Two days passed in the hidden forest lair.
The elf, whom Arata now knew as Lyra, moved with the silent grace of a huntress, bringing berries and dried meat, applying herbal salves that Niralveht, her familiar, offered her. Arata, still weak, told her what little he remembered. Waking up on the battlefield, being rescued by Akiharu, his short life in the Belgrán Academy, and Elinne's betrayal.
The doubt about Akiharu, his adoptive father, was a persistent knot in his chest.
Could the man who saved him be involved in his kidnapping?
Lyra listened in silence. Her golden eyes fixed on the horizon, offering neither judgment nor comfort. Only the unspoken promise of protection.
On the third day, Arata felt renewed. The wound in his abdomen was now a pale scar, barely visible beneath the healing roots. And his left eye—the one that had been closed and aching since his awakening—finally opened.
The scar that crossed from his brow to his cheek was still there, a permanent mark. But his vision was clear. Sharp. As if the forest itself had repaired what the world had taken from him. He felt a strange vibration in the nerve, as if the world looked sharper through it.
"It's time to go," Lyra said, breaking the morning silence.
She stood, her spear of vegetal bone glowing with a subtle green energy.
"My village isn't far, but the path we'll take is... unusual."
Arata looked at her, curious.
"Unusual?"
"Yes." Lyra adjusted her mossy hood. "It's a place where the ancient still breathes too strongly to be disturbed. The forest creatures avoid it. It's the safest path for us."
Arata nodded. A mix of nervousness and anticipation ignited in his chest. He stood up. His body, for the first time in days, felt light. The forest, which once seemed hostile and maze-like, now felt like home. Mysterious. Deep. Almost sacred.
The journey was different.
With each step, the forest grew denser, the trees older and more twisted. Their canopies formed a thick ceiling that barely let sunlight through. The air was heavy. Almost tangible. The silence was absolute, broken only by the crunch of branches underfoot or the whisper of leaves that seemed to murmur ancient, forgotten tales.
Lyra walked ahead, her golden eyes scanning every shadow. A silent guardian in an ancestral realm.
At last, they arrived at a clearing. But it wasn't an open one. It was a natural hollow, like an amphitheater of rock and vegetation. The air there was even denser, an invisible pressure that weighed on lungs, skin, thoughts. The trees surrounding the place grew twisted, crushed, as if a colossal force had once shaped them. In the center stood a rock formation. A natural altar, eroded by centuries and covered in moss and lichens.
An echo of something immensely ancient.
"This place…" Arata murmured.
He felt a strange resonance calling him. His feet moved on their own, guiding him toward the altar.
In the center, his eyes fell on an object.
It wasn't large, but its presence eclipsed everything. It looked like a fossilized or petrified eggshell, considerably sized, with iridescent veins that absorbed light rather than reflected it. Black. Pure. Immaculate. As if time had never touched it.
An unalterable fragment of something legendary.
Arata reached out his hand. An invisible force pulled him toward it.
His fingers touched the smooth, cold surface of the shell.
And in that instant, the pressure crushed him.
It wasn't gravity pushing him down. It was a collapse from all directions, a brutal compression that defied sense and logic. His bones cracked, a muffled groan escaped his throat. The air vanished from his lungs. Every cell trembled. Every part of his body screamed.
His vision dissolved into spirals of color.
And then, darkness claimed him.
He fell unconscious, a fragment of the shell still clenched in his hand.
Lyra watched from a distance. Her expression was unreadable, but she knew, deep down, that something transcendent was occurring. Something beyond even her understanding.
He awoke without a body. Without pain. Without ground.
Only void.
It was the spiritual plane.
A mist of shifting colors surrounded him, still, silent. There was no up or down. Only a vortex of calm and oppression.
Then, a presence emerged. It didn't walk, didn't appear. It simply... was.
It had no defined physical form, but its existence filled the space. Arata looked up.
An eye.
A single colossal eye floated in the mist. It wasn't a biological eye, but a tear in reality. A window into immensity.
The sclera was polished obsidian black, so deep it absorbed light. The iris, a vortex of abyssal indigos and cosmic purples, spun slowly like a distant galaxy. And the pupil… a fissure of absolute darkness. So dense it resembled a black hole. Within it, specks of silver and golden light flickered, like newborn stars, like creation dust.
The beauty of the eye was unbearable. It drew like an abyss. And instilled a primal terror.
To look at it was to be lost.
An ethereal distortion rippled around it, as if reality itself bent beneath its gaze.
Barely visible, surrounding the eye, emerged a fraction of the creature that contained it. Scales of charcoal gray with iridescent gleams, like an amalgam of shadow and pressure. A single protrusion, a jet-black horn with veins that absorbed light, curved upward and vanished into the void.
Sealed majesty.
A "voice" resounded. Not through sound, but through weight. Through compression in consciousness.
"Strange. Your essence is a paradox. Thread of divinity and mortal at once."
Arata couldn't respond. His soul trembled.
"You are not a beast… But neither are you merely human. You carry a mark… and a gift."
The voice continued. The creature was exploring his being, his broken origin.
"My mother, the Goddess of Pressure, has blessed you. An affinity. Rare. Unique."
A shudder ran through his spirit.
"And the stench of blood from another god… He seeks you. Your sorrow shall be his joy. I want to see it."
Nivhan.
The name echoed with chilling clarity.
The creature knew him. Knew his creator. Knew his executioner.
"I am Ten'ryuu. The Celestial Dragon of the Void."
The pressure of his voice increased, like a crushing tide.
"My body has been sealed for centuries, chained far from this plane. But my essence… my power… can be yours. In return, you shall be my eyes."
The colossal eye enveloped him in its gaze.
"Accept my weight, cursed child. Let my strength give you form. Though my body remains chained, my essence shall be yours."
And Arata understood.
It was not submission.
It was not servitude.
It was a pact of mutual need.
Elinne's betrayal. Nivhan's threat. His fragmented identity. Everything pushed him toward this moment.
"I accept," he thought. His will was firm. Unbreakable.
And in the instant he did—
An explosion of pure energy pierced his soul. It wasn't painful. It was total. And in that moment, the void seemed to collapse upon itself, marking the end of what Arata had been and the beginning of what he was about to become.