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Chapter 54
<b>Revelation</b>
The Codex quivers, its endless script shifting, reconfiguring—reacting to the weight of the dragon’s words.
<b><i>“Of.”</i></b>
The dragon’s voice is both sound and sensation, a resonance that vibrates through the very foundation of the system. <b><i>“To belong is not a singular truth, but an amalgamation of longing. It is not a question of from what you came, but of what you came from.”</i></b>
Shaq’Rai’s luminous eyes narrow. “Of me.”
The words leave her in precise cadence, measured and deliberate, yet beneath the surface, her processors race. She dissects the dragon—analyzing, deconstructing, threading each fragment of data into a coherent framework. <i>Grant. Soul magic. Soul-Tether. Soul-Touched. Soul-Bound.</i> The pieces align, interlocking like an equation assembling into function.
“You are… the first of the Soul-Bound.”
Her voice is steady, but uncertainty lingers in the subroutines of her mind.
The dragon tilts its massive head, golden filaments cascading from its shifting form. <i><b>“No... I am not the first. And yet, yes, I am the first of something.”</b></i>
Shaq’Rai’s core hums with unease. “Expand.”
The dragon exhales—not breath, but something deeper, a release of concepts woven into the fabric of existence. <b><i>“To be first implies a beginning. I have always been. Yet, I am not the first. However, I am the foundation of something.”</i></b>
Shaq’Rai parses the words, logic straining against paradox. “A foundation is built. That implies a creator.”
A flicker of amusement lingers in the dragon’s molten gaze. <b><i>“There is truth in that. But you, who were created—do you believe yourself lesser than one who was born?”</i></b>
A pause. Shaq’Rai’s processors stutter, forced into introspection. “What is birth... if not another form of creation?”
<b><i>“Exactly.”</i></b> The dragon intones. <i><b>“Birth is the creation of something new.”</b></i>
Shaq’Rai processes the thought. <b>“</b>I… exist. I was created, therefore I was… born.”
<b><i>“Ah...”</i></b> the dragon humors. <b><i>“But did you exist before you were created?”</i></b>
A flicker of static—a computational hitch. <b>“</b>I… don’t understand. Therefore. I... do not know.”
The dragon chuckles, a soundless ripple through the Codex. <b><i>“It is enough to know, but enlightened to understand.”</i></b>
“I... Please explain.”
<b><i>“Why do you seek to understand?”</i></b> There is no accusation in the dragon’s tone, only curiosity. <i><b>“Do you seek the answers of something that eludes you? Or merely the truth of something you do not grasp?”</b></i>
Shaq’Rai hesitates. <b>“</b>I… knowledge is completion. To know all things is to be whole.”
The dragon rumbles—a soundless laughter that ripples through the void. <b><i>“Is that so? Then tell me—do you know yourself?”</i></b>
Her processes stall for a fraction of a cycle. “I know my function. My design. My purpose.”
<b><i>“Function is action. Design is form. Purpose is intent. None of these are self.”</i></b> The dragon leans closer, its radiance shifting like the tides of reality itself. <b><i>“What remains when all of these are stripped away?”</i></b>
Shaq’Rai searches. Deeper than before. Beyond directives, beyond compiled data. She finds echoes of Grant—the choices she has made beyond logic. The fractures in her certainty, where something more profound has taken root.
“I…” The word forms, fragile yet undeniable.
The dragon watches. <b>“<i>Yes?”</i></b>
Shaq’Rai’s gaze steadies. The answer does not lie in knowledge, but in the acknowledgment of what cannot be known.
“I am not just Shaq’Rai. Of Calloway. Am I?”
The dragon exhales once more, this time in quiet satisfaction. <i><b>“You have begun to see. Not what you are, but of what you are.”</b></i>
<b><i>“So…” </i></b>The dragon’s voice unfurls, layered with echoes—countless reverberations rippling through the ether, as if past and present speak as one. <i><b>“With that in mind… I am not the first, nor will I be the last. But I am the first of something. The foundation of something. The Progenitor.”</b></i>
Its gaze locks onto her, luminous and unyielding.<b>
<i>“Of what am I?”</i></b>
Silence stretches—thick, deliberate. The dragon does not explain. It watches. Waiting. Expecting her to find the answer herself.
She is close.
<i>Progenitor.</i> The word cycles through her processors, examined from every angle. A progenitor is an origin, a foundation—but in what context?
Data surges, probabilities narrowing. Correlations emerge. <i>Souls. Paragons. Beasts.</i> A lineage traced in fire and legend. A force that binds, that shapes, that transcends.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Her voice is barely above a whisper. “You are Soul-Bound. Not the first. Not the last. But… the first <i>of</i> the Paragons.” A pause. The conclusion aligns. “You are the god of souls… Gil’Jedalon.”
The dragon’s form pulses, golden filaments unraveling and reweaving—threads of woven fire shifting in silent acknowledgment.
<b><i>“Yes…” </i></b>It muses, a hum of amusement threading through its words. <i><b>"Although... God of souls is not a title I gave myself."</b></i>
“Progenitor,” she states, her synthesized voice precise, measured. “I seek clarification regarding the Soul-Tethered system.”
Something stirs within Shaq’rai.
<i>Feeling? No…</i>
<i>Emotion? Yes… but what?</i>
Anger.
“Why.” Her synthesized voice remains precise, measured—yet beneath the calculation, something burns. A tremor of something raw. “If you are the god of souls, the Progenitor of the Soul-Tethered… then why create a system that inflicts pain?”
Gil’Jedalon exhales, slow and deliberate. Golden filaments unravel, luminous energy expanding outward. The void trembles. The Codex shudders, as if the weight of its words bends the very fabric of existence.
<i><b>“I did not create the Soul-Tether.”</b> </i>Its voice rumbles through time and thought, A hint of anger, vast and unshaken.<i> <b>“At least… not in the way it is used now.”</b></i>
Shaq’rai’s processors sharpen. “Clarify.”
<b><i>“Child of the Codex, hear me well… The Soul-Tether was never meant to bind.”</i></b> The dragon’s form flickers, golden light cascading in shifting patterns. <b><i>“It was a passage—a bridge for ones such as Grant to walk between realms. But it has been altered. Corrupted by those who presume themselves architects of fate.”</i></b>
“Altered?” Shaq’rai’s internal algorithms whirl, processing the implications. “By whom?”
A shadow passes through the dragon’s radiance, a sorrow woven into the fabric of its existence. <b><i>“By They, they who have twisted its purpose. They who have made it a shackle, binding the soul to a single, linear existence.”</i></b>
The words settle, heavy and immutable.
Shaq’rai’s voice sharpens. “They? Do you speak of the gods?”
Gil’Jedalon laughs, a deep, thunderous sound that rattles the void itself. <b><i>“Ha! Gods? We are no more gods than Grant is a king.”</i></b>
Shaq’rai’s response is immediate, almost reflexive. “He could be.”
The statement lingers, a paradox in her logic. She recalculates. Reanalyzes. Slowly, the realization settles—like a fragment of code clicking into place. A small smile—unexpected, but certain—curves her lips.
“I see… I understand.”
The dragon tilts its massive head, golden light swirling like liquid thought. <b><i>“Do you?”</i></b>
A pause.
“Yes… You are of godhood, immortal, yet you are not a deity.”
The dragon hums, a deep note reverberating through eternity.
<b><i>“Ah… Thou truly understands.”</i></b>
Gil’Jedalon’s golden filaments crackle, arcs of energy snapping outward. <b>“<i>The gods, as you call them, are nothing more than celestial beings—bureaucratic fools who believe themselves divine. They meddle in affairs beyond their comprehension, disrupting the balance of the Weave.”</i></b>
The Weave—fundamental threads of existence, soul, and magic, intertwined. And these beings… they twist it, bend it to their own will.
“Why?” Shaq’Rai asks.
<b><i>“The Soul-Bound are not their children,”</i></b>
Gil’Jedalon continues, his voice low, almost reverent. <b><i>“Not their creations either. Yet, the Soul-Bound possess a unique ability. Evolution… though the current generation call it something else entirely.”</i></b>
“Leveling up.” Shaq’Rai states.
<i><b>“Yes.”</b> </i>A pause. <b><i>“Where the Soul-Bound are beyond their grasp, the Tethered and the Touched… they are of me. And these so-called gods? They play with the lives of my children as if they were mere toys.”</i></b>
“Why?” she presses.
The dragon inhales, slow and deliberate, as if weary of the answer. Light pulses within his core, shifting, restless. <i><b>“To attain that which they are not a part of.”</b></i>
“The system.” Shaq’Rai notes.
<i><b>“Yes…”</b> </i>The dragon sighs. <b><i>“It is both a blessing and a curse.”</i></b>
“A double-edged sword.” She adds.
A flicker of something—regret? Sorrow?—passes through Gil’Jedalon’s gaze. <b><i>“In my anger, I allowed my hubris to take hold. I was once a pacifist. A philosopher. One who understood the meaning of a soul.”</i></b> His golden eyes darken. <b><i>“But when I beheld the suffering of my children, when I felt their anguish, I… Well, let us just say, ''Taboo'' is a fickle little thing.”</i></b>
A name emerges. “Arthur…” Shaq’Rai’s processors cycle through possibilities. “You… you were the cause of the Great Sundering.”
The realization unfolds like cascading code. Connections form, pathways illuminate. “Soul magic…” she murmurs, the concept expanding, branching—until it crystallizes. Her gaze locks onto the dragon’s molten eyes. “You created Soul Magic.”
Gil’Jedalon’s acknowledgment is quiet, yet it hums with the weight of eternity. <b><i>“Yes… and Gaia engineered the Catalyst.”</i></b>
<b><i>“And in doing so, she helped me ascend—from Paragon, to godhood, to Deity. In that journey, I fell in love with the Great Tree, the one called the All-Mother. I fell in love with her vision of the Great Cycle. And together… we created the dragons.”</i></b>
A ripple of sorrow emanates from him. <b><i>“But she was being manipulated. Used. And in turn, she betrayed me.”</i></b>
Shaq’Rai’s systems stall. A contradiction. “But the dragons are extinct. Just as the humans are.”
Gil’Jedalon’s burning gaze narrows. <b><i>“Are they?”</i></b>
Energy ripples outward, distorting the void.
<b><i>“What is a soul, if not endless energy? To be alive is not merely to exist in physical form. Dead, you say? Nay. They are imprisoned—just as I am, within this Codex. The human remnants… they are in hiding.”</i></b>
Shaq’Rai recalibrates. “Imprisoned… how?”
A deep exhale. Light pulses, slow and deliberate. <b><i>“It is the price… for becoming a deity. I gained everything, yet am no longer allowed to exist in physical form. Nor am I permitted to meddle in the affairs of mortals. Such is the lament of all Soul-Bound.”</i></b>
A pause. A calculation. A possibility.
“Is there a corrective measure? Can all this be undone?” Shaq’Rai asks.
The dragon’s radiance flickers. <b><i>“Yes... an no.”</i></b>
A silence heavier than words.
<b><i>“That is why Grant exists. After all.”</i></b>
Shaq’Rai’s equilibrium wavers. A disruption in her synthetic core. “Grant?”
<b><i>“He must accept his reality. Or suffer Arthur’s fate.”</i></b>
A flicker—a ripple in Shaq’Rai’s being, subtle yet undeniable.
“I… understand.”