In the echoing depths of the ancestral forest guarding Eryndor Academy, ancient canopies wove together like time's guardians—a tapestry of roots and shadows. The air thrummed with primal energy, breathing alongside the trees in rhythms weighted by centuries and ancestral wisdom.
Sunlight filtered through branches like molten gold, painting ephemeral patterns on the forest floor. Here, in a hidden vale, silence reigned—so thick you could hear nature's own heartbeat.
A group of youths stood motionless, eyes fixed on the horizon beyond gnarled trunks.
Before them stood an instructor whose appearance defied time.
He seemed no older than fourteen—smooth-faced, slender, agile.
Yet his eyes held an abyss of ages, a density that eclipsed his youthful form. Entire eras lived in that gaze, a silent witness to dawns of time and falls of ancient empires.
He spoke with crystalline clarity—a voice resonating not in ears, but in bone-deep memory:
"To tame is not to subjugate. It is not forcing another will to kneel before yours. Taming is to listen with your soul—to converse with the invisible heart beating within the beast."
Words hung in the air, touching students like revealed universal law.
The master moved among them, footsteps silent as floating. The earth yielded beneath him.
"This art extends beyond common beasts" he intoned, voice an ancestral hymn. "A true cultivator may reach the depths of a dragon's will, ancient elementals... and if they dare cross shadowed boundaries—even humans."
A shiver swept through the group.
Dominion over conscious beings—humans—was a darkness few dared contemplate.
Yet the master spoke without arrogance: a sacred secret shared.
A subtle smile touched his lips—not ordinary, but ancient.
"To master a will is to touch a soul" he continued. "It is not command, but communion. The true master hears what the beast does not say—understands what it does not know."
Then, in near-ritual motion, shadows trembled.
The earth hummed.
Foliage parted like sacred gates bowing to arrival.
A colossal creature emerged.
Sapphire scales gleamed with arcane patterns—as if the sky itself had etched primordial runes upon its form.
Eyes like living embers observed the scene with absolute calm.
A Spiritual Dragon.
A being so rare, so powerful, its existence lingered beyond myth.
With solemn grace, the dragon approached the master—and bowed its head. Not submission, but pure recognition. A free choice.
Students held their breath, entranced.
"He is not here out of fear or need" declared the master. "He chose to follow. That is the true art of taming."
This moment spoke not of control, but trust. The dragon stood immobile beside its master—eyes serene, watchful.
"This art has two faces" the instructor said, meeting each youth's gaze. "It may shield like an impenetrable wall... or ravage like a storm. What defines its nature... is the heart that wields it."
Silence followed—thick as the forest itself, heavy with meaning.
"Who is ready to walk this path?" The master's eyes gleamed with challenge. "Who will tame their first creature?"
The world seemed to hold its breath with the youths.
Birds stilled their songs.
Leaves froze mid-tremor.
『Character Record』
Name: Aegor Thanaris
Title: Monarch of Primordial Beasts
Age: 450 Trillion Years / Infinite
Cultivation: Transcendent
Lineage: Primordial Beast
Spiritual Root: Ancient Wild Root
Soul: Eternal Beast Soul
Divine Eyes: Eyes of Sovereignty
Dao: Dao of Taming
Key Trait: Absolute Perception of Existence Cycles
Presence: Summons Primordial Beasts
Alignment: Cosmic Neutrality
None moved immediately.
The master's question hovered like an ancient seal—stamped not in words, but souls: Who is ready?
This was no challenge for impulse.
To tame meant facing oneself—confronting the raw, instinctual, often fearful core within... and holding dialogue with it.
Aegor Thanaris waited in silence.
His presence wasn't merely physical. It filled space with inexplicable stability—as if nothing could unsettle him.
One disciple raised a hesitant hand. A boy with guarded eyes and poorly concealed doubt.
Aegor watched. Not smiling. Just waiting.
The youth stepped forward.
The forest reacted.
A mist-furred spiritual feline emerged—golden eyes holding density and awareness.
The boy extended his hand. The cat growled softly—not aggression, but distrust.
"The wild spirit responds not to gesture, but intent" Aegor's voice sounded near, though distant. "You still seek control. Listen."
The disciple closed his eyes.
The forest hushed again.
For a moment, he stopped trying... and began feeling.
He felt his own fear.
His insecurity.
The shadow of rejection.
Then—the echo within the beast: wariness, self-preservation, pride.
Something shifted.
He lowered his hand.
The feline stepped forward—touched his cheek with its muzzle.
A fleeting contact.
Yet in it lay acceptance.
Aegor gave a slight nod. Approval in his eyes, but no celebration.
This was only the beginning.
Others tried. Some failed—bonds unmade, creatures dissolving like smoke returned to wind.
Aegor neither chastised nor encouraged.
He only observed.
'The beast approaches only those who've begun taming themselves' he thought silently.
As students struggled, the Spiritual Dragon remained still beside Aegor—yet its eyes missed nothing. Watching. Testing hearts without sound.
One overeager disciple forced approach on an elemental lizard.
A brusque gesture.
Immediate rejection.
The creature burst into sparks and vanished.
Emotional impact threw the youth to his knees—frustration raw.
Aegor approached.
"Presence isn't imposed. It's manifested truth" he said softly, yet firm. "To dominate without self-knowledge... is to walk the abyss."
The disciple bowed his head.
In Aegor's eyes—no judgment. Only understanding.
Practice continued until the vale brimmed with dense emotion.
The forest now felt quieter than ever—not empty silence, but watchful stillness.
At last, Aegor turned to the group.
"Today, you learned not control—but listening. And that is rarer than you know."
He raised his hand.
The dragon stepped forward—released a low, deep roar that reverberated through the vale like an ancient hymn.
"When you realize no separation exists between you and the world... only then will you be ready to truly connect."
He turned. Walked toward the forest.
The Spiritual Dragon followed.
Trees parted... then sealed behind them.
The vale—empty of masters and beasts—now held something new: reverent silence, seeds of understanding, a subtle inner awakening in every disciple.
Meanwhile...
At Eryndor's heart...
Rose the Imperial Library. Pillars of enchanted stone soared skyward, every inch vibrating with ideas that had shaped worlds.
Here, mind-cultivators gathered.
Seated in perfect jade spirals, young adepts studied, meditated, murmured texts.
They sought not physical power—but clarity. Discernment. Ethical transcendence.
The advanced delved into Sacred Manuscripts—sealed under protections as ancient as the multiverse.
Strength alone couldn't unlock them. Merit was required.
Purity.
Vision.
Here, they cultivated the Dao of Mind—the sole path able to alter destiny with well-spoken truths.
A realm where wisdom was the blade... and the mind, the battlefield.
One clear thought could end wars.
One right word, spoken at the perfect moment, could rebuild worlds.
In this sanctuary of thought, a silent revolution brewed.
Not with blood—but purpose.
Not with shouts—but steady voices.
Here grew the rarest cultivator: those who could rewrite reality...
With Will.