CHAPTER 19 — The Silent Guardian

The dorm room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the evening wind brushing against the stone walls. Aevion moved with a deliberate calm, the dragon egg cradled gently in his hands as if it were a fragile spark of life itself.

His room was sparse, the familiar austerity of a student who traveled light. The bed, a small desk cluttered with scrolls and ink pots, and a single window framing the starlit sky beyond. Yet tonight, everything felt charged—transformed by the presence of this ancient relic.

He placed the egg carefully on the low table beside his bed. Its obsidian surface absorbed the dim candlelight, veins of silver glowing faintly as if breathing beneath the shell. Aevion's fingers lingered near it, wary but drawn by an irresistible magnetism.

He pulled out several tomes from his satchel, their worn leather bindings etched with symbols of flame and claw. These were the ancient chronicles—fragments pieced together by scholars desperate to preserve the stories of dragons, long thought extinct in all but myth.

As he opened the first book, the air around him seemed to thicken, the weight of centuries settling over the pages.

Dragons, the texts began, were not mere beasts. They were the architects of creation, woven from the raw threads of elemental chaos and cosmic will. Born in the primordial fires that forged worlds, their blood carried the power of stars and storms.

The oldest dragons were said to transcend time itself, their lives spanning eons. Some were guardians, others destroyers; some shaped the lands, while others ruled the skies in silent majesty. Their eggs, rare and sacred, were vessels of limitless potential — not only of life, but of ancient knowledge and power.

Aevion's eyes scanned the faded script, absorbing the history etched into every word.

"To hold a dragon egg is to cradle a promise — a seed of creation and destruction intertwined."

The room seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as the egg, and for a moment, Aevion felt a connection deeper than thought, as if the egg recognized him — not merely as a bearer, but as a keeper.

Yet questions crowded his mind: How had this relic come to rest atop the floating ruins? What forces had preserved it through time and oblivion? And what destiny awaited the life it contained?

He leaned back, gaze fixed on the egg's shifting glow, lost in thought.

Outside, the night deepened, stars swirling in silent orbits. The world beyond the academy faded to a whisper, and in that silence, Aevion's resolve hardened.

He would uncover every secret — of dragons, of the realms, and of himself.

Because some mysteries were meant to be awakened.

Morning light spilled through the cracked window, slicing through the shadows of the room like a blade of clarity. Aevion sat cross-legged on the cold floor, the dragon egg resting quietly on the table beside him. His eyes were closed, but inside, a storm was brewing.

His breath slowed, each inhale drawing the subtle currents of Nexis deep into his being. The familiar pulse of energy—soft, radiant, yet unyielding—coursed through his veins. Purple and white light shimmered faintly beneath his skin, the signature glow of his Nexis awakening.

But today, it was different.

He could feel it — a fresh thread weaving itself into the tapestry of his power. Veritas.

Unlike Nexis, which was fluid and elemental, Veritas was sharp—like a crystalline blade slicing through illusion and deceit. It was the essence of pure truth, a force that demanded unwavering clarity and unbreakable resolve.

Aevion opened his eyes.

The air around him shimmered as he reached deep within himself, pulling Veritas to the surface. The light flared—cold and brilliant—illuminating the room with a ghostly radiance. He felt the weight of it pressing against his mind, a relentless question: What is true?

He summoned a small orb of Veritas energy in his palm. It hovered there, radiating an intense yet calm light. As he focused, the orb pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, resonating with his Nexis.

Then came the test.

He extended his hand, and the orb exploded silently into shards of light, each fragment racing outward and dissolving the lingering illusions around him. The shadows in the room flickered and fell away, revealing a clarity in the air as if the world itself had sharpened.

Aevion's brow furrowed with concentration. Veritas was demanding — any falsehood, any deceit within his grasp, would be exposed and undone. It wasn't just power. It was a mirror, reflecting every truth, no matter how uncomfortable.

To master it, he would need control beyond anything he had experienced.

Hours passed in endless repetition. He conjured blades of Veritas that sliced through solid stone with precision, summoned barriers that dissolved lies as if they were fragile glass, and forged threads of truth that bound and revealed.

But power without harmony was chaos.

He closed his eyes again and allowed Nexis and Veritas to intertwine, weaving together their contrasting energies—one vibrant and flowing, the other sharp and crystalline.

The merging was not seamless. Flashes of white and purple clashed violently inside him, sparking pain and disorientation. Yet with each attempt, the harmony grew stronger, until finally, the storm stilled.

Aevion opened his eyes, now glowing softly with both lights.

In that moment, he understood: Veritas was not merely a weapon against deception—it was a path toward enlightenment. To wield it meant to face every hidden truth within and without.

As dusk settled, he stood, muscles aching but spirit unbroken.

The road ahead was long. But with Nexis as his foundation and Veritas as his guide, he was ready to carve his path—one unyielding truth at a time.