Dawn sat across from the old man, his fingers resting lightly on the worn wooden table of the archive's secluded corner. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken words. The flickering lantern cast shifting shadows across the old man's face, accentuating the deep lines carved by time and wisdom.
"You tread on the dark abyss, seeking for light," the old man finally said, his voice calm yet weighted with knowledge. "You wish to know what path you must walk. But before we speak of the future, let us first address the present."
Dawn met the man's gaze, his usual detachment wavering for just a moment. Then, with measured precision, he spoke. "My mortal shell… It's twisted. Crippled from the start. It is not like the others, and the more I learn, the clearer it becomes that my foundation is flawed."
The old man nodded, as if he had expected those words. Without hesitation, he reached behind him and pulled out an ancient tome, its cover faded, its spine creased with age. "This," he said, sliding it across the table, "is 'The Codex of Ascended Forms.' It details the nature of physiques, from the Mortal Shell to the Transcended Form. You will find within it not only descriptions of the layers but also insight into how transformation is possible."
Dawn hesitated for only a moment before taking the book from the old man's hands. The weight of it was heavier than he expected, as though knowledge itself pressed upon his palms. The cover was aged leather, cracked at the seams, yet it carried an undeniable aura of significance. He traced the intricate etchings on its surface—symbols ancient and unfamiliar—before flipping through the pages. Diagrams of the human body, charts mapping the intricate layers of physiques, and records of those who had transcended their limits filled the tome. It wasn't just a book; it was a legacy of those who had walked this path before him.
The pages were heavy, filled with meticulous diagrams and writings in an old but decipherable script. Skimming through, he noted classifications, differences, and subtle nuances of evolution in physique. The words hinted at something… a way forward. But he would need time to grasp it all.
"There," the old man pointed to a particular passage near the end. "A Mortal Shell does not have to remain as such. There exists a theory—a path—that allows it to reach beyond its limits. To become something else entirely."
Dawn was totally captivated by the knowledge presented before him. It hinted at a way forward. Freeing him from the despairing hold of the abyssal Void.
"Read it at your own pace," the old man said, breaking Dawn from the trance. "Knowledge is not a chain; it is a key. Whether you use it to unlock a door or shackle yourself is entirely up to you."
Dawn nodded, his fingers tightening around the book. He had spent his life avoiding the truth of his twisted mortal shell, burying himself in ignorance to escape the pain of what he lacked. But no more. If this book held answers, he would find them.
Dawn exhaled slowly, feeling an unfamiliar weight in his chest. A possibility, however faint, had been placed before him. So, he will resolutely grab that opportunity however hard it is! He will not Fail! Never Again!
"Now, let's talk about the second issue. The wound, not the ones on your body but the one inside your mind. A scar left behind from a very terrible event it seems" the old man's voice pierced Dawn's heart with every word, making them pound harder. He felt that the old man could see through his very being.
The old man studied him for a long moment before finally speaking again. "If you truly wish to find a way to heal those, you must go beyond these walls. The answers you seek do not lie within the confines of the Academy."
Dawn's eyes widened slightly. "Beyond...?"
The old man gestured toward the towering walls of the Academy, his gaze distant. "There is a place. A place where fear and memory intertwine. Where the past is laid bare and the truth cannot be ignored. Go there, and you will face the shadows that cling to your soul. Only then will you understand what you truly are."
Dawn felt the weight of those words press down on him, a challenge woven into each syllable. His past. His truth. The things he had buried deep, the nightmares that clawed at the edges of his mind. Could he face them?
He exhaled slowly. "Where is this place?"
The old man hands over a map, presumably indicating the location of that place.
Dawn's eyes scanned the map, but before he could see further, the old man gently closed the map. "Do not rush. Look up at it when you are ready. Understanding is the first step,
"And what of my path?" Dawn finally asked, voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I cannot follow where others tread. I see that now. But where does that leave me?"
The old man chuckled, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Tell me, boy. Do you know how the first Prime came to be?"
Dawn frowned, searching his memory. There were countless stories, myths whispered in awe-stricken voices, tales woven into the very fabric of Prime society. But the true origin? He shook his head.
"Then listen well," the old man said, his voice dropping to a reverent hush. "The first Prime was not born into power. He was a mere mortal, like any other. But he refused to accept the world as it was. He refused to be bound by limitations set upon him by nature, by fate, by the heavens themselves. And so, he carved his own path. He shattered the very foundations of existence and forged the Way of Primes with his own hands. Not by following the rules—but by breaking them."
Dawn's breath caught. The words struck a chord deep within him, echoing against the hollow chambers of his heart. A path untraveled. A way unseen. Was it possible?
"Many have followed," the old man continued, "but not all walked the same road. Some deviated, some perished, some—"
He paused, eyes sharp as they settled on Dawn. "—became something else entirely."
Silence stretched between them. Dawn swallowed, gripping the book tighter. He did not need to be told what the old man was implying. His body was different. His light was different. Even his very existence had been met with confusion and fear. He had no place among the ordinary. But perhaps... perhaps that was not a curse. Perhaps it was an opportunity.
The old man continued, "Legends speak of Archeon, the defiant. Before him, everyone worshipped the Celestial Bodies. Only he dared ro question the Skies and reach out for answers. One man, just one man reached out for the skies and that resulted in the domination of Primes!"
Dawn felt something stir in his chest at those words. The history of Primes had always been about strength, about power, about standing above the rest. But now, the perspective shifted. It was about forging something new, about daring to step into the unknown.
"There is no singular way," the old man concluded. "No ultimate truth. Your path is yours to create."
The words settled deep within Dawn's mind. For so long, he had wandered in the dark, unsure of which direction to take, weighed down by his own limitations. But now, for the first time, he saw a flicker of light—an ember waiting to be stoked into something greater.
He stood, gripping the tome tightly. "Thank you."
The old man simply nodded, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Walk forward, Dawn. See where your feet take you."
As Dawn left the archives, stepping back into the cold night air, his mind was clearer than it had been in years. He had a direction now. A purpose. And no matter how twisted or broken his foundation was, he would move forward.
One step at a time.