Dawn returned to his dormitory, the weight of the Grand Archive's wisdom pressing against his thoughts. His fingers tightened around the book the old man had given him, its worn cover rough against his fingertips. He stepped inside to find Gary already there, reclining against his bed, arms folded behind his head. His golden hair caught the dim light from the lanterns, a sharp contrast to the contemplative frown he now wore as he noticed Dawn's entrance.
Gary sat up, watching as Dawn placed the book onto his desk without a word. "You weren't with the others. Everyone was working on their Will reinforcement training." His voice was calm, but there was an undertone of curiosity. "Did you have something more important to do?"
Dawn turned slightly, his expression unreadable. "Yes."
Gary's eyes narrowed. "And? Was it done?"
Dawn didn't answer immediately. Instead, he pulled out the chair by his desk, sat down, and flipped open the book. "Partially."
Gary studied him for a moment longer before sighing and leaning back once more. He had grown accustomed to Dawn's distant nature, but something about him was different now. It wasn't just cold detachment—it was as if Dawn had drawn a thin veil between himself and the rest of the world. It made him wonder, not for the first time, just who his dormmate truly was.
---
Dawn's eyes scanned the aged pages of the book. The first section detailed the Mortal Shell. A fundamental truth was laid bare: all beings, no matter how strong or weak, possessed a Mortal Shell. It was the foundation upon which all else was built.
The book delved into its composition—flesh, bones, blood, and the myriad of complex structures that formed the vessel of life. A passage caught his attention:
"The Mortal Shell is the anchor of existence. Without it, there is no structure for Will, Essence, or Origin to take root. It is not merely the body; it is the very foundation upon which all layers are placed."
Dawn's fingers hovered over the inked diagrams illustrating the intricate networks of muscle and bone. There was a methodical beauty to it—an ordered structure that every Prime shared. Yet, his own Mortal Shell was broken. Twisted. A foundation that should have been solid was fractured from the very beginning. But where, exactly, was the difference?
His thoughts churned. He had never been able to grasp the exact nature of his flaw. It was not as though his body was weak—if anything, it was resilient beyond reason. He had survived hardships that should have shattered him, yet he knew, deep within, that something was fundamentally wrong. The answer had to be somewhere within these pages.
Turning the page, he reached the next section: The Resonant Layer.
---
Unlike the Mortal Shell, which was tangible and rooted in biology, the Resonant Layer was something else entirely. It was not merely an extension of the body but an evolution of it—a structure formed of celestial energy that intertwined with the physical vessel, enhancing and reinforcing it.
"The Resonant Layer is the song of the cosmos made manifest in the body of a Prime. It is the natural evolution beyond the Mortal Shell, harmonizing with celestial forces to create a higher existence."
Dawn frowned. He had never felt such harmony. The descriptions spoke of a seamless blending, a resonance that allowed celestial energy to flow like a second bloodstream. He lacked that flow. No matter how much energy he tried to grasp, it never settled within him as it did for others. It was like trying to hold onto water with bare hands—always slipping away.
He flipped through more pages, searching for clues. What caused a Mortal Shell to resonate properly? What caused it to fail? The book spoke of techniques to refine the resonance, but there was little mention of what happened when the foundation itself was broken.
His fingers tightened on the pages. If the Mortal Shell was the foundation upon which all else was built, then was his Resonant Layer flawed because the very core of him was unstable?
---
Gary watched Dawn's expression shift as he read. There was something intense in the way his dormmate absorbed the knowledge—something bordering on desperation.
Gary had read books on physiques before, but he had never seen someone treat them with such urgency. It was like Dawn was searching for something more than just understanding. He was searching for answers that determined his very existence.
His gaze flickered to the title of the book. It was old, far older than the ones they were issued in the Academy. Was that why Dawn had sought the Grand Archives? What kind of secret did he need to uncover?
For the first time since meeting him, Gary felt an unfamiliar sense of intrigue towards Dawn. He had assumed that the other boy was simply cold and distant. But now, watching him, he saw something else.
Dawn wasn't distant. He was lost, searching for something that no one else could see.
Gary exhaled, shifting his focus elsewhere. He had a feeling that whatever Dawn was looking for, it was not something anyone could simply explain to him. And he doubted Dawn would share it, even if asked.
Gary observed Dawn in silence. He could see the slight tension in his posture, the way his fingers curled around the edges of the pages as though willing the answers to appear. For all Dawn's composed demeanor, there was something simmering beneath the surface. Gary had seen students obsessed with their own weaknesses before, but there was something different about Dawn. He wasn't merely seeking strength—he was seeking understanding.
Just as Dawn was about to shut the book in frustration, something caught his eye. A small slip of paper, barely visible, tucked between the pages. He pulled it out, unfolding it carefully. The ink was smudged, but the words were still readable.
Dawn's breath stilled at the words written there. Who had written this? And why was it hidden within the pages of this book?
A new sense of urgency filled him. The frustration from earlier was replaced with something else—an unshakable determination. There was more to his Mortal Shell than he had understood. And someone, somewhere, had left behind a clue.
His journey was far from over.