Chapter 15: Foxes in Silk
Dax's grandfather studied him with a bright, knowing smile—eyes twinkling with ancient wisdom, yet sharp enough to cut through deception like sunlight through fog.
"My child…" he said softly, voice warm but laced with quiet insight. "The aura around you is certainly not that of the weak. Tell me—why do you need this man, when you have clearly found your own path?"
His gaze pierced deeper than flesh, deeper than mana—reaching into the very essence of soul and intent. He saw things even the gods often overlooked.
Dax smiled back—too casually, the expression slipping out before he could rein it in.
"As sharp as ever," he muttered aloud without realizing.
His grandfather's eyes narrowed fractionally.
Strange… this child speaks as though he knows me.
But he has never met me.
He chose silence, opting to observe rather than confront—for now.
His attention shifted to the man beside Dax—the one who had introduced himself as Dax's master.
"Yes… Silas, was it?" the grandfather continued, tone polite but probing. "You are powerful. Unnaturally so. Yet I have never heard your name. With your strength, the world should tremble at your footsteps."
Micah—now Silas—folded his arms, posture relaxed yet unyielding.
"It is normal for the world to not know of me," he retorted evenly. "I grew up in the Plains of Vabon. Raised by Kalisi, the king of wyverns. My life has been spent far from civilization."
He spread his wings slightly—revealing golden feathers on one side, gleaming scaled wyvern hide on the other. The hybrid form shimmered with restrained power, a living testament to his origins.
"I was raised by Kalisi and a fallen angel. That is why I am what I am."
For the first time, Dax's grandfather truly faltered—composure cracking like thin ice.
"You mean… Kalisi? The Dragon Eater?" His voice trembled with genuine shock, eyes widening. "The wyvern who devoured young dragons… then matured into slaying ancient wyrms? A terrifying creature indeed."
Micah nodded stiffly, expression unchanging.
"And the fallen angel?" the grandfather pressed, curiosity sharpening. "You never mentioned its name…?"
Micro-cracks spread across Micah's composed facade. His aura dropped to sub-zero—a chilling silence filling the hallway, heavy enough to frost the air.
Dax's grandfather instantly realized he had stepped on sacred ground—a wound not yet healed.
He retreated his probing aura and said nothing more.
Micah recovered with expert smoothness—almost too smooth, the shift seamless yet telling.
Dax, watching the exchange, nearly laughed aloud.
These two… sly foxes hiding behind polite words.
Then Micah spoke again—voice steady, but laced with a razor-thin edge.
"Oh? Aren't you the one we lost to, old man? Micah the Indomitable."
Dax's grandfather stiffened. Rage rippled through his veins like molten iron.
"And," Micah continued mercilessly, "surely you recall our defeat at the hands of Mimikyu of the Beast Demon Clan…"
A loud crack echoed through the hall.
One of the grand statues lining the walls split down the middle—marble fracturing from the surge of barely contained power.
Dax's grandfather was now boiling—mana, aura, and killing intent rising in equal measure, the air thickening with oppressive force.
"My Silas," he said slowly, voice deceptively calm, "I believe you should keep your mouth shut. Before I slay you here—just as Khaleesi was slain."
Silence choked the air.
The walls hummed with violent power—tension coiling like a drawn bowstring.
Dax coughed lightly, stepping between them with feigned nervousness.
"Grandfather, please. Calm yourself."
His grandfather's gaze softened—barely. He looked at Micah again, who offered a tight smile that absolutely screamed I have no intention of calming down.
Dax pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing a sigh.
Grandfather's tone turned calm—too calm—as he looked straight at Micah.
"You truly have been isolated from the world," he said.
"If you weren't, you would know the events you speak of happened over three thousand years ago. In the past years, I killed the Evil Dragon God and drank his blood, earning the name Godfall King for our clan."
His eyes darkened, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"So do not ever use my name to posture. You may be my grandson's master, but I will erase you in an instant if you dare use my reputation as your toy. Do you understand?"
Micah's blood ran cold.
The killing intent pouring from the old man was real—too real. It wrapped around his bones like a spectral hand, squeezing with promise.
He gulped and nodded stiffly.
This man… he means every word.
Grandfather turned to Dax, expression softening once more.
"My son. I wish to speak with you alone. Dismiss this man."
Micah vanished instantly—dissolving into shadow without a word.
A hand rested on Dax's shoulder—and the world shattered like glass.
Dax blinked as a new world unfolded before him.
Lush green plains stretched endlessly under a perfect azure sky—air so pure with mana it felt alive, tingling against the skin like a gentle caress.
This realm… it was sacred. Untouched. Harmonious.
"Where… are we?" Dax whispered, awe lingering in his voice—genuine enough to sell the act.
His grandfather smiled warmly.
"Oh my son, I see you have never witnessed a Spirit Island. If you grow strong enough, you will eventually form one of your own. It is the ultimate sign of a cultivator's will and soul."
Dax nodded, eyes wide with feigned wonder.
But the old man's expression grew serious—gravity settling over him like a cloak.
"Now then… Dax, you must tell me. Who are you?"
He was calm—no shift in aura or emotion, just quiet, piercing certainty.
"Grandfather, what do you mean?" Dax feigned ignorance, voice small and confused.
In an instant, his aura exploded—like a falling world, crushing down with apocalyptic weight.
Dax dropped to the floor—faking it perfectly, body crumpling under the pressure. He couldn't reveal his true strength—not yet.
"G–Grandfather, give me a moment to speak!" Dax gasped, voice full of urgency and fear. "I am your grandchild… just let me talk!"
The reaction was natural. Believable.
Grandfather slowly retracted his aura, the pressure easing like a storm passing.
A table manifested between them—beautiful, ancient, carved from divine wood that shimmered with inner light.
Dax stood, exhaled shakily, and slowly smiled—relief painted across his features.
"First… I need to change my clothes."
With a snap of his fingers, the bloody robe dissolved from his body. His bare chest glistened under the soft light, and a long black robe wrapped around his waist—flowing like liquid shadow.
"Now then, Grandfather… I believe you will recognize this."
He dropped a glowing cube onto the table—humming faintly with familiar energy.
Grandfather stared at the cube, confusion growing like fog across his features.
He didn't touch it.
Instead, he leaned back.
"Explain yourself. You speak to me with a familiarity only someone who has known me deeply could possess. Yet… I have never even held you since your birth. I have been in isolation for cultivation for 1,500 years, attempting to break into the Odama Realm. Only recently did I succeed and awaken."
Dax froze internally.
That was accurate.
He had no memory of meeting this version of his grandfather—because he was drawing from memories of his past life, a different timeline entirely.
He spoke carefully—words measured, emotions layered.
And his grandfather's stern face softened.
He chuckled—then burst into warm, booming laughter that echoed across the plains.
"My child, calm yourself. There is something I have never told anyone—except your father."
His eyes glowed, revealing swirling rings of golden frequency—ancient, profound.
"I see it all."
He leaned closer, expression grave yet kind.
"I once had a vision. A double rebirth. A child born from the God Force. A child who lost everything… yet regained far more than fate intended."
Dax's breath hitched—subtle, but real.
"Two paths presented themselves to me: a path where you lived—which is this current timeline—and the other… your death."
"But now that I see you, I don't see destruction. Instead, I see an abomination."
He continued softly, voice laced with quiet awe.
"If you had died that day, the clan would have fallen with you. Chaos would have drowned us all. That is why, Dax… you are our clan's prophecy. The child born to sustain the lineage and rejuvenate the Godfall bloodline."
Dax clenched his fist—face twisting with perfectly acted rage, voice shaking with raw emotion.
"So you had a vision that my talent would be stolen… and yet you did nothing?!"
His voice cracked—pain bleeding through.
"My talent was taken! And worse—my mother was kidnapped by the Blood River Clan!"
Memories surged—real ones. Painful ones.
In his past life, his mother had sacrificed everything for him.
Her end had been brutal.
He didn't like speaking of her.
Not now. Not ever.
But the emotion burned through his act, making it undeniably real—tears glistening unshed in his eyes, fists trembling at his sides.