The wind whispered through the canopy as Rayon stepped out from the cavern, his figure cutting a shadow across the forest floor. The Black Resonance hummed faintly beneath his skin, threads of raw power threading the air around him like living smoke. Every step he took carried weight; every breath carried intent. He had changed. The world would feel it now.
The power he had absorbed from the seven seals and the thirteenth had transformed him beyond anything even Erethon had predicted. Rayon could feel it pulsating inside him:
Attack power: Every strike, whether physical or through the resonance, carried force equivalent to continental-level destruction. He could annihilate armies with a thought, obliterate mountains with a swing, bend reality to create zones of absolute dominance. Defense: Every attack that reached him became part of him, absorbed, analyzed, and turned into counter-energy. No conventional weapon could touch him; even natural disasters would be irrelevant against a fully aware Black Resonance. Manipulation of resonance: He no longer needed Hollow Strings tangibly; with mere intent, he could shape, twist, and command the threads of reality itself. His presence alone distorted probability, perception, and reaction times of any who dared oppose him. Integration ability: Any power, essence, or skill he encountered could now be partially absorbed into himself through Black Resonance, with near-perfect efficiency. The process was instantaneous and could be done on the smallest fraction of energy or the largest. Limitless adaptation: The more he fought, the more he evolved. Every attack absorbed and understood by Black Resonance became an intrinsic part of him.
Rayon's silver eyes caught the glint of porcelain cups on a flat rock beside a stream. Azelar sat cross-legged, peacefully sipping tea as though the world's upheaval had nothing to do with him.
"Old man," Rayon said, approaching, a smirk twisting his lips. "You could've at least checked if I was alive."
Azelar chuckled, the sound warm but edged with a thousand years of regret. "And miss this moment? Seeing you step into your rightful form? No. I had to watch."
Rayon tilted his head, observing the man with curiosity. "Why don't you ever leave this place? You could go anywhere, see anything. You've survived centuries, yet you stay here."
Azelar's eyes softened, distant memories flickering in the depths. "Because some places cannot be left behind… Some people, even less so. My family… my wife and son… they were killed by the corruption of the awakeners. Their greed, their lust for power, destroyed everything I ever loved. I stayed to keep the balance, to protect what could still be preserved. The world does not forgive weakness, and it will not forgive me for leaving."
Rayon, ever silent, listened. Erethon hovered nearby, amusement glinting in his eyes, but he allowed Azelar to speak freely.
Azelar continued, voice low and sharp, "A hundred years ago, a war raged. Erethon, unbound then, fought alongside me. We faced an enemy unlike any other — a man of unmatched power. Not just a vessel, not just a Primordial, but someone capable of sealing Erethon himself, forcing him into a vessel… and imprisoning other human Primordial vessels alongside him. He was a force no coalition could beat. And yet, even in defeat, we learned."
Rayon folded his arms, leaning against a tree. "And what of him now?"
Azelar's hand tightened around the tea cup. "He is sealed, yet the echoes of his presence linger. That man… his understanding of resonance, of Primordial essence, was perfect. He shaped the rules that even today govern the world. Without him, the Primordials would have run unchecked centuries ago."
Erethon's voice chimed in, casual but sharp. "He was the architect of the system we live under, Little Monarch. And now you… you've done something no one ever dared: you've become the first vessel to ascend into a Primordial while maintaining consciousness and intent. The first in history."
Rayon tilted his head. "And what does that make me?"
Azelar and Erethon exchanged a brief glance. Erethon's smirk widened. "It makes you… the Black Primordial. The first of your kind. You are no longer a vessel, no longer bound by the expectations of mortals or the limitations of the sealed. You are your own apex, the template for what a Primordial can truly be. You are a sovereign entity now. The world is… yours to shape, if you choose."
Rayon let the words sink in. In the stillness of the forest, the magnitude of his transformation pressed against the edges of reality. Being a Primordial was one thing; to be a conscious, reasoning, calculating one — unheard of. Taboo. And yet, here he was.
"Black Primordial," he repeated, tasting the name. There was no pride, no arrogance in the sound itself — only fact. "I am still Rayon. Nothing I do is evil. Nothing I do is cruel. The universe operates on laws, on survival, on understanding and intent. I am simply… the consequence of those laws. The stronger I am, the more efficiently they operate. The world mistakes ruthlessness for wrongness, emotionlessness for heartlessness, and yet…" He exhaled slowly, his words like steel. "What I do is perfect within the boundaries of truth."
Azelar nodded, pouring another cup of tea for himself. "And now you can teach, command, and correct. Every Primordial that remains… every human vessel… every seal in existence… will feel the weight of your presence."
Rayon's gaze hardened, and Erethon floated beside him, whispering just loud enough to be heard: "You are the first. The one to bridge human and Primordial, will and essence. The Black Primordial. Remember that. Not even the strongest among your kind in history could maintain control over their power while existing in that form. You are unprecedented, unstoppable… yet still you."
Rayon glanced back at the forest behind him, the cavern below, the faint tremor that still lingered in the earth. "Then the next steps are clear," he said simply. "We make the world bend to order. Not chaos. Not morality. Not fear. Only order. And if anyone stands… they will learn the weight of inevitability."
Erethon smirked. "I hope you're ready, Little Monarch. Because now… the Black Primordial walks the earth."
Azelar sipped his tea again, silent this time. But in his eyes lingered the memory of love lost, of wars fought, and the knowledge that, for the first time in centuries, someone capable of reshaping the universe for the better — or worse — had appeared.
And Rayon, Black Primordial now, stretched his hands slowly, letting the Black Resonance flow around him, a visible aura that twisted reality in subtle, undeniable ways. The forest, the mountains, the air itself responded. He could feel the seven seals, the thirteenth, and even echoes of the past Primordials that had walked the earth, all resonating in submission to his will.
"Let the world come," he whispered, a smile flickering faintly. "I am ready."
The wind picked up. Vorthalaxis coiled around his arm, sensing the weight of power. Erethon's projection lingered with a rare seriousness. And in that quiet forest, a force beyond comprehension, yet singular and perfect, prepared to step fully into the world.
The Black Primordial has emerged.