POV: Sullivan Prentiss Morteuxe (Age 12)
The Morteuxe estate felt smaller, quieter, and strangely slow after the months spent on the volatile Crimson Continent. The meticulous order of the Cinder Basin, once restrictive, now felt like a welcome, strategic respite.
Sullivan stood in the center of his father's library, the Morteuxe Ledger now appearing almost trivial on the desk. He had retrieved the B-Rank data repository—a simple, encrypted memory card—and presented it to his father.
Julian Morteuxe, seated behind the mahogany desk, did not offer praise. He offered analysis.
"You successfully executed the King Engine Shift," Julian observed, reading the detailed, objective report Sullivan had filed. "You sacrificed nearly all combat effectiveness—Reflex, Speed, even Mind—to achieve 80\% Defense, allowing you to absorb an otherwise fatal Transmutation attack."
"It was the only logical variable," Sullivan replied. "I traded an asset that would be irrelevant in a single, massive-impact engagement—mobility—for the asset required to survive the impact—durability."
Julian nodded slowly. "A chillingly effective calculation. You are mastering the cost of your ability. But you are still twelve, Sullivan. And you have awakened a power that comes with an old, dark history."
Kaelin, who had been waiting by the door with her customary stillness, finally spoke, her crimson eyes narrowed. "The Specialist type is considered an aberration by many of the traditional Hunter Houses. They say it arises from obsession, mania, or a psychological commitment to a single, defining flaw."
"Precisely," Julian confirmed. "The Nen community knows the Morteuxe family produces Manipulators and Conjurers. We are known for control and order.
Your Specialization defies our legacy. It is a sign of chaos."
The Uninvited Guest
That evening, during a cold, formal dinner, the household was disturbed by the arrival of an uninvited guest.
The man who stood in the reception hall was unlike any traveler Sullivan had ever cataloged. He was tall and gaunt, dressed in travel-worn silks that hinted at great wealth, and carried a staff carved from an unknown, luminescent wood. His face was deeply lined, and his hair was the color of bleached ash.
He introduced himself with a slight, almost deferential bow. "My name is Cain. I am a humble ethnographer and collector of forgotten histories. I merely seek a moment with the Morteuxe archives, Lord Julian."
Julian Morteuxe's polite denial was instantaneous. "Our archives are private, sir. You are trespassing."
Cain smiled—a slow, sorrowful expression that didn't reach his eyes. His Aura was completely suppressed; he was a master of Zetsu. Yet, Sullivan's highly tuned Perception felt a profound, aching depth beneath the surface—a history of immense, contained power.
"Of course, Lord Julian," Cain conceded easily. He then fixed his dark, piercing gaze on Sullivan. "But perhaps the Young Lord would be interested in a tiny fragment of forgotten knowledge, a gift for a prodigy who has just awoken the Soul Engine."
Sullivan froze. He had called his ability King Engine. Only the deepest archives of Nen lore—or a true veteran Specialist—would know the ancient name for his type of power.
"I know no 'Soul Engine,'" Sullivan said, his voice flat, his Mind attribute already surging to 30\% to perform rapid analysis on the man's intent.
Cain simply raised a hand and, with a silent, subtle application of Nen, caused a small, ornate silver teaspoon to hover effortlessly, spinning once, perfectly level, above the table.
"Psychokinesis," Cain murmured, his eyes locked on Sullivan. "You call it the Mind Specialist Mode. We, the few who share this path, call it the True Command."
He lowered the spoon, his smile fading.
"The Specialist ability of true control, Morteuxe, does not originate from a logical flaw or a convenient restriction. It originates from a moment of profound tragedy or mania—a soul-deep fracture that allows the subconscious will to override the laws of physics. It requires a cost not measured in Aura, but in humanity."
Julian Morteuxe surged forward, his face pale with controlled fury. "Silence, Cain! Leave this house!"
Cain ignored him. He spoke directly to Sullivan, his words resonating with the weight of centuries.
"Look into the Morteuxe archives, young King. You will find that your lineage did not always produce predictable Manipulators. We were once… Hunters of the Self. And the price we pay for the Soul Engine is that the discipline of the Mind must constantly restrain the chaos of the Instinct."
Cain paused, allowing the words to sink in. He then executed a bow that was almost a salute and walked silently out into the night, vanishing without a trace.
The True Morteuxe Legacy
Julian Morteuxe was visibly shaken. He looked at Kaelin, then at his son, and made a decision. He pulled the Archived History of Morteuxe Specialization—the book he had shown Sullivan a year earlier—and slammed it onto the desk.
"This is why I sent you to Theron," Julian whispered, his control fracturing. "We knew this was your path. The Morteuxe family was founded not by a merchant, but by a Specialist who weaponized his own mania.
The King Engine—the Soul Engine—was his. But he lost control. The power overwhelmed the discipline, and he was consumed by his own destructive Instinct."
Julian gestured to the two attributes on Sullivan's internal ledger:
* 🧠 Mind (The Calculation)
* ⚡ Instinct (The Destructive Impulse)
"Cain is right. Your ability is a knife with two opposite blades. Your Mind Specialist Mode allows you to impose absolute order through Psychokinesis. But if you ever commit too much power to your Instinct attribute—if you achieve Instinct Specialist Mode—you will unleash the true, chaotic, destructive core of your ancestors."
Sullivan, despite the terrifying revelation, was calm. His mind was already factoring the new data.
"Then the King Engine's primary function is not to fight others," Sullivan concluded, his voice low and thoughtful, "but to maintain the internal balance. It is a constant, strategic war between my calculation and my rage."
Kaelin watched Sullivan, a glimmer of profound respect in her eyes. Most Hunters would be terrified of the destructive potential. Sullivan was merely adding it to his operational budget.
"We need to leave the Basin again, Sullivan," Kaelin stated. "Your name is known now, and Cain's visit confirms that other Specialists are aware of your awakening. The Basin is too small for the war you have just started."
Sullivan nodded, picking up his ledger. He logged the encounter, labeling Cain as Variable Alpha.
"Agreed. I have just conceptualized the ultimate risk. Now, I must find the ultimate reward. The world is vast, Kaelin. Let us go find a place where I can test my Instinct without sacrificing my Mind."
His jade eyes, usually cold, now held a burning, focused heat. The next adventure would take them far beyond the civilized continents, to a place where only the most disciplined survived.