Chapter 12: Ignorance
Dax sat alone at a simple desk within the Isolation Chamber—the quietest place in his entire labyrinthine lab. It was a perfect void: no sound, no light unless summoned, no distraction from the outside world. A sanctuary for the mind.
Books and meticulously scrawled notes lay scattered before him—ancient tomes from Micah's ring, diagrams of mana flows, sketches of soul structures—but he wasn't reading any of them.
He was staring through them.
His mind refused to stay still.
For the first time since awakening in this bloodied world, he felt something he had almost forgotten:
Uncertainty.
The phenomena he had witnessed—the strange reactions of energy, the impossible behaviors of this world's essence, the endless sky that defied physics—none of it aligned with the principles he had mastered across centuries. None of it matched the sciences etched into his very being.
He finally understood a truth he had resisted accepting.
He had no understanding of this world and the force called mana.
Not its nature. Not its structure. Not its laws.
And worse—the body he inhabited carried no innate knowledge of it either.
He rested his elbow on the desk and pressed his fingers against his forehead, eyes narrowing in rare frustration.
Right now, in this world, in this body…
He was nothing more than a newborn.
A new soul hurled into an unfamiliar reality.
Blind.
Ignorant.
Oblivious.
The absolute silence of the chamber amplified that truth, pressing it deeper into his bones.
Dax closed the book before him with deliberate care and exhaled slowly—a long, measured breath that carried the weight of reluctant acceptance.
He needed answers.
He needed understanding.
But for the moment, all he could do was sit there and confront the void of his own ignorance.
He was a reflection of his hunger—the truest embodiment of the abyss within him.
His hunger had never been confined to the physical: flesh, blood, power.
It gnawed at his mind. Clawed at his spirit. Whispered through the depths of his soul.
He hungered for understanding. For evolution. For truths hidden behind layers of truths.
And yet, no matter how much he consumed—knowledge, experience, mastery—nothing ever filled him completely.
His intelligence, razor-sharp as it was, never felt whole. His soul found no rest. His spirit no equilibrium.
There was always more.
Always someone—or something—that understood a little deeper, saw a little farther, grasped a little more than he did.
Dax knew this.
He accepted it.
And in that acceptance, he found a strange, perfect harmony.
Because a man who knows he is lacking will never stop climbing.
A man who knows he is empty will never stop devouring.
A man who knows he is incomplete will never stop evolving.
This uncertainty—this ignorance—was not weakness.
It was fuel.
Dax appeared in Micah's designated chamber without ceremony, materializing from shadow like a thought given form. His expression remained unreadable, but his purpose burned clear in his eyes.
He carried questions—more than he cared to admit.
But he swallowed his pride.
A man who sought knowledge must first learn to humble himself.
So he did.
Standing before Micah, Dax lowered himself with quiet, deliberate resolve—kneeling on one knee, head bowed in genuine supplication.
"I request your teachings."
Micah froze.
For a long moment, he wondered if he had misheard.
This man—this being who commanded impossible machines, who reshaped flesh and soul with casual precision, who forged god-bodies from broken mortals—was asking him for instruction?
The shock rooted him in place, breath caught in his throat.
He can do all this… yet he doesn't know the basics of mana?
What have I even been doing all my life?
Micah's gaze sharpened. Slowly, he examined Dax with fresh, piercing clarity—letting his perception sink deeper than surface awe.
Then he saw it.
Something he should have noticed long ago.
Something he had dismissed as impossible.
Dax had no core.
The realization struck like a cold blade to the heart.
Every human carried a core. It was fundamental—identity incarnate, the anchor of existence in the world's laws.
A coreless human was an anomaly.
No—an impossibility.
Yet here Dax stood, performing feats that shattered reason.
Is he… a god? Or something beyond even that?
The memory resurfaced—the strange, alien bow Dax had once offered. A gesture that made no sense in any culture of this world.
He had dismissed it.
But now, with this revelation…
Micah understood.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward and bowed deeply in return—forehead nearly touching the floor.
"I will teach you," he declared, voice resonant with solemn conviction. "Not only the basics—I will teach you everything you must know about this world and its laws."
His head lowered further, humility mirroring Dax's own.
"I know you did not come to me for mana alone. So, Master… I thank you for granting me the honor of being the one to guide you."
Days blurred into a focused haze.
Dax's exhaustive study of Micah's reconstructed body finally drew to a close.
Every test, every measurement, every controlled reaction only confirmed what he already knew in his bones:
The body was outstanding.
A true masterpiece.
One of his finest creations—flawless in design, boundless in potential.
Satisfied, Dax rose from his desk and left the Isolation Chamber behind.
The lab hummed around him—his machines whirring softly, his systems eternally vigilant, his silent kingdom of creation and destruction.
But even this sanctuary could not contain him forever.
He had learned what he needed here.
It was time to step outside.
Without hesitation, he made his decision.
He would explore this unfamiliar world—piece by piece, law by law.
He would learn its dangers, its hidden frameworks, its deepest truths—on his own terms.
But first, there was one place he needed to revisit.
The House of Fall.
There was someone he wished to see.