Eldor's enigmatic question hung in the air. "In what direction do you think time flows, according to you?"
Cyrus fell silent, his mind grappling with the vague nature of the inquiry. Time, in his understanding, didn't flow in any specific direction. It was an abstract concept, not a river with a clear course.
Seeing Cyrus's struggle, Eldor's voice took on a grave tone. "Unless someone is able to reverse the flow of time, someone is doomed." He rose to his feet, his movements deliberate and weighted with unspoken knowledge. "You did a great job helping the kids. I will respect my part of the contract. The primordial canine is under City Zero. Good luck, you will need it." With those cryptic words, Eldor took his leave, leaving Cyrus to ponder their implications.
The time for farewells arrived all too soon. Cyrus met with the children, his heart heavy with the knowledge of their impending separation. As he had anticipated, Neno was absent, his guilt likely keeping him away. Only Leora came to see them off.
Jelly, her eyes brimming with tears, extracted a promise from Cyrus to return when they officially joined the Eldor Magic School. They had passed the exam, but a formal ceremony was required for full acceptance. In the interim, they would remain under Eldor's protection, their families cared for by the Bureau.
Later, Cyrus found Leora and Neno waiting near the helicopter. Neno's head was bowed, his gaze fixed on the ground, unable to meet their eyes. The weight of recent events hung heavily upon him.
Cyrus felt a twinge of guilt. After all, it was he who had pushed Neno to use his powers. But the sheer magnitude of that power had been beyond his wildest imagination. Questions about the nature of the primordial form swirled in his mind. Eldor had been frustratingly vague, offering only a warning to be cautious. Cyrus made a mental note to consult the Prophet upon their return.
Before Cyrus could break the tense silence, Leora spoke. "Let's go." Her voice was soft but firm, brooking no argument.
Acknowledging Neno's fragile state, Cyrus held his tongue. The journey home was markedly different from their outbound flight. Each of them retreated into their own thoughts, the silence between them as vast and oppressive as the sky outside. Cyrus found himself tempted several times to speak, to try and bridge the chasm that had opened between them. But he feared his words might only worsen the situation. Neno's guilt was palpable, a living thing that seemed to fill the confines of the helicopter. In the end, Cyrus resigned himself to the monotony of the long journey home, his mind churning with unanswered questions.
Upon their return, Cyrus wasted no time in seeking out the Prophet. He knelt before his son's image in the soul passage, a gesture that had become almost second nature to him now. The familiar white candles flickered on either side of the room, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
The Prophet's presence manifested as a swirling white cloud of smoke, undulating back and forth. "Have you found where the primordial canine is?" his ethereal voice inquired.
"Yes, Prophet. Underneath City Zero," Cyrus replied, his voice steady despite the weight of his next question. "There's something else troubling me... I'm curious about the nature of the primordial form."
The Prophet's violent coughing fit was unexpected, lasting several minutes. When it subsided, he rose and walked out of the room without a word. Cyrus followed silently, their footsteps echoing through the corridors until they reached the massive library.
As they ascended the stairs, the Prophet began to speak. "You know there are two categories of Bites today: the Originals and the Followers."
Cyrus nodded, recalling the Queen's explanation. Originals were born with their canines, while Followers were humans who had been transformed. He surmised that he fell into the latter category, while Leora, born with her canine, was an Original. The Queen's status was more complex, a fact that still sent a shiver down his spine.
The Prophet approached a shelf at the far end of the library, selecting an ancient tome and placing it on a nearby table. As he began to flip through the pages, Cyrus watched in fascination, marveling at how the blind man navigated the written word. It was yet another mystery of the Bites, one that Cyrus knew better than to question aloud.
"There is a legend," the Prophet began, his finger tracing the faded text, "that speaks of a being that existed at the formation of the Arkania continent, a millennium before our era of magic and technology. The primordial being, also known as the primordial Bite, was said to be the very first magical entity to come into existence in our world. If I'm not mistaken, the primordial form dates back to before the Great War, before the Bureau was formed. It originates from the very first Bite that existed in Arkania."
Cyrus listened intently, his mind struggling to grasp the enormity of what he was hearing. The primordial form predated even the Bureau? It seemed almost impossible. Yet, as he gazed at the ancient symbols and images in the book, he remembered Neno in his transformed state, criticizing their magic as if it were primitive. Could the legend of the primordial Bite be more than just a myth?
"This being was said to possess the power to heal anything and grant any wish," the Prophet continued. "We have no concrete records. We cannot deny its existence in the past, nor can we validate it in the present. But I suppose that's the beauty of legends – carefully woven stories to entice our imagination." A smile played across the Prophet's lips as he returned the book to its place.
Cyrus bowed respectfully, acknowledging the wealth of knowledge imparted. As they descended the stairs, the library door swung open, admitting Neno. He offered a subdued greeting to the Prophet.
The Prophet's voice rang out, laden with meaning. "In life, our actions are like dominoes lined up in the vast multiverse. The fall of one creates a chain reaction, with consequences we never expect."
Neno's head drooped, his fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt. "I... I didn't want to..."
"We never want to, until we do," the Prophet replied cryptically, brushing past Neno without acknowledging his greeting.
Cyrus, feeling a surge of protectiveness, spoke up. "It wasn't his fault. It was all mine. I forced him into using his power. I thought that with encouragement from everyone, he could learn to control it. Neno, I'm sorry."
The Prophet turned back, his sightless eyes somehow still managing to convey disappointment. "You're still young and naive. It's at this age that life deceives you into thinking your actions don't have consequences. You were sanctioned once; it seems you still haven't learned the lesson." His face contorted with barely contained emotion.
Frustration boiled over in Cyrus. "Shut up! You act like you're all righteous, but you're not. You judge him without even knowing what exactly happened. I understand why your son left. With such a judgmental father, no one would want to stay around you!"
A flash of sorrow crossed the Prophet's face, his bitter smile faltering for a moment. "Naivety is a sin," he murmured, turning to leave.
In the wake of the Prophet's departure, Neno broke the tense silence. "It's fine, Cyrus. It wasn't your fault. I'm... I'm sorry for disappointing you. I'm not courageous."
Cyrus managed a rueful smile. "Courageous, me? I nearly wet myself the first time I encountered a karmic monster."
Neno's unexpected laugh lightened the atmosphere. He continued, "But not everyone can brag about infiltrating the Bureau and returning alive. I don't blame you, just myself."
As Neno made to return to his daily activities, Cyrus reached out, clasping his shoulder. "It was just the first try. It took me a month to fully understand how to forge my sword with magic. Take it easy on yourself."
Neno's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he met Cyrus's gaze. "Thank you... my friend," he said softly, wiping his eyes.