Dual Focus, huh.

  John chuckled to himself wryly. Eliza had always complained he was a bad multi-tasker. Well, look at him now.

  He glanced at his other notifications—and paused. His drawing ability had evolved again?

  At first, it sounded pretty similar to the last evolution. But then he read it again.

  No limit.

  He was still dizzy from the lack of air, breathing ragged—but his eyes narrowed. Did that mean what he thought it meant?

  Gingerly, he reached for his gladius and sheathed it. Carefully, he moved his mana—guiding it through his limbs, slowly condensing it into his blade.

  He stayed where he was, still recovering, one part of his mind focused on breathing and healing, the other on channeling mana into his gladius.

  He condensed it tighter and tighter. Time passed—he wasn’t sure how long—but he didn’t hit a ceiling. He kept going.

  Eventually, he tried pouring in more mana faster—but quickly realized he couldn’t sustain that pace. His mana began to dry up.

  Looking inward, John saw the issue. His mana core could replenish energy—but only at a fixed rate. If he pushed too hard, too fast, he’d burn out.

  But if he matched his channeling to his regeneration rate…

  On paper, he could keep pouring mana into Nova Draw.

  Forever.

  The implications were staggering.

  What if he spent a whole day charging it? A week? A month?

  What if he raised his regeneration speed—could he pour in more, faster, without burning out?

  The possibilities were… Intriguing, to say the least.

  John kept his hand on the hilt of his gladius, condensing his mana further and further. Slowly, a strange pressure began to gather around the blade.

  It occurred to him that for this to work, he would need to keep his sword hand on the hilt at all times, constantly building the power of his next attack.

  John chuckled to himself. He’d have to get used to wiping with his left hand.

  As he worked, splitting his attention between circulating mana to heal his wounds and charging Nova Draw, he took the chance to study his surroundings.

  The sun was starting to rise, casting its first light into the cavern’s mouth. Yet calling it a cavern didn’t feel right—its ceiling was impossibly high.

  You could fit a skyscraper in here, John thought.

  The injured wyrm was gone, the tremors of its movements long faded.

  Lifting his head, he noticed something peculiar. The sunlight streaming into the cave didn’t fade gradually like it should have—it stopped. Abruptly. A razor-thin line marked the boundary where light ended, and beyond it: inky blackness.

  Suddenly, John’s instincts prickled. He was being watched.

  Perception +1

  The notification faded just as a gust of wind whispered through the cave, carrying with it a low chuckle. It sounded like the mountain itself was laughing.

  “How interesting…”

  John scrambled to his feet, eyes wide. The voice had come from deep within the cave. He squinted into the blackness, but couldn’t see anything beyond the veil of shadow.

  As he stared, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. His hands were shaking. What the hell?

  “Come closer, youngling. You shall not be harmed,” the voice whispered again, smooth and coaxing.

  John took a step forward before he even realized it. He stopped himself. Why did I just—?

  “Come,” the voice snapped, sharper now. Impatience edged its tone like a knife.

  Every hair on John’s body stood on end. His thoughts scattered, and before he could resist, his feet were already moving. One step. Then another.

  By the time he regained awareness, the light was gone. Darkness had swallowed everything. He couldn’t see a damn thing.

  He channeled his mana into his skin, hoping to cast some light. A faint glow pulsed from his body, revealing just enough to see his own hands—but little more.

  Then came the voice again, echoing from every direction at once.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “A child of Light! How... delightful.”

  “Wh-who are you?” John responded hoarsely, sweat dripping from his brow.

  A low breath stirred the air—slow, vast, and ancient. Not the kind of breath that came from lungs, but something deeper. Older. The stone under John’s feet trembled subtly, as though the mountain itself had exhaled.

  John kept his grip on the hilt of his gladius. Mana still flowed through him, a steady rhythm—one thread dedicated to healing, the other continuing to feed Nova Draw. Then, within the void, something shifted.

  Something massive stirred in the dark, and the faint glow of John’s mana lit the smallest part of it.

  What he saw stopped his heart.

  A single eye—immense, silver and black—opened in the darkness. A reptilian iris shimmered like starlight trapped inside glass, and within it danced something terrifyingly intelligent.

  Chains of mana snaked across what little he could see, interwoven like a spider’s web, coiled tightly around the being’s flesh. They pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat—deep and ancient.

  John stumbled back instinctively, every instinct in his body screaming predator. His mana surged, ready to strike.

  “No need for that,” the voice whispered again, softer now. “Had I wished to devour you, I would have done so before you struck the wyrm from within.”

  John’s eyes widened. He stayed silent, his body tense.

  A faint tremor passed through the cavern floor, subtle but steady, followed by the sound of stone grinding against stone. And then came the voice again—slow, melodic, impossibly deep. It resonated in his bones more than his ears.

  “You hesitate,” the voice murmured. Closer now. Deeper—vibrating through his bones. “That is wise. Many who have stood where you now stand chose arrogance. They were not... remembered.”

  John’s breath caught in his throat. That voice didn’t belong to any mortal thing. It was ancient, layered, like several versions of it were speaking at once.

  “That creature… a distant cousin of mine. A beast ruled by instinct, drawn to you by your Light. It brought you to me unwittingly. Curious, is it not?”

  The chains glinted faintly as Tenebris shifted, and John realized—what he was seeing was only a fraction of its true size. The eye alone dwarfed him, and that was just an eye. The sheer scale was incomprehensible.

  Primordial Dragon - Level ?????

  “What... are you?” John finally managed, voice hoarse.

  “A question with many answers,” the voice replied, chuckling. “But for now, you may call me Tenebris. Once a guardian, now a prisoner. And you, John, are… interesting.”

  John stiffened. “How do you know my name?”

  Tenebris’s eye glinted. “I listen. I watch.”

  John said nothing. The mana in his hand didn’t waver, and neither did the pressure from the Nova Draw he’d been building. He kept it tight.

  The dragon’s tone shifted—less condescending now, more contemplative, almost amused. “You have potential. Immense potential. But you are reckless. You wield your Light like a hammer, swinging wildly in all directions.”

  “I’ve been doing just fine.”

  “It has carried you this far,” Tenebris admitted, “but it will not carry you much farther. You have glimpsed a primordial Aspect, yet you do not understand its weight. You are fortunate… and ungrateful.”

  The great eye narrowed, not in menace, but in judgement. “You are strong, John. But strength without understanding is like a castle built on sand.”

  John's jaw tightened. “So what are you offering?”

  “A sliver of perspective. A nudge in the right direction.” Tenebris leaned in, and even that subtle motion sent invisible tremors through the air. His breath washed over John—cool and dry, like the air of a sealed tomb. “In return, I ask only this: that you remember me.”

  John said nothing. His fingers stayed wrapped around his blade.

  The dragon’s chuckle reverberated through the stone beneath his feet, a sound like shifting mountains. “You lack the strength to break these seals. You are not ready…”

  The darkness behind the eye shifted—heavy, slow, like something colossal stirring in deep water.

  “But one day, that may change. When the time comes, return to this place.”

  The eye narrowed ever so slightly, gleaming with something ancient and unreadable.

  “Return—and choose. Whether I should remain bound… or not.”

  A faint shimmer stirred in the air before John. Not from Tenebris—but from the System.

  Quest Received: The Bound Shadow

  A forgotten power slumbers deep within Umbravale. Return and set it free.

  Condition: Reach sufficient power level and/or aspect mastery.

  Reward: ???

  Penalty: ???

  John stared at the notification. The words sank in slowly, like stones into deep water.

  He exhaled once, steady and quiet.

  Then he looked up—into that ancient, watching eye.

  “…I accept.”

  ———

  The basecamp crouched in Umbravale’s shadow, black tents tucked between twisted roots. Torches hissed. Light cracked across the dirt.

  Ranger Captain Rendial stood tall, silver braid catching the glow. His eyes cut through them.

  “Speak,” Rendial said, voice sharp.

  Vren, the lead scout, stepped up, breathing hard. “Two humans. One’s gone—System took him. Teleported away.”

  Rendial’s fingers twitched on his scabbard. “The other?”

  “He stayed,” Vren said. “Nothing holding him—no Nullifying Chains. Could’ve left. Didn’t.”

  The camp went quiet. Rendial’s jaw tightened. “Why?”

  Vren swallowed. “He fought. Killed eight of ours. Jyris, Thal—cut them down like they were nothing. His blade… burned with Light, cut through armor like it was nothing. We stabbed him, shot him—bloodied him bad. He wouldn’t stop.”

  Kael, clutching his arm, spoke low. “He took Dren’s head in one swing. We had to pull back.”

  Rendial’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger. “You ran?”

  “Or died,” Vren snapped, then flinched - regretting his tone.

  No one spoke. Rendial paced, boots grinding leaves. A fresh human—tutorial barely started—cutting through his scouts? Staying when he could flee? His mind turned. Most tutorial entrants died pitiful deaths in such situations.

  “Where is he now?” Rendial asked.

  Vren shook his head. “Lost him after the fight. Forest’s thick—could be anywhere.”

  Rendial stopped, fist clenched. “Find him. Send trackers—four teams, no less. Don’t attack, just watch. Report every move.”

  Kael glanced at Vren, uneasy. “The girl?”

  Rendial’s gaze flicked to the camp’s edge, where chains clinked. “She’s bait. He stayed for a reason. He’ll come for her.”

  The scouts nodded, slipping into the dark. Rendial watched them go. The knot in his chest didn’t loosen.