Chapter 9: Perfect Synchrony
Dax studied the old man in silence for a long moment, his gaze unreadable—deep, ancient, weighing souls without effort.
At last, he spoke.
"I am known as Dax Godfall," he said, voice calm and measured. "But you will address me as Doctor."
Micah's breath caught in his throat.
Dax Godfall…
The name struck like a distant bell. It can't be that Dax—the child whose talent was stolen at birth, the one whispered about in forbidden records. Micah had known every significant prodigy on the continent, every ancient bloodline, every clan of note. Yet this boy had never appeared in any of them.
None of that mattered now.
The man before him had saved his life. The origin of his power was irrelevant.
"How…" Micah murmured, voice hoarse with astonishment, "did you manage to save me from Aron?"
Dax's lips curved faintly. "Just know he won't be coming after you anytime soon."
His gaze shifted to the ocean-blue blade resting in Micah's lap. "Instead of worrying about that, inspect your weapon. She is burning the dying flame of her soul to preserve your life. You should bid her farewell."
Excalibur trembled in Micah's grasp. The spirit within shook her ethereal head in quiet defiance, light pulsing softly along the steel.
Dax turned toward empty air, frowning slightly. "You wish to stay?"
Micah blinked, confusion deepening. To him, Dax appeared insane—speaking to nothing, staring at shadows.
But beneath Dax's Origin Eyes, the truth shimmered clearly: two translucent figures hovered protectively behind Micah.
One was a beautiful woman—Helga—her form radiant with gentle sorrow.
The other, a small glowing fairy, wings fluttering with quiet determination.
Their presence filled the cave with a strange, soothing peace.
A soft, genuine smile touched Dax's lips.
"Who am I to stop you?"
His voice gentled, becoming almost lyrical—words woven with rare poetry.
"There is beauty in life, and beauty in the experience of it. The colors of your existence brought these beings to you. To be alone, yet never truly alone—that is not tragedy. It is testament."
Master, you're so poetic, Inerous teased inside his mind, her voice shimmering like crystalline laughter, bright and childlike.
"Inerous," Dax replied with amused warmth, "you've grown childlike."
He paused, then continued aloud in his thoughts. "Now, give me a detailed breakdown of my new skills—and this strange new body."
On it.
The system text materialized before his inner vision, crisp and illuminating.
· Origin Body: A form that embodies creation and destruction through the unity of your traits.
Note: You have become the First of All.
· Origin Eyes: Eyes that witnessed creation itself. Nothing escapes their gaze.
· Origin Touch: Grants the ability to interact with anything visible to the naked eye.
Master… your abilities are broken, Inerous declared flatly, a hint of awe threading her tone.
"I know."
Dax couldn't hold back his laughter—low, delighted, echoing softly in the cave.
When he faced Micah again, his smile sweetened—deceptively gentle, like honey laced with venom.
"Old man. Are you ready?"
I'll test my new skills on him, he mused silently. Ah… the possibilities.
Micah steadied himself, gripping Excalibur tighter. "Sir… my name is Micah."
He met Dax's gaze, golden pupils reaching instinctively into the depths of the younger man's existence.
And instantly, he felt himself drowning.
A void of endless stars yawned open—vast, cold, ancient beyond comprehension.
He gasped, recoiling.
How can a human…?
Then came the pressure—like a colossal, invisible hand closing around his heart. Terror flooded his veins, icy and paralyzing.
But the image of his granddaughter—pale, suffering, helpless—surged into his mind like a lifeline.
I will hold the hand of the devil if it saves her.
If this boy speaks truth… I will risk everything.
"Finished staring?" Dax asked lightly, clearing his throat with mock delicacy. "Do you know where we are?"
Micah tore his gaze away, glancing around the dim cave—towering trees visible through the entrance, enormous birds gliding silently overhead on vast wings.
"This is the Plains of Vabos," he answered slowly. "But I don't know the exact region."
"Good. Then we can begin."
Dax's mind was already dissecting the situation, thoughts racing like scalpels through flesh.
"Remove the beast corpses from your storage. And bring me a powerful sword."
Micah obeyed without hesitation, the black ring on his finger flashing as massive carcasses materialized—heaps of scaled hides, razor claws, and ancient bones spilling across the cave floor.
"Do you know why you're able to move?" Dax asked, a knowing smile playing at his lips.
Micah hesitated, then shook his head.
"Even with those eyes, you can't see?"
Dax stepped closer and, with surprising gentleness, opened Micah's eyelid wider with two fingers—Origin Touch brushing skin.
"I… don't understand."
Micah—once praised across continents as a genius, the First Ancestor of the Church of Light—now felt like a complete fool, blind to truths dancing before him.
"What do they do?" Dax's curiosity sharpened, voice laced with genuine fascination.
"These eyes…" Micah swallowed hard, sweat sliding cold down his spine. "They resemble the eyes of the Golden Angel."
Dax's own eyes widened with delight—pure, childlike wonder at a new specimen.
Divine power coiled faintly within Micah's golden pupils, flickering like dying embers.
Dax instinctively reached toward it, fingers hovering.
"Sir!"
Micah's trembling voice snapped him from the trance.
"Show me," Dax said softly, tilting his head. "Show me the power of those eyes."
Micah grimaced, pain etching deeper lines into his face. "Master… these eyes don't belong to me. They belong to the god I once served."
His voice cracked with bitterness. "Any moment now, they'll disappear. I can feel it—the grace withdrawing."
"Ah… borrowed power," Dax murmured, understanding dawning.
"You were used."
His tone softened with false pity—a perfect actor delivering lines with flawless sincerity.
"You served him until your old age… how cruel."
Then, brighter: "I will help you."
He guided Micah gently to the ground, easing the old man down with surprising care.
Then Dax turned toward the scattered beast parts, eyes gleaming with scientific hunger.
Operating on a conscious specimen thrilled him to his core.
He wished, fleetingly, for his old laboratory—the sterile tables, the precise instruments.
But this would do.
He lifted the massive spine of a wyvern, turning it slowly in his hands.
"I would've loved to observe its heart beating," he said almost wistfully. "But this will do."
The scattered organs responded to his will—lifting from the ground as if drawn by unseen strings. Hearts, lungs, bones, scales—swirling around him in violent, orchestrated harmony.
"Synthesis," he whispered.
A burst of silver light erupted from his palm, enveloping the floating mass.
The air calmed instantly.
The ancient trees outside hummed, leaves trembling as though in reverence.
Thunder rumbled across the distant sky—like the world itself sighing in deep, primal pleasure.
"It can't be…" Micah choked out, eyes wide with disbelief. "Perfect Synchrony?"
"To reach this level… it's impossible!"
Suddenly, agony exploded behind Micah's eyes—searing, ripping through his skull like molten gold poured into his veins.
The divine power that had once leaked from his gaze reversed, flooding back with burning warmth that only intensified the torment.
Dax ignored the rapid chimes of new system notifications flooding his vision.
He was lost in trance—utterly consumed.
He began to float, rising slowly from the ground.
His hands cradled the silver sphere like a mother guarding her newborn—gentle, protective, reverent.
Within the goo, lights collided and merged in a furious internal war—creation and destruction dancing in perfect, violent harmony.
Dax's body hummed.
Waves of silver ripples emanated from him, trembling through the cave, through the earth, through the world itself.