The revelation didn't come with a flash of lightning, but with the quiet certainty of a compass needle finding north. I hadn't been trying to build a bridge; I'd been trying to convince two warring fortresses to surrender. The goal wasn't victory or compromise. It was harmony.
For the first time in three agonizing weeks, I had a clear, actionable hypothesis. I didn't move from my spot on the floor. The next stage of my training wasn't physical. It was more fundamental than that. I closed my eyes and focused on the two distinct rhythms that defined my existence.
The first was the quiet, steady beat of my human heart, a familiar lub-dub that had been the background noise to my entire first life. The second was the deep, resonant pulse of the Dragon Heart, a powerful, two-stroke thump-THUMP that felt like the drumming of the world itself. They were out of sync, a chaotic, discordant mess. One was a gentle stream, the other a tidal wave.
I started with my breath. It was the only system I had conscious, willing control over. I ignored the mana, ignored my physical body, and focused solely on breathing in time with the dragon. I drew a long, slow breath in, matching the deep, resonant thump. Then, I exhaled sharply, syncing it to the crisp, powerful THUMP.
Inhale on the beat. Exhale on the pulse.
At first, it was maddeningly difficult. My human lungs, used to their own rhythm, fought against the imposed cadence. My body felt out of sorts, like I was forcing it to walk with a limp. Hours bled into a day, then another. I did nothing but sit in the dark and breathe. I breathed until my own human heartbeat began to subconsciously align, until the frantic patter of my own anxiety quieted, subsumed by the overwhelming, steady rhythm of the dragon.
Slowly, miraculously, the discord began to fade. The two rhythms didn't merge, but they began to complement each other. My human heart would beat in the space between the dragon's pulse, a lighter percussion filling the void. It was no longer a cacophony. It was a complex, powerful polyrhythm. It was the two-heart cadence.
Only then, after what must have been days of practice, did I dare to reintroduce mana into the equation.
I didn't try to force a strike or even a simple light. I reached for the smallest, most insignificant trickle of mana I could draw from the Dragon Heart. But this time, I didn't just pull. I guided it, urging it to flow in time with my new, unified rhythm. I nudged it into my circuits on the exhale, on the THUMP of the dragon's pulse.
The searing, agonizing backlash I had come to expect never came.
Instead, the mana flowed. It was still incredibly potent, a river of liquid starlight moving through me, but it was no longer a hostile flood. It was smooth. Controlled. The cadence acted as a natural regulator, a universal beat that both the primal draconic power and my frail human circuits could understand. It was the song they were both written to play.
A laugh, sharp and incredulous, echoed in the silent chamber. I had found it. The first principle. The very foundation of the Draconic Human Path.
The final week and a half was a blur of focused creation. I wasn't just practicing a technique; I was using this first principle to write the opening chapters of my own grimoire, to define the road ahead.
The first stage, the Adept Stage (Tier 2), was what I was doing right now: Rhythmic Circulation. The goal was to master this Two-Heart Cadence until it was as natural and passive as breathing, to turn the chaotic storm inside me into a perfectly stable, self-regulating system. This was the foundation for everything else.
The next step, the Artisan Stage (Tier 3), would be Rhythmic Infusion. I theorized that by using the cadence, I could "pulse" mana into my strikes. I visualized a punch where the deep thump gathered the energy in my fist, and the sharp THUMP released it in a single, focused, resonant wave. It would be an attack that carried a devastating internal shockwave, far more potent than simple reinforcement.
Beyond that, the Expert Stage (Tier 4), would be the mastery of Rhythmic Manifestation. This was the stage where I would use the cadence to give my mana a tangible, physical form. It would have two main applications. The first was Internal Manifestation: Draconic Resonance. By circulating the synced mana in a tight, resonant loop just beneath my skin, I could make it vibrate at a frequency that would cause it to physically harden and erupt into a layer of true draconic scales. It would be my Path's signature defense, a living armor far superior to a simple aura. The second was External Manifestation: Rhythmic Projection. This would be the key to controlling abilities like a Dragon's Breath. It wouldn't be a wild gout of flame, but a focused beam of pure energy, pulsed in time with my hearts, allowing me to control its intensity, duration, and range with a flick of my will.
This was the Path. My Path. Recreated from the ghost of a blueprint, forged in silence and failure.
On what I guessed was the thirtieth day, I stood before a large, untouched training boulder on the far side of the chamber. I needed to know. I needed to see the results.
I closed my eyes and took one, slow breath. The Two-Heart Cadence settled over me, my entire body humming in a calm, powerful rhythm. I drew the mana from my heart, a smooth, effortless river of power, and let it flow down my arm, coiling around my fist. I focused on the principle of Rhythmic Infusion, gathering the energy on the thump…
And released it on the THUMP.
My fist shot forward. There was no pain. No explosive backlash. Just a clean, sharp, resonant impact that felt like a perfectly struck tuning fork.
The boulder did not crack. It did not break. It disintegrated. It collapsed into a pile of fine gravel and dust, not a single large piece remaining.
I stared at my hand, then at the pile of dust. A slow, wide grin spread across my face. It was done.
It was in that moment of quiet triumph that I felt a change in the chamber. A low, grinding groan echoed from the entrance as the massive Voidstone door began to slide open.
Light, sharp and blinding after a month of darkness, flooded the chamber. I raised a hand to shield my eyes, my new senses slowly adjusting. As the door receded fully into the wall, a silhouette stood framed in the opening.
It was my father.
Count Theron Ashworth's gaze, as sharp and heavy as a guillotine's blade, swept over the chamber. It noted my changed posture—no longer the timid boy who had entered, but a figure of calm, coiled energy. It passed over the pile of gravel that had once been a solid boulder. And finally, it settled on me.
He said nothing. He didn't need to. The test had begun.