"You ask too many questions, kid."
Axir's words struck like a worn bell in a forgotten chapel—dry, aged, but still resonant.
Damián didn't flinch. His eyes remained steady, not defiant, but hungry. There was something behind them now—a flicker of something ancient, something stretching toward the beyond.
"If I truly desire to know the meaning of life…"
His voice quivered with restraint, as though afraid the words would shatter under their own weight.
"…will you help me find it?"
The old man leaned forward slowly. His lips curled into a smirk—sharp, deliberate.
Teeth too perfect for time. White as fresh bone under moonlight.
"I can guide you some of the way," Axir said.
"But no man walks the entire road for another."
The lantern between them flickered, casting shadows that danced across the wooden walls like long-dead memories.
Damián paused, his breath shallow.
"These deities…" he whispered, "…they were once humans. Mere mortals?"
Axir's grin grew a shade darker. "Yes," he said, voice soft but glinting.
"Some still are. Mortals so powerful they bleed like gods… and speak like truths."
A quiet chill crept into the room. Something about that thought—it made the air feel… thinner.
Damián rose. His steps were slow but purposeful, like each motion echoed in another world. He approached the old lantern sitting atop a crooked table, placing his hand just close enough to feel its warmth.
Its glow painted his face in gold and shadow.
"Where can I find an Ecliptica?" he asked.
Axir turned toward him, and for a heartbeat, he looked inhuman.
Not monstrous. Not divine. But vast—like an abyss that had taken the shape of a man.
"Some," he began, "are born with you—fused into your spirit before your first cry. Others come later… summoned through ritual, offered through sacrifice, or hidden in dreams."
His voice slowed, weighted by truths too heavy to name.
"One may find you through blood. One may awaken through alchemy, potions… drugs brewed in the bowls of madness. And one, perhaps the rarest…"
Axir leaned in. His eyes locked with Damián's.
"…might already be inside you. Sleeping."
Damián blinked, then let out a quiet, cynical laugh.
"Are we living in a fantasy world?"
He looked toward the fire again.
"So what—you mean it just needs to awaken from its slumber?"
Axir nodded slowly, eyes never leaving him.
"Essentially… yes."
There was a stillness then. One of those moments that felt like it didn't belong in time—suspended between the inhale and the exhale.
Damián turned toward a mini-table nearby, carved with precision and care—glass top, pinewood legs that shimmered under the lantern light. He reached beneath it and pulled out a book.
The leather cover groaned under his fingers as he opened it.
Strange symbols writhed across the pages, refusing to sit still under his gaze. They shimmered faintly, like fireflies caught in ink.
"I can't read this language," he muttered. "Except the word 'Ecliptica.'"
Axir gave a small nod, his expression unreadable.
"This world…" he said, slowly, "…is full of things that were never meant to be named. Mystical beasts. Creatures. Realms. Deities."
He paused.
"I shall teach you. How to acquire your first Ecliptica… as you wish."
He gestured toward the book.
"You'll take this with you. It holds the writings of a lost people. From mere humanity… to immortality."
Damián looked down at the ancient pages. His throat was dry, his mind loud.
"But… how will I ever learn to read it?"
Axir's eyes seemed to dim, like a dying star in a dark sky.
His answer came like a prophecy carved into silence:
"When you have true power… and meaning."