A faint smile touched his face, though it did not carry amusent.
"He was an arrogant man. And foolishly courageous. What he believed to be bravery, others called stupidity. He spoke against things that no one dared question. He refused to accept what the world told him he was."
"My father believed that yes, everyone is born with a destiny," he said at last. "But he also believed that destiny was not singular. That it existed in levels."
His fingers hovered over the piles.
"So were born with weak destiny. So with strong. So with very strong. And a rare few were born carrying what people called ultimate destiny."
His gaze hardened slightly.
"But my father believed that even soone born with weak destiny could reach ultimate destiny. He believed that the levels that separated them were not absolute. That they were barriers. And that barriers could be broken."
The grass stirred gently around them, though there was no wind.
"People laughed at him," the old man said quietly. "They mocked him. They dismissed him. They told him he was chasing sothing impossible."
His fingers curled slowly around the final token.
"But by the ti he died... he had crushed so many beings who were born with ultimate destiny that none could laugh anymore."
He lowered his hand slightly, his voice growing quieter.
"A man declared to possess nothing but weak destiny... stood above those who had been chosen by fate itself."
He paused. Ivor was fully engrossed in the story by now. He could vividly imagine the back of such a man standing on piles of bodies, his clothes flowing in the wind as people bowed to him.
"I asked him once," the old man continued, his voice softer now, carrying sothing deeper than mory alone.
His fingers remained wrapped around the final token, unmoving.
"His answer was simple. Much simpler than I had expected. He told that he never tried to overco destiny directly. He never fought destiny itself. He fought himself."
The words lingered.
"He said that every ti he reached a limit he could not cross, he did not accept it as the truth of the world. He accepted it as the truth of what he was at that mont. And so he broke that version of himself."
"He broke his body until it could endure more. He broke his mind until it could perceive more. He broke his will until it no longer feared breaking again. Every ceiling he encountered was not sothing he tried to climb over. It was sothing he forced himself to outgrow."
His voice remained calm, without pride, without sorrow.
"He told that people misunderstand limits. They believe limits are walls placed around them by the world. But limits are nothing more than the shape of who you are. If you change your shape, the limits no longer fit."
"He never allowed himself to believe that anything was insignificant. He never allowed himself to rest in the comfort of what he had already beco. Because the mont you accept yourself as complete, you stop becoming."
His fingers loosened slightly.
"He broke. And then he rebuilt. Not once. Not twice. But endlessly."
"That was his answer."
The old man exhaled softly, his gaze lowering to the circular arrangent before him.
"I did not understand him at the ti. I thought he was speaking of suffering. Of endurance. Of sacrifice."
He paused.
"But now I understand that he was speaking of sothing far more precise."
His eyes lingered on the tokens, on the way they ford a complete circle.
"He was speaking of accumulation."
He tapped the stump lightly with his finger.
"Each ti he broke himself, he did not return to what he was before. He returned as sothing slightly more. The difference was small. Almost aningless in isolation. But those differences did not disappear. They remained. They compounded."
His gaze lifted slightly, though he still did not look at Ivor.
"Destiny does not break in a single mont. It erodes. It weakens. It yields, not to a single act of defiance, but to the relentless pressure of soone who refuses to remain what they were."
The old man’s voice softened further.
"And eventually... the shape of the man no longer fits the destiny he was given."
The old man fell silent after saying those words. Ivor swallowed unconsciously. He did not fully understand why, but sothing deep within him stirred in response. The words did not feel like a story. They felt like a direction. Like sothing ant for him.
"The first step to breaking that limit," the old man continued at last, "is the mont a beast awakens."
Ivor blinked in confusion.
’A beast?’
He did not understand why the old man spoke of beasts. He had never been one. He had never thought of himself as one. The idea itself felt distant and unreal, and yet he found himself unable to interrupt.
"Beasts are driven by instinct," the old man said. "It is both their restriction and their path. A design chosen long before they were born by the Supre Beast Ancestor. A design ant to guide them... and to confine them."
His hand lowered slowly, hovering the final token above the center of the circular arrangent, though he did not place it down.
"Weak beasts awaken without even realizing it. Their instinct chooses for them, and they accept whatever is given. They never question it. They never resist."
His fingers remained steady.
"Stronger beasts beco aware that they have awakened. They feel the change. They feel the power. But even then, they do not choose. They only receive. Their instinct decides. Their destiny decides."
His voice grew quieter.
"Lineage beasts... those born with greater inheritance... they are granted a small asure of choice. A narrow freedom. They may reach toward what they desire... but even that freedom is restricted. Even that is incomplete."
Ivor’s chest tightened. He did not know why. He did not know how. But sothing inside him understood that this mattered.
The old man slowly raised his head.
For the first ti, his eyes t Ivor’s directly.
Those amber slitted eyes were back.
"This," he said quietly, "is where destiny must be broken."
The words did not sound like advice. They sounded like truth.
"The mont of awakening is not a gift. It is an opening. A fracture. A brief mont where the world loosens its hold on you."
His gaze did not waver.
"In that mont, the Primordial Source does not impose its will. It listens."
The old man’s hand trembled faintly, still holding the token above the center.
"And most beings," he continued, "barely whisper."
His voice lowered further.
"They reach timidly. They accept little. They fear the cost of asking for more."
He leaned forward slightly.
"But if you wish to break destiny... you must not whisper."
His eyes sharpened.
"You must pull. You must open yourself completely. You must abandon restraint. Abandon fear. Abandon the version of yourself that believes it has limits."
His voice carried no emotion.
"Pull until your body fractures. Pull until your soul trembles. Pull until your mind can no longer endure its own existence."
The air itself seed to tighten.
"Because the Primordial Source does not reward caution."
The token in his hand began to lower.
"It rewards those who demand to exist beyond what they were ant to be."
The token hovered just above the center.
"The first step defines everything that follows."
His gaze held Ivor in place.
"If your foundation is small, everything built upon it will remain small."
The token fell.
"If your foundation is absolute..."
It settled into place.
"...then nothing will remain beyond your reach."
And the darkness returned.
It did not rush or strike. It rose quietly, swallowing the light, the grass, the pond, and the old man alike, until nothing remained.
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Note: One bonus Chapter will be released for every 100 GTs. An additional bonus Chapter will be released for Castle.
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