The Dragon's Eye

Two days passed in the hidden forest hideout.

The elf—whom Arata now knew as Lyra—moved with the silent grace of a huntress. She brought berries and dried meat, applied herbal ointments offered by Niralveht, her Familiar. Arata, still weak, told her the little he could remember. Waking up on the battlefield. Being rescued by Akiharu. His brief life at the Belgrán Academy. And Elinne's betrayal.

The doubt about Akiharu, his adoptive father, lingered like a knot in his chest.

Could the man who had saved him really be involved in his kidnapping?

Lyra listened in silence. Her golden eyes fixed on the horizon, offering neither judgment nor comfort. Only the silent promise of protection.

By the third day, Arata felt renewed. The wound on his abdomen was now a pale scar, barely visible under the healing roots. And his left eye—the one that had remained closed and in pain since awakening—finally opened.

The scar that ran 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 once taken from him.

"It's time to go," Lyra said, breaking the morning silence.

She stood, her bone-spear of vegetal origin gleaming 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. Even the forest's creatures avoid it. For us, it's the safest way."

Arata nodded. A mix of nerves and anticipation stirred in his chest. He stood up. For the first time in days, his body felt light. The forest, once hostile and labyrinthine, now held something of home in it. Mysterious. Deep. Almost sacred.

The journey was unlike any other.

With each step, the forest grew denser, the trees older and more twisted. Their crowns formed a canopy so thick that sunlight barely filtered through. The air grew heavy. Almost tangible. Silence reigned, broken only by the crunch of branches beneath their feet or the whisper of leaves that seemed to murmur ancient, forgotten stories.

Lyra walked ahead, her golden eyes scanning every shadow. A silent sentinel in an ancestral realm.

Finally, they arrived at a clearing—but it was not open. It was a natural hollow, like an amphitheater of stone and vegetation. The air there was even denser, an invisible pressure that weighed on the lungs, the skin, the thoughts. The surrounding trees were bent, crushed, as if some colossal force had long ago reshaped them. At the center stood a rocky formation. A natural altar, eroded by centuries and covered in moss and lichen.

An echo of something immensely old.

"This place…" Arata murmured.

He felt a strange resonance calling to him. His feet moved on their own, guiding him toward the altar.

At the center, his eyes settled on an object.

It wasn't large, yet its presence overshadowed everything. It resembled a fossilized or petrified eggshell of considerable size, with iridescent veins that absorbed light rather than reflecting it. Black. Pure. Untouched. As if time itself had never touched it.

An immutable fragment of something legendary.

Arata reached out. 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 pulling him to the ground. It was collapse from all directions—a brutal compression that defied reason and sense. His bones creaked. A muffled cry escaped his throat. Air vanished from his lungs. Every cell trembled. Every part of his body screamed.

His vision unraveled into spirals of color.

And then, darkness claimed him.

He fell unconscious, still clutching the fragment in his hand.

Lyra watched from a distance. Her expression unreadable—but deep within, she knew something transcendent was taking place. Something even she could not comprehend.

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, no down. Only a vortex of calm and pressure.

Then, a presence emerged. It did not walk. It did not appear.

It simply was.

It had no defined form, but its existence filled the space. Arata looked up.

An eye.

A single, colossal eye floated in the mist. It was not biological, but a fracture in reality. A window into the infinite.

The sclera was obsidian black, so polished it swallowed light. The iris, a vortex of abyssal indigos and cosmic purples, rotated slowly like a distant galaxy. And the pupil… a fissure of absolute darkness. So dense it resembled a black hole. Within it, silver and gold motes flickered—newborn stars, the dust of creation.

The eye's beauty was unbearable. It drew you in like an abyss—and filled you with primal terror.

To look upon it was to lose yourself.

An ethereal distortion rippled around it, as though reality itself bent under its gaze.

Barely visible around the eye emerged a fraction of the being that housed it. Scales of charcoal gray shimmered with iridescence—like an amalgam of shadow and pressure. A single horn of jet-black, veined with light-consuming lines, curved upward and disappeared into the void.

A sealed majesty.

A "voice" echoed. Not through sound—but through weight. Through compression in his consciousness.

"Strange. Your essence is a paradox. Thread of divinity and mortal flesh alike."

Arata could not respond. His soul trembled.

"You are not a beast… nor are you a mere human. You carry a mark… and a gift."

The voice continued. The creature probed his broken origin.

"The Goddess of Pressure has touched you. An affinity. Rare. Singular."

A shudder ran through his spirit.

"And the stench of another god's blood… He hunts you. Your sorrow will be his joy. I wish to witness it."

Nivhan.

The name echoed with chilling clarity.

The creature knew. It knew his creator. It knew his executioner.

"I am Ten'ryuu. The Celestial Dragon of the Void."

The pressure of its voice swelled, like a crushing tide.

"My body has been sealed for centuries, bound 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 might shape you. Though my flesh remains chained, my soul shall be yours."

And Arata understood.

This was not submission.

This was not servitude.

It was a pact between two who needed one another.

Elinne's betrayal. Nivhan's looming threat. His shattered identity.

Everything had led him to this moment.

"I accept," he thought, his will unwavering.

And in that instant—

A surge of pure energy tore through his soul.

It was not pain.

It was everything.