Deep within the echoing ancient forest that surrounded Eryndor Academy, the towering crowns of age-old trees intertwined like eternal guardians.
The air vibrated with primordial energy, breathing in sync with the trees in a rhythm marked by centuries of wisdom.
Sunlight filtered through the branches like molten gold, painting fleeting patterns on the ground.
In a hidden valley, silence reigned so dense one could hear the very heartbeat of nature.
A group of young disciples stood motionless, eyes fixed beyond the twisted trunks.
Before them, an instructor challenged time itself.
He appeared no older than fourteen — smooth-faced, slender, and agile.
Yet his eyes held an abyss of eras, a weight that eclipsed his youthful form.
Entire epochs lived within that gaze, a silent witness to the dawn of time and the fall of empires.
He spoke with crystalline clarity — a voice that echoed not in ears, but deep in memory:
"To tame is not to subjugate. It is not to force another's will to kneel. To tame is to listen with the soul — to converse with the invisible heart beating within the beast."
The words hung in the air, touching the students like a revealed universal law.
The master moved among them, steps so light he seemed to float.
The earth yielded beneath his feet.
"This art goes beyond common beasts," he intoned, voice like an ancient hymn.
"A true cultivator can reach the will of a dragon, ancient elementals... and, if daring enough to cross shadowy borders — even humans."
A shiver ran through the group.
Mastery over sentient beings — humans — was a darkness few dared to contemplate.
But the master spoke without arrogance, as one sharing a sacred secret.
A subtle, uncommon smile curved his lips.
"To master a will is to touch a soul," he continued.
"It is not a command, but a communion. The true master hears what the beast does not say — understands what it does not know."
Then, in an almost ritualistic movement, the shadows trembled.
The earth hummed.
The foliage parted like sacred gates bowing in reverence.
A colossal creature emerged.
Sapphire scales gleamed with arcane patterns — as if the very sky had etched primordial runes onto its form.
Eyes like living embers observed the scene with absolute calm.
A Spiritual Dragon.
A being so rare and powerful its existence transcended any myth.
With solemn grace, the dragon approached the master — and bowed its head.
Not in submission, but in pure recognition.
A free choice.
The students held their breath, awestruck.
"He is not here out of fear or need," the master declared.
"He chose to follow. This is the true art of taming."
That moment spoke not of control, but of trust.
The dragon stood motionless beside its master — eyes serene, vigilant.
"This art has two faces," the instructor said, meeting the gaze of each young disciple.
"It can protect like an impenetrable wall... or devastate like a storm. What defines its nature... is the heart that wields it."
A silence, dense as the forest itself, followed — heavy with meaning.
"Who is ready to walk this path?" The master's eyes shone with challenge.
"Who will tame their first creature?"
The world seemed to hold its breath with the youths.
Birds fell silent.
Leaves froze mid-air.
Aegor Thanaris.
Monarch of the Primordial Beasts.
Four hundred and fifty trillion years.
Infinite transcendental cultivation.
Lineage of the Primordial Beast.
Ancient wild spiritual root.
Soul of the eternal Beast.
Eyes of Sovereignty.
Dao of domestication.
Absolute perception of existence's cycles.
Presence that summons Primordial Beasts.
Alignment with cosmic neutrality.
No one moved immediately.
The master's question lingered like an ancient seal, engraved not in words, but in souls:
Who is ready?
It was not a challenge to impulse.
To tame meant facing oneself — confronting the raw, instinctive, terrifying essence... and dialoguing with it.
Aegor Thanaris waited silently.
His presence was not just physical.
It filled the space with unshakable stability — as if nothing could disturb him.
A disciple raised a hesitant hand.
A boy with cautious eyes and barely concealed doubt.
Aegor observed.
No smile.
Just waiting.
The youth stepped forward.
The forest responded.
A spiritual feline, cloaked in mist, emerged — golden eyes revealing dense consciousness.
The boy reached out his hand.
The cat growled softly — not aggression, but mistrust.
"The wild spirit does not respond to gestures, but to intentions." Aegor's voice sounded close, yet distant.
"You still seek control. Listen."
The disciple closed his eyes.
The forest fell silent.
For a moment, he stopped trying... and began feeling.
He felt his own fear.
Insecurity.
The shadow of rejection.
Then... the echo inside the beast: caution, self-preservation, pride.
Something shifted.
He lowered his hand.
The feline took a step — touched his cheek with its muzzle.
A fleeting contact.
But within it was acceptance.
Aegor nodded slightly.
There was approval in his eyes, but no celebration.
It was only the beginning.
Others tried.
Some failed — bonds broken, creatures dissolving like smoke in the wind.
Aegor neither reprimanded nor encouraged.
He simply watched.
The beast only approaches those who have begun to tame themselves he thought silently.
While the students struggled, the Spiritual Dragon remained motionless beside Aegor — eyes missing nothing.
Watching.
Testing hearts without sound.
An anxious disciple forced the approach of an elemental lizard.
A brusque gesture.
Immediate rejection.
The creature exploded into sparks and vanished.
The emotional impact threw the youth to his knees — pure frustration.
Aegor approached.
"Presence is not imposed. It is truth manifested," he said softly, yet firmly.
"To master without self-knowledge... is to walk the abyss."
The disciple bowed his head.
In Aegor's eyes, no judgment.
Only understanding.
Practice continued until the valley overflowed with dense emotion.
The forest seemed quieter than ever — not a void, but vigilant stillness.
Finally, Aegor turned to the group.
"Today, you learned not to control, but to listen. And that is rarer than you imagine."
He raised his hand.
The dragon stepped forward — letting out a low, deep roar that reverberated through the valley like an ancient hymn.
"When you realize there is no separation between you and the world... only then will you be truly ready to connect."
He turned and walked toward the forest.
The Spiritual Dragon followed.
The trees parted... and closed behind them.
The valley — empty of masters and beasts — now held something new:
Reverent silence,
Seeds of understanding,
A subtle awakening within each disciple.
Meanwhile...
At the heart of Eryndor rose the Imperial Library.
Pillars of enchanted stone stretched toward the sky, each inch vibrating with ideas that shaped worlds.
Here, cultivators of the mind gathered.
Seated in perfect jade spirals, young adepts studied, meditated, whispered texts.
They sought not physical power, but clarity.
Discernment.
Ethical transcendence.
The most advanced delved into the Sacred Manuscripts — sealed under protections as old as the multiverse.
Strength alone would not open them.
Merit was required.
Purity.
Vision.
Here, they cultivated the Dao of the Mind — the only path capable of altering fate through well-spoken truths.
A realm where wisdom was the blade... and the mind, the battlefield.
A clear thought could end wars.
A single right word, spoken at the perfect moment, could rebuild worlds.
In this sanctuary of thought, a silent revolution was taking shape.
Not with blood, but with purpose.
Not with screams, but firm voices.
Here grew the rarest cultivators:
Those who could rewrite reality...
With Will.