extracting its core essence. This was a delicate process, requiring immense concentration to avoid dissipating the valuable resource. As Lukus harvested a rare Void Essence in the alleyway, a shadow stretched over him, and a low voice purrs: 'A five-year-old who can step through spatial dimensions... how much will the Black Market pay for you?'

Chapter 4: The Mask of the Mundane