The horizon stretched endlessly as Rayon walked along the precipice, the black threads of his resonance weaving faint patterns in the air around him. The wind carried a weight, not of gravity, but of potential—a silent reminder that the world itself was bending around him now. Erethon hovered just above his shoulder, invisible to anyone but Rayon, and Vorthalaxis coiled lightly around his arm, pulsating with the quiet intensity of a being that knew its master was no ordinary man.
Rayon's mind was methodical, cataloging the continents, the lands, and the hidden powers that lingered in corners of the planet untouched by civilization. He spoke aloud, not for Erethon or Vorthalaxis, but for himself, a way to anchor his understanding of the world he now held dominion over.
"Krivos," he said, voice flat, almost academic, "the land of my birth. Veynar… the city where a child learned to survive alone. A seed planted in filth that grew into the first Black Primordial."
He paused, letting the words hang, the resonance around him tightening subtly.
"The continent to the north is Aurealis, frozen at the edges, where few survive but the strong endure. To the east… Serephane, jungles, rivers, storms, a perfect hunting ground for creatures and men alike. Southward lies Dralith, deserts and canyons, twisted by wind and bloodshed. West… the uncharted reaches of Eryndor, where gravity and resonance are unstable, legends say it's home to beasts older than the oldest Primordial. And the new continent… the one that calls to me now…"
Erethon's voice cut in, sardonic but informative. "Don't forget the names, Little Monarch. You're cataloging for your memory, not mine."
Rayon's eyes gleamed. "The far west. I can feel it even from here. The air… it hums with something unnatural. A land untouched by humans for centuries. The vessels for the Primordials. That is where I'm headed."
Vorthalaxis pulsed faintly. Erethon's tone was sharp. "Caution, Little Monarch. These aren't beasts or corrupted mortals. These are human vessels—people chosen or born as conduits for Primordial essence. The planet doesn't even classify them as normal mortals. Their aura alone could tear through continents if unleashed carelessly. And there are many of them."
Rayon's gaze did not waver. "I'm aware. Let them come if they choose. They're either tools or threats. I'll deal with both."
Erethon snorted. "Of course. The Black Primordial doesn't negotiate."
The sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the land, black and thin, as though reality itself bent away from the path Rayon took. The wind brought scents of salt and decay, the distant cries of enormous creatures, and the subtle hum of resonance from deep underground. Rayon ignored them all, his pace measured, deliberate.
As the planet spread before him, Rayon recited the known geography for himself:
Krivos – Birthplace, Veynar city. Known for political turmoil, corruption, and the survival-of-the-fittest mentality. Aurealis – Northern ice continent; home to ancient, secluded civilizations, resilient beasts, and long-hidden secrets. Serephane – Eastern jungles and rivers, home to untamed forces of nature, countless ancient predators, and spiritual anomalies. Dralith – Southern deserts, canyons, and blood-soaked histories. A testing ground for warriors and vessels. Eryndor – Western wildlands, uncharted, unstable gravity, older than any recorded history. A natural crucible for adaptation. The Vessels' Continent – Far west, unnamed in common histories. Human vessels of Primordial essence reside here, far from civilization, hidden in mountain ranges, deep forests, and deserts of twisted nature. Other minor islands and archipelagos – Scattered throughout oceans, often avoided by humans, teeming with unknown beasts, remnants of seals, and hidden artifacts.
"The planet itself…" Rayon muttered, "should be called Abyssara. It fits. Endless mysteries, the weight of history pressing down, and the seeds of creation and destruction lying dormant beneath its crust."
Erethon's amusement flickered faintly. "I approve. Little Monarch names continents like a god."
Rayon allowed himself a small smirk. "I catalog. I observe. I conquer. That is the natural order. The rest is noise."
The forest thinned as he approached the coast, the waves smashing against jagged cliffs. He could feel the pull—the subtle, almost magnetic resonance of the vessels continent calling to him. His steps quickened, not from fear, not from anticipation, but from the natural desire of the predator toward its prey.
"They know I am coming," Erethon murmured. "They will feel the Black Resonance first, then my voice second. By the time they understand, it will already be too late."
Rayon's expression remained calm. "Let them feel it. Let the strongest come forward. If they are truly vessels, they will either bow or break. I do not care which. Both outcomes are useful."
Vorthalaxis shifted around his arm, the black markings along its scales glowing faintly as if acknowledging the tension in the air. The world seemed to shrink under Rayon's gaze; the forest, the cliffs, even the oceans—everything paled before the inevitability of what he had become.
As the first light of dawn touched the horizon, Rayon's silhouette merged with the air, a predator of godlike power heading west, toward the continent where the very vessels of the Primordials waited. The hum of Black Resonance grew stronger, vibrating through the ground beneath him.
Erethon floated beside him, voice low and sardonic. "Remember, Little Monarch… some of these vessels were trained before birth. They were raised to be gods in waiting, and you are walking into their sanctum like a man strolling through a market. This will not be simple."
Rayon's smirk returned, sharper now. "I don't do simple. I do necessary."
And with that, he stepped off the cliffs, landing in a single motion that made the ground beneath him shiver. The world itself seemed to acknowledge him, and the continent ahead—its forests, its mountains, its hidden sanctuaries—stilled as if aware that the Black Primordial had arrived.
A shadow moved in the distance, vast and watchful. Rayon's silver eyes caught it immediately, but he did not flinch. Vorthalaxis coiled tighter, Erethon's voice teased, and the air seemed to tremble with anticipation.
The hunt had begun.