Chapter 17: Little Sapphire
The little girl was surprisingly fast for her age—darting through the moonlit courtyard like a startled rabbit, white hair streaming behind her like a comet's tail.
But unbeknownst to her, Dax had already moved.
In an instant, he appeared behind her—silent, effortless—and scooped her up with one smooth motion.
"Where are you going, little bunny?" he asked, voice playful, almost gentle.
"Do you want to play with your Grand-Uncle?"
The little girl's face turned pale as moonlight.
She let out a frightened squeal and kicked her small legs furiously—tiny feet thumping harmlessly against his arm.
"Put me down, Grand-Uncle!" she cried, lips pushing into a trembling pout, eyes already glistening with the threat of tears.
Confused, Dax gently set her on the ground—careful, almost hesitant—brushing imaginary dust from her small robes with unexpected tenderness.
"Don't cry, Little Sapphire," he coaxed, voice softening in a way that surprised even him.
"I have a gift for you."
He looked down at her—Sapphire, his second cousin's grandchild—and right now, she looked ready to burst into full, wailing sobs.
Flustered, Dax acted quickly.
With a flick of his hand, he pulled a massive, strangely wrapped chocolate bar from his Epoch storage—a leftover from distant travels in the Jagan sector, its wrapper shimmering faintly with preserved sweetness.
"This is candy," he said simply, placing it carefully into her small hands.
"Don't cry."
Without waiting for her response, Dax turned and began walking away—robe whispering against stone, posture relaxed once more.
Her eyes immediately sparkled with delight.
Clutching the enormous bar like a treasure, she dashed out of the courtyard with renewed energy—little feet pattering happily.
Once outside, she looked at the huge chocolate in her hands and her smile widened into something mischievous, triumphant.
"Hehe! Foolish Uncle!" she declared proudly to the night sky, voice ringing with childish glee.
"I'll make you give me all your candy!"
Her cute, victorious declaration echoed joyfully as she skipped along the path—already plotting her next grand heist.
But her celebration was cut short.
A shadow fell over her—long, elegant, cold.
She looked up into the cool, unreadable eyes of the silver-haired woman from the gate.
The woman stood motionless—adamantite armor gleaming faintly under moonlight, silver hair flowing like liquid starlight.
Sapphire froze.
The woman said nothing.
She simply stared—expression unreadable, yet heavy with unspoken weight.
Sapphire clutched the chocolate tighter, suddenly uncertain.
Then, with the barest tilt of her head, the woman spoke—voice soft, almost musical.
"Be careful, little one. Some gifts… come with teeth."
She turned and vanished into shadow once more—leaving only the whisper of wind and the faint scent of frost.
Sapphire blinked, then bolted again—this time toward the safety of the inner halls, chocolate still clutched like a talisman.
Dax returned to his room with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
My standing in this clan is not small, he thought with quiet satisfaction.
As he settled onto the low divan, memories resurfaced—whispers overheard from maids during his childhood, fragments of his own peculiar birth.
He was the son of the current Patriarch—one of the world's top geniuses—and Vera, a prodigy of the Sun Clan.
Because of his mother's rare constitution, she had carried Dax in her womb for three hundred years.
That single fact had allowed every child of his generation to surpass him while he was still unborn—still forming, still waiting.
What kind of child stays in the womb for that long?
Even Inerous had been astonished when the memory surfaced.
This was far from normal for humans.
If every human required centuries to bear a child, humanity would have gone extinct ages ago.
The only logical explanation was simple, elegant, and terrifying:
The lifespan of humans in this world had to be incredibly long.
Dax stepped out into his massive courtyard—enjoying the medieval aesthetics surrounding him: arched stone walkways, hanging lanterns glowing softly, ancient trees whispering in the night breeze.
At the center, he sat down cross-legged on the smooth marble.
He summoned Cil into his grip and rested her across his lap as he entered a perfect lotus position—blade humming faintly, eager.
"I really hate missing my kill," he muttered, fingers tracing the crimson edge. "One thing this body lacks… is balance. The surge in my stats has destroyed the natural equilibrium of my physique."
Inerous responded immediately—her voice bright, teasing, yet precise.
"Yes, Master, that is correct. Your newly evolved trait is in a league of its own. Insatiable Hunger refined your body as you consumed… but think of it like this."
"Imagine two containers. One is filled to the brim, but reinforced to withstand immense pressure. The other is completely empty… unstrengthened and fragile. Now, if you forcefully inject vast energy into the weaker container… what will happen?"
"The vessel will be destroyed," Dax answered without hesitation.
"Bingo." Inerous teased, a mental giggle following.
Dax narrowed his eyes.
"So why is my body intact as we speak?"
He already had a vague idea, but he wanted to hear it directly from her.
"Silly Master," Inerous replied with light laughter.
"It's obviously because of the evolution of your trait into the Origin Eater."
"That trait didn't just refine your body—it rebuilt it from the foundation up. The moment you consumed the essence of this world, your vessel adapted. It's no longer the old, fragile container. It's something new—something that can withstand the pressure of your true power… at least partially."
Dax exhaled slowly.
"So I'm still in transition."
"Exactly," she confirmed. "Your soul has already reached Trait Emperor. Your mind operates at that level. But your body… it's lagging. It's catching up, piece by piece. The more you push it—the more you force it to endure—the faster it will adapt."
He smiled faintly—dangerous, pleased.
"Then I suppose I should push harder."