The Tower Master's solemn words pulled Odin's thoughts back through the veils of several centuries, to a time of arrogance and ambition.
Back then, he had despised attributing the progression of great events to something as intangible and seemingly purposeless as "fate." It was an excuse for the weak, a comfort for those who lacked the power to shape their own destiny.
As one of the strongest among the dragons, the Odin of the past—supremely confident in his ability to bend outcomes to his will—believed that with enough concentrated power and will, one could entirely dictate the course of history.
This belief wasn't uncommon among the ancient dragon lords. It was, in many ways, the bedrock of their culture.
And it was precisely this collective arrogance that had led to the devastating, silent failure centuries ago, a failure whose scars he still carried.
At that time, a certain reclusive Dragon King had stumbled upon a crumbling stele containing an ancient prophecy from the era of dragon rituals, speaking of a "Child of Thunder" who would rise to confront a great darkness.
Realizing the terrifying reality of the Ultimate Fear, he had gathered other powerful Dragon Kings, including a younger, more fiery Odin and the Tower Master, to forcibly intervene in the prophecy's natural unfolding. Their goal was not to await a savior, but to create one.
The prophecy explicitly stated that the Child of Thunder would only be born when the true end times were at hand.
However, the Dragon Kings, in their pride, sought to preemptively select and forge a "Child of Thunder" before the Ultimate Fear could fully descend, hoping to eradicate the threat in its infancy.
The one they had chosen for this monumental task was Odin himself.
Yet things never went as planned. Perhaps it was due to their hubris, or perhaps fate was indeed a force that mocked mortal designs, but countless attempts, rituals, and infusions of power ended in resounding failure.
During the final, cataclysmic experiment to artificially birth the Child of Thunder, Odin had almost lost his life, his very essence torn asunder by forces he could not control.
After that near-death experience, a somber realization had settled over the conclave. The Dragon Kings ceased their violent interference with the prophecy and resolved to allow it to unfold naturally, if it ever would.
That day remained the closest Odin had ever come to true, final death, and the Tower Master had believed his old friend would never want to revisit those painful memories.
But as they talked today, the Tower Master began to understand the depth of Odin's perspective. This was not bitterness, but hard-won wisdom.
No matter how powerful this stubborn old dragon was, in the end, he had been forced to submit to a force greater than himself. He had learned the limits of power.
The Tower Master sighed deeply, the sound heavy with shared history.
The sound pulled Odin fully out of his dark reflections.
"Centuries ago, after the final experiment for the Child of Thunder left me gravely injured, I was on the verge of becoming a degenerate, mindless creature," Odin began, his voice low and steady. He had decided to speak of it. "Then, one day, Veronica found me, half-mad and bleeding power into a desolate canyon."
Odin began recounting the past, unprompted.
The Tower Master listened intently, his full attention captured. He only knew the public story—that many years ago, Odin and Veronica, along with other dragons, had ventured to the far north to investigate a mythical relic. But he was unaware of the specific, desperate circumstances that had initiated this expedition.
"She said she was from the Silver Dragon Clan, and that her granddaughter, Rossweise Melkvey, would one day become the next Silver Dragon Queen. After introducing herself, Veronica revealed her true reason for seeking me out in my state of disgrace."
Odin continued, his gaze distant,
"She had also heard of the prophecies concerning the Ultimate Fear. To protect all dragonkind, she was gathering capable and trustworthy kin for a new mission: to find and awaken the legendary Primordial Dragon King, Noah, who was said to be sleeping in a tomb of ice."
"The failure of the Child of Thunder experiment had left me bitter and adrift for years, so when Veronica shared her bold plan, I agreed immediately. It was a new purpose."
"We set off for the far north, where Noah's relic was said to be buried beneath millennia of ice."
"Along with us were the Sea Dragon King Poseidon and a few other outstanding juniors who Veronica trusted."
"But our group, while powerful, wasn't enough for the perils we faced. Later, the Star Wanderer Dragon King Ravi and the Ironwing Dragon King Fael petitioned to join the expedition, offering their strength."
"No one expected," Odin's voice hardened, "that they were actually imperial spies, seeking to claim a share of the discovery for their human masters or to sabotage it entirely."
"Thankfully, that situation was resolved in the end," the Tower Master said gently, not wanting to reopen old wounds about the betrayal.
Odin nodded. "Indeed. Leon resolved the matter, preventing any irreparable damage to the world." He did not elaborate further on that chapter.
The Tower Master listened thoughtfully and nodded, steering the conversation back,
"So, you found the relic's entrance but ultimately failed to awaken Noah, is that correct?"
"That's right. We found Noah, or rather, his essence, sealed within a statue of primordial ice. We tried countless methods to establish contact, to唤醒 him, but failed every time. According to Veronica's research, Noah was sealed by two separate forces: his conscious will and his raw power. While his essence should still exist, we could not sense it, could not reach it."
Odin explained, a flicker of old frustration in his eyes,
"Later, Constantine, after his defection from the empire, forcibly seized what remained of Noah's power through violence and ritual. That fire-breathing brat has likely merged with that Primordial Force entirely by now, leaving us with no options to reawaken the true Noah."
The Tower Master chuckled helplessly, a dry sound.
"Constantine may be brash and hot-headed, but at least he helped me protect dragon refugees back during the purges. Honestly, without Constantine's ruthless efficiency, Sky City might not exist today. So, in a way, let him keep it. The Primordial Force in his hands is arguably better than in the hands of the Empire or someone truly malicious."
"But there's one thing I've always been curious about," Odin frowned slightly, a line of deep thought forming on his brow.
"What is it?"
"It seems that Noah was sealed by two distinct things: his will and his power."
"If Constantine took Noah's power, then where did Noah's will go? His consciousness? His spirit?"
The Tower Master was startled. "Did you not sense anything when you returned to the relic site later?"
Odin shook his head grimly. "We returned once, years later. All that was left was a pile of broken stones and melted ice. The presence was utterly gone."
"Could Constantine have taken Noah's will as well? Absorbed it?"
"I find that highly unlikely," Odin stated with conviction.
The Tower Master raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"To bear the conscious will of the Primordial Dragon King, that fire-breathing brat simply isn't qualified. His spirit is not strong enough to host such a presence without being subsumed. Furthermore, with Constantine's stubborn and independent personality, if someone else's voice were in his head, he'd spare no effort, no matter how painful, to scour it out."
"Fair point..." the Tower Master mused. "So Noah's will... just vanished? Dissipated?"
Odin's gaze sharpened as he took a deep breath and solemnly declared, as if pronouncing a verdict,
"For the sake of our sanity, let's just assume it disappeared. Afterward, Veronica and Poseidon went their separate ways, seeking other methods to counter the Ultimate Fear, which is how Poseidon's daughter, Claudia, came to possess so much forbidden knowledge."
The Tower Master sighed deeply, a sound of resignation,
"It's a pity. The ancient hero of the dragons, the great Primordial Dragon King Noah, is just—gone."
.
.
.
"Achoo!"
In the banquet hall below, Noah Melkvey suddenly sneezed, jerking her head forward.
"What's wrong, Noah? Did you catch a cold?" Leon asked, immediately concerned, placing a hand on her forehead.
"No, it's just... I sneezed out of nowhere," Noah replied, blinking in confusion. "I feel fine."
"That's strange," the Ancestor's voice echoed in her mind. "There should always be a reason for something that comes from the soul. A spiritual sneeze... how peculiar."
"Achoo! Achoo! Ah—Ah—Achoo!" Noah sneezed three more times in rapid succession, her eyes watering.
"I've never heard of a soul sneezing before," the Ancestor mused, her tone a mix of curiosity and amusement within their shared consciousness space.
"Could someone be talking about me?" Noah grumbled internally, rubbing her nose.
The ancestral dragon within her looked puzzled for a moment, then, as if on a whim, she scooped up Noah's mental projection and held her in a tight embrace.
Noah's psychic form initially showed immediate irritation and resistance, but the displeasure faded quickly into weary acceptance. She was, by now, utterly used to the Ancestor's unpredictable affections.
"What are you doing?" Noah asked, her mental voice flat.
"Giving you my cold," the Ancestor replied cheerfully, planting an exaggerated, smacking kiss on Noah's psychic cheek. "Treasure it well; this is an ancient cold virus your modern era doesn't even have! A relic!"
"...You are profoundly immature!" Noah retorted, pushing the mental projection away.
She forcefully withdrew her consciousness back to the forefront of her mind, effectively storming out of their shared space.
Since the ancestral dragon had moved into her mind, Noah felt she finally, truly understood her mother's occasional post-marriage frustrations that she sometimes vented to Aunt Isha.
Dealing with someone so infuriating yet inseparably close every single day was utterly maddening.
Still...
Even so, when she looked inward at the glowing presence that was now a part of her, she had to admit... it wasn't so bad. It was never lonely.
Smiling slightly to herself, Noah glanced over at her father and grandfather, who were still engaged in their deep, mock-serious discussion over steak recipes.
Her gaze then wandered across the hall, landing on her teacher, Mavis, standing alone and apart from the cheerful crowd.
Noticing that Mavis hadn't eaten anything all night, Noah's thoughtful nature took over. She grabbed two delicate pastries from a nearby table and walked toward her teacher.
Mavis, leaning against a pillar with her eyes closed as if resting, opened them at the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Is there something you need, Noah?" she asked, her voice always so calm and measured.
"Teacher, I noticed you haven't eaten anything all night. I brought you some pastries. They're quite good," Noah said, offering them.
"Thank you, Noah. That's very thoughtful of you," Mavis accepted them with a gentle, appreciative smile.
"What were you thinking about earlier, Teacher? You seemed lost in thought," Noah inquired.
"Nothing of consequence, Noah. Just resting my eyes. I don't attend large gatherings like this often, and I find them a bit draining," Mavis explained smoothly.
Noah nodded, accepting the answer. "Then you should rest early, Teacher. We're heading back to the academy tomorrow for the new semester."
"Alright. You should enjoy the rest of the night with your family. It's a precious time. Goodnight, Noah."
"Goodnight, Teacher."
With that, Mavis offered a final, slight smile, then turned, pastries in hand, and quietly left the bustling banquet hall, her departure as unobtrusive as her presence had been. Noah watched her go for a moment before turning back to the light and noise of her family, a faint, thoughtful frown briefly crossing her features before it too melted away.