Three months passed, as swift and silent as a falling petal.
For the students of the Primordial Academy, this season had become a crucible. From morning to midnight, Will strengthening consumed their lives. Seven days, seven lectures—a cycle of thought, spirit, and test. Each lecture brought forth the complexities of the Prime path, each instructor with their own scars and philosophies. These were not merely classes, but confrontations with one's self. The rest of the time was silence, and in that silence, they faced themselves.
Most students followed the general rhythm of the academy. They gathered in the Courtyard of Insights after Solara's rise, sat cross-legged on warm stone, and immersed themselves into their midscape—that mysterious inner world where one's Will battled weakness. Some struggled with their past, others with doubts of the future. Many found solace in each other, whispering affirmations and shared mantras when the strain became too much.
But Dawn… was different.
He rose before the first golden thread of Solara lit the sky, while Lunara still hung high, dimming softly. At a glance, his early morning movements resembled stretches, slow and measured, but any student who dared observe closely would see the truth—each motion was precise, fierce, meant to hone both body and intent. Veins bulged, sweat poured, and muscles trembled with each deliberate act. This was no casual limbering. This was war waged in silence.
Dawn fought himself each morning.
Afterward, like the others, he entered the Courtyard. There, amidst dozens of students lost in meditative stillness, he sat cross-legged and delved into his midscape.
The Affirmation of Existence came first.
I am Dawn. I was twisted. I am whole.
In the ever-shifting dream of his midscape, he stared at a reflection of his past self—eyes hollow, bones malformed, blood singing with rage. This phantom snarled at him, cursed him, begged him to disappear. But Dawn no longer flinched. He walked up to the broken boy and embraced him.
I do not cast you away. I carry you.
The Affirmation of Goals came next.
What did he want? That question had once tormented him. But now, his heart beat with a singular clarity.
I seek freedom—not only for myself, but for all like me. No more shackles. No more shadows.
And finally, The Affirmation of Morals.
His origin was twisted, his path unclear. But one truth had remained in his soul through blood and ash—he would not become the monster. He would face the abyss and still choose light.
I will protect those who are unprotected.I will rise but not alone.
With each passing day, Dawn's Primal Origin Light pulsed in deeper harmony with his soul.
It was unlike any other.
While other students manifested sparks of gold, silver, or azure—radiances as brilliant as falling stars—his was Void Radiance.
It was not dark, not in the way shadow was. It shimmered just beyond sight, unseen but ever present. It bent not toward brilliance, nor toward obscurity. It simply was—unchained by spectrum, unfathomable in depth. When he focused, he felt it: a silent light stretching infinitely in all directions, like a sea of still eternity.
None could see it but him, and yet its presence silenced even the echoes of doubt in his midscape.
When Solara disappeared in the sky and Lunara returned, Dawn always made his way to the Grand Archives. There, with the dying warmth of the day still clinging to his skin, he scoured books like a man chasing stars. Anatomy, Will theory, the nature of Prime evolutions, the history of cursed physiques—anything that might help him understand the world, and himself.
The assistants in the archive had grown used to him, especially the old man who first guided him. Occasionally, they would glance at each other, the old man's gaze filled with knowing and something else—something deeper. Approval, perhaps?
At night, when the Academy's pathways glowed faintly with primal inscriptions, Dawn walked. Under Lunara's silver gaze, he explored every inch of the Primordial Academy. He watched how the fountains whispered, how the leaves changed with unseen energies, how the walls themselves breathed ancient power. There was beauty here, hidden beneath the pressure.
And there were people.
Gary remained his closest companion, loyal as ever. His golden Origin Light had begun to shimmer more often now, reflecting his internal growth. Ever curious, ever watchful, Gary noticed the changes in Dawn—the slight shifts in posture, the softening of his gaze. The haunted sharpness remained, but it had grown… calmer, somehow.
More importantly, they weren't alone anymore.
Ingrid had joined them.
A quiet, scholarly girl with hair like falling ink and eyes that burned with inquiry. She was awkward at first, stumbling through conversations and always carrying two books too many. But Dawn respected her mind. She, too, had her past—a weight she carried in silence. Slowly, the three began to bond.
They ate together at dusk often.
They debated over theories of Will strengthening, with Ingrid often winning through sheer detail.
Sometimes, Gary would joke. Sometimes, Dawn would smile.
It was unremarkable.
It was beautiful.
Three months. Just a blink in cosmic time. Yet for Dawn, they were the most peaceful days of his life.
He had once feared himself. Now he walked without trembling.
He had once seen shadows everywhere. Now, he cast his own and smiled.
And still, the journey had only begun.
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