Ajal: Woven Through the Realms

CLANG!

Ajal's clawed hand collided with a pulse of condensed air—sent flying by Isirya's flick of the wrist. He slammed into the dirt with a grunt, dust curling upward around his shoulders like smoke.

"Again," she said, her arms still folded. "And use your tail this time. You're a dragon, not a knife-eared duelist."

Ajal spat to the side and rolled to his feet. "Noted. Less elegance, more tail-whipping."

He charged.

WHUMP—FWISH!

His wings snapped open to accelerate, and this time, he twisted midair. His tail curved low and upward in a swift swoop, aiming for her side.

Isirya disappeared in a blur of gold.

CRACK!

She appeared behind him and tapped his spine with a finger, sending a jolt through his limbs.

"You rely too much on strength. You must learn to let your Affinity breathe."

Ajal landed, sliding backward in the dust. "Affinity? Thought that was for elemental types."

Isirya shook her head. "Everything has Affinity—flame, time, bone, even silence. It's not just what you wield, it's how your soul naturally flows."

She crouched and drew a spiral in the dirt. "Yours... is fractal. Evolution-born. Your Affinity is recursion—returning to oneself stronger. But to use it, you must recognize your intent."

Ajal exhaled, eyes narrowing.

"That explains why I feel stronger after every real clash. Even losing helps."

Isirya smiled. "Exactly. If you survive loss, your core remembers and adapts."

"She's not wrong," came Aurielle's voice—soft but distinct, like someone leaning beside his ear.

Ajal blinked mentally. "You've been quiet."

"Observing. I didn't want to interrupt your... bonding."

He chuckled. "She's more boot-to-the-face than bonding."

"And yet she is right. Your core is not a container—it's a mirror. The stronger the reflection, the stronger you become."

He sat back on a large root, breathing heavily.

"Aurielle… how does Affinity affect weapons? Or is that separate?"

"Intimately linked. Weapons are not chosen for power, but for resonance. A cultivator with a Fire Affinity may wield a glaive, but if his soul burns with rage, he would harmonize better with a wild artifact—something alive and unstable. If you found a weapon built around recursion, it would grow as you do. You wouldn't wield it—it would evolve with you."

Ajal grinned. "A sword, that levels up with me? Sign me up."

"You may craft one in time… or you may eventually be gifted one, if you are deemed worthy."

Isirya stood atop a nearby boulder now, golden eyes half-lidded as she looked down at him.

"Do you know why most dragons fail to become anything more than beasts, Ajal?"

He looked up, sweat drying on his brow. "Because they're born strong and forget how to grow?"

"Exactly." She pointed toward his chest. "You weren't born strong. However, you have immense potential."

She floated down and stood before him, sharp eyes studying him more intently now.

"Who trained you before this?"

Ajal's expression didn't shift. "No one."

"Then how do you move like that? Why does your core spiral instead of burn or pulse like every other dragon I've ever met?"

He shrugged, giving her the faintest smirk. "Maybe I'm just built different."

Isirya narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. "Secrets are useful, but dangerous."

He met her gaze steadily. "Some things just... come naturally to me. That's all you need to know."

"Well done," Aurielle murmured with approval in his mind. "Keep your truth close. Even dragons have agendas."

He responded inwardly, 'I don't plan to hand out spoilers just because she's hot and curious.'

"I heard that." Aurielle said as she nodded her head. She was casually chilling on a couch inside of his sea of consciousness as she watched him.

Isirya stepped back, letting the moment pass.

"Very well," she said coolly. "You owe me no answers. But if you're hiding your roots, you better be sure they're deep."

Ajal tilted his head. "You're the one who watched me from the shadows. I could say the same."

Her lip curved slightly. "Fair enough."

As the training session slowed, Isirya began carving sigils into the open ground.

"Next lesson, I'll show you how to sense weapon essence. All true weapons carry spirits—fragments of belief or history that interact with their wielder."

Ajal tilted his head. "Like soul-bonded swords?"

"More like legacy-tethered instincts. A weapon that once slayed a tyrant may recoil from a coward's hand. These things matter when your opponent is swinging a mountain at you."

He stood, brushing dust from his arm.

"I'm listening."

"Good," Aurielle said warmly. "You'll need every lesson. The Expanse may shelter you now, but eyes are turning. Even forgotten places hum when something new is born."

Ajal looked to the horizon. The sun was dipping low, setting the jungle in hues of fire and shadow.

"I'm ready. Let them come."

-----

Somewhere far from the jungles of the Forbidden Expanse, the wind howled through a canyon carved by Aether storms. Ancient prayer wheels spun without hands, and stone braziers burned without flame.

On a high balcony of a shattered sky temple, a woman in lacquered white stood barefoot upon the air itself.

Her eyes opened suddenly—silver, pupil-less, infinite.

A monk behind her bowed, forehead to stone.

"You felt it, Lady Oryn?"

She didn't reply immediately. The wind shifted.

A spiral.

Unbound.

Awake.

She turned her head slightly, lips barely moving.

"Something impossible just moved beneath the canopy."

---

In the throne chamber of the Black Crown Empire, deep within the iron-clad mountain of Vaegos, a man seated upon an obsidian throne lifted one gloved hand—and the air froze.

The courtiers and war priests around him stilled, breath caught in their throats.

He looked through stone and metal, eyes glowing beneath a porcelain half-mask.

His voice was low and cold.

"Summon the Oracles."

----

On the edge of a star-riven glacier, in the ruined cathedral of the Eclipsed Verdant Pact, an ancient druid sat in silence surrounded by roots that pulsed like veins. Eyes grown over with moss suddenly cracked open.

A single leaf fell from the broken ceiling, spiraling.

The druid whispered in a forgotten tongue, his voice a chant carried on vines.

"A dragon that does not belong… has entered the weave."

----

In a glass chamber drifting above the clouds, a child with six mirrored eyes drew spiral shapes on a floating book with ink that burned as it dried.

She stopped, staring at the newest mark.

"I didn't write this one," she said, voice calm.

Her master looked over her shoulder.

He paled.

-----

Far below it all, within the veins of the world—where time coils and secrets breathe—a long-dormant array of ancient runes slowly illuminated in a lost ruin. Each line formed a spiral.

[Designation: Vyrinthian Detected

Catalyst Threshold: Breached

Sovereign Protocol: In Flux]

The gears of fate turned. Subtle. Relentless. Irreversible.

While all of this happened Ajal himself was training nonstop with his newly found master, Isirya.