Chapter 117: A Question for the Headmaster

Jonah walked through the grand corridors of the Academy’s main spire. The guards in their polished armor recognized him, their expressions a mixture of awe and respect, but they offered no greetings. They seemed to sense the serious intent in his walk.

The data crystal was a solid weight in his pocket. It felt heavier than a simple piece of stone.

He didn’t need to request an audience. The Headmaster’s doors opened for him the moment he approached.

The old man was sitting behind his massive desk, reviewing a scroll with a faint, magical glow. He looked up as Jonah entered, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

“Jonah,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “An unexpected visit. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jonah didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He walked directly to the desk, pulled the data crystal from his pocket, and placed it on the polished wood.

“I found this in the Restricted Archives,” Jonah said, his voice calm, hiding his anger.

The Headmaster looked at the crystal. His expression didn’t change, but Jonah saw a subtle shift in his eyes.

Jonah held his gaze. He didn’t make an accusation. He didn’t shout or demand answers. He asked a simple, terrifying question.

“Is this true?”

For a long moment, the only sound in the office was the hum of the magical lamps. The Headmaster looked from the crystal back to Jonah, and in that single look, Jonah saw his answer. He saw the centuries of weight the old man carried, the burden of a secret that was the very foundation of their nation.

The Headmaster let out a long, slow sigh, a sound that seemed to carry the exhaustion of a hundred years. It was all the confirmation Jonah needed.

“Come with me, boy,” the Headmaster said, his voice softer now, and more tired. He rose from his chair. “There are some truths not meant for these walls.”

He led Jonah through a small, hidden door behind his desk and into a private study. This room was nothing like his main office. It was smaller, warmer, the walls lined with shelves holding not just scrolls, but old maps, strange artifacts, and personal mementos. A large fireplace crackled softly in the corner. This was a room for secrets.

The Headmaster gestured to a worn leather chair by the fire. “Sit.”

Jonah sat, placing the crystal on a small table between them. The old man sat down in the chair across from him. His old body seemed to get smaller, as if to hide from his fancy office.

“The stories you were told are not lies, Jonah,” the Headmaster began, his voice a low murmur. “They are fairy tales, built around a harsh truth.”

He looked into the fire, his eyes distant. “The founding Elites… they were desperate. Humanity was on the brink of extinction. The Artificers were gone, and their magic was a forgotten legend. But our founders discovered one of their workshops, and with it, their research on soul-binding.”

His gaze met Jonah’s, and his eyes were filled with a grim honesty. “They found the Golden Dragon. A creature of immense, almost god-like power. They did not receive a blessing from it, Jonah. They took it. Using the Artificers’ technology, they captured it, and they bound its essence to their own souls, becoming the first superhumans. The Divine Serum you received… it is nothing more than a diluted, mass-produced copy of that original, violent ritual.”

Jonah felt the pain of his Awakening echo in his bones. Carved apart and hollowed out. That’s what it had felt like. And now he knew why.

“But that is history,” the Headmaster said, pulling Jonah back to the present. “The problem is the now.”

He leaned forward, the firelight casting deep shadows on his face. “Imagine a drawing, Jonah. A powerful image. Now, imagine you make a copy of it. The copy is good, but the lines are a little fainter. Then you copy the copy. And again, and again. Each new image is a slightly weaker, less perfect version of the one before.”

He stared at Jonah, letting the weight of the analogy sink in. “Our serum is a copy of a copy of a copy, made a hundred times over for more than a century. The original source essence, the soul of that Golden Dragon stored deep beneath the capital… it’s decaying. It’s fading.”

The truth of the huge conflict was finally shown.

“The success rate for the Awakening is dropping every year,” the Headmaster confessed, his voice heavy. “The powers of the new Elites are, on average, weaker than those of the generation before. The very foundation of our nation, our entire defense system, is built on a resource that is slowly running out.”

He stood up and began to pace in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back.

“The Bureau’s monstrous Chimeras,” he said, his voice tight with anger. “Do you think that was just a madman’s private experiment? It was a desperate, state-sanctioned attempt to create a new source of power by smashing essences together.”

He turned back to Jonah. “The Holy Church’s frantic search for new holy relics? They aren’t looking for objects of faith. They are searching for anything, any powerful artifact or creature, that could serve as a new template.”

Everything clicked into place for Jonah. The Bureau’s ruthlessness, the Church’s political maneuvering… it wasn’t just about greed or power. It was about survival. A secret race against time.

The Headmaster stopped directly in front of Jonah’s chair, looking down at him. The weight of his attention, of his hope, fell on Jonah’s shoulders.

“Now do you understand why your ability… the ability to naturally and perfectly bind essences, to create stable, powerful life from nothing… is so important?”

He leaned in closer, his voice barely a whisper.

“You are not just an asset, boy. You are not just a Saint or a hero.”

“You may be the only hope for this nation’s survival.”

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