"Oh? So you know about the Primordial Spirits…"
Noctharion's voice drawls, heavy with curiosity and edged by a dangerous amusement. The sound rolls through the chamber like thunder in a cavern, and I freeze. My chest tightens.
"Yes… I know," I force the words out, keeping my expression calm while hiding the storm inside. My heart pounds, a frantic drum against my ribs, but I can't tell him how I know. Not when even the SSS-ranked titans of this world have no knowledge of the Primordial Spirits. How could I possibly know?
Because I read the novel.
A bead of sweat trickles down my neck. His eyes narrow, suspicion flashing like shards of obsidian, yet he lets the silence stretch before speaking again.
"You are correct. Only a Primordial Spirit can create an Elemental Sanctum."
My throat feels dry. "Then how can you make one?" I ask, the question spilling out before I can stop it. Idiot. Why did I ask that?
The very air around me shifts, growing heavy. The darkness that was calm a moment ago turns cold and suffocating. My breath catches in my lungs as Noctharion's voice deepens, a low rumble that reverberates through the void.
"Who do you think I am, Kael?"
His presence presses down on me like an ocean of shadows, a physical weight that threatens to crush me. My chest aches. My heart trembles.
"I have cultivated darkness to its extreme. My control runs so deep that any who dare wield the element in my presence find it stripped away. Darkness itself bends, Kael. It heeds only me."
My body trembles despite my will. His words aren't boasts. They are truth—I can feel it in the suffocating weight that surrounds me.
He pauses, a faint smile playing on his lips, and his tone shifts, sharper, almost reverent. "And there is a second reason."
"Reason?" I manage, though my voice cracks.
His gaze burns with ancient pride. "Bloodline."
"Bloodline…?"
"We dragons are not like any other species that crawls upon this earth. We are unique. Stronger. Above all. We are blessed by mana itself."
My lips move before I can stop them. "Blessed by mana…" The phrase is well-known—a common belief. Dragons are said to be chosen by mana, able to command even the natural laws of their element. It is why they are feared, why they are revered as the strongest in the world.
Noctharion's voice rumbles, each word carrying the weight of eternity. "Even if a dragon were to sleep all its life, doing nothing but breathing… it would still grow stronger. Still ascend. For our blessing is not earned—it is given."
He leans closer, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "Blessed by mana itself means blessed by the Primordial Spirits. We carry their permission—no, their decree—to command the elements."
The words sink into me like chains, heavy and inescapable. The Primordial Spirits themselves… blessing dragons to rule the elements.
"So… does that mean other dragons can also create an Elemental Sanctum?"
The question slips from my lips before I can stop it. If all dragons are blessed by the Primordial Spirits, shouldn't they all have this power?
For a long moment, Noctharion just stares at me, his gaze strange, almost pitying. Then, suddenly—
Hahahahaha!
His laughter shakes the chamber, deep and majestic, echoing like rolling thunder. Even his amusement carries weight, pressing down on me.
"No, Kael," he says at last, his eyes glinting with sharpness. "They cannot."
"Why not? Don't they have the blessing as well?" I ask, still confused.
His gaze turns colder, but his tone is patient. "Yes, they have the blessing. But blessings without dedication and practice amount to nothing."
"Practice…?" I echo.
"What I create here is not a true Elemental Sanctum. It is only a weak, artificial reflection—nothing compared to the sanctum born from a Primordial Spirit itself. And even then, I can forge it only because I have spent thousands of years in relentless cultivation, honing my element to the edge of eternity."
Shadows ripple around him, bending as if bowing to his presence. My skin prickles. My bones feel heavy.
His lip curls in disdain. "But the others? Dragons grow stronger simply by existing. They sleep, and their power grows. They bask in arrogance, too lazy to ever pursue the depths of their element. That is why they cannot do what I do. That is why their so-called 'command' is nothing but a hollow echo."
I swallow hard. If even lazy dragons are already the apex of this world… what if they truly trained? What if they pursued power as ruthlessly as Noctharion?
The thought sends a shiver down my spine. Before me stands the proof—a dragon who is not content with mere blessings, a being who has trained beyond comprehension. The strongest existence in the world.
"Then… how much weaker is your artificial sanctum compared to a real one?" I ask quietly.
Noctharion's eyes narrow, the darkness around him shifting restlessly. His voice rumbles, vast and ancient.
"You wish to know how my sanctum compares to one forged by a Primordial Spirit?"
He lets out a low chuckle, though it carries no mirth, only bitter amusement. "Mine is like an ant before a god, Kael. Primordial Spirits are not beings. They are law itself. In their presence, everything else is meaningless. So do not compare us. The difference is beyond your ability to fathom."
His words slam into me harder than any aura or spell. Law itself…
Once again, I am reminded of the truth. Even a being like Noctharion, who stands at the absolute peak of this world, is nothing before the true powers that linger beyond the veil. And the calamity looming over this world… it will be on that scale.
My chest tightens, but instead of despair, a sharper flame burns within me. If even Noctharion is small before them, then what am I? Nothing. Less than nothing. But that only means one thing… I must grow stronger. Stronger than anyone can imagine.
I clench my fists, my voice steady. "I understand, Noctharion. So tell me—what must I do?"
My resolve blazes, sharper than ever. There can be no hesitation. Not when the world itself might one day crumble.
"Good." Noctharion's voice is almost approving, a deep rumble that makes the shadows lean closer. It's the first compliment he's given me. "We start your training inside this artificial Elemental Sanctum. Here, the darkness will resonate with you. Your connection will come faster—your progress will multiply."
I nod and sit in the center of the chamber. Noctharion's work has converted the room into a living thing: the air thrums, the darkness coils like living velvet, and every breath tastes colder, laced with the scent of ozone and ancient power. The sanctum watches me with an unusual calm, as if judging whether I am worthy of its attention.
"Before you begin controlling it," Noctharion says, his tone even, "tell me—what is darkness?"
I close my eyes and answer from the lessons I've swallowed so far. "Darkness is the absence of light. It exists where light cannot reach. It's the opposite of light."
A slow nod. "Good. You have an understanding. But it is incomplete."
I open my eyes. "Incomplete how?"
"What you describe is shadow." The word lands, soft and precise as a blade. "Shadow is a byproduct of light. It only appears when light is blocked. In simple terms: shadow is the absence of light in a place where light should be."
Confusion flares in my chest. "So shadow is not darkness?"
"No." He leans forward. The darkness around him stirs like a tide. "Darkness can be defined as absence of light, but that is only a crude way of speaking. Darkness is older. Darker. It is not merely missing light—it is an existence of its own."
"Existence." The word sits strange in my mouth, a heavy stone of a concept I'd never considered. I repeat it under my breath, trying to grasp its meaning.
Noctharion's eyes glow faintly. "Darkness existed before light. It can never not exist—it can only be hidden. Even in the brightest places, darkness is there; it is simply veiled by light. That is the truth."
"Hidden?" I ask.
"Yes. Hidden." He spreads a claw, and the sanctum ripples at the gesture. "Do not think of darkness as mere emptiness. Think of it as a layer of reality that coexists with light. Light reveals; darkness contains. Shadow is bound to light's presence and absence. Darkness is not bound. It flows, it permeates. It is primal. It underlies."
The chamber seems to tighten around the explanation, as if the words themselves rearrange the air.
"A person who controls darkness," Noctharion continues, "controls it everywhere it already is. There is no place safe from it, because darkness does not wait for light's retreat—it simply is."
My skin prickles, a thrill of fear and wonder. "So that's why it's harder to control?"
"Precisely." He makes it sound almost affectionate, as if complimenting a brutal truth. "Darkness is more ancient and more pure than nearly any other concept. It does not bend so easily to will. That purity is its strength and its resistance. To command darkness is to press your intent against a force that is itself intent. It does not yield to intimidation or arrogance. It yields to mastery."
His words settle in me like cold iron. Outside the sanctum, people fight and die. Inside, I study the fundamentals of a force older than the world. The gulf between those two truths—between life and death on the street and this primeval knowledge—makes something harden in my chest. It's not just a lesson; it's a new reality.
"Enough talk," Noctharion says at last. "We shall begin."