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"Not qualified," Resolute declared in a flat, professional tone, her expression and posture entirely unmoved.

"Eh? Why?" In my worst imaginings, I thought I might fail due to some mistake or oversight, but I never expected to be denied entry to the test site entirely, not even making it through the door.

"Prerequisite courses require passing Advanced Calculus," Resolute said, tapping a few times on her terminal before glancing at me. "I just checked. You're not on the list of those who passed."

"What Advanced Calculus?" I fought to control my frustration and anger, though my tone still sounded unfriendly. "I don’t recall that being listed anywhere!"

"Updated this year," Resolute replied, showing me her terminal screen. "Cadets are responsible for staying informed about the latest requirements."

"No way," I couldn't help but bark. "Rules like that should follow some kind of non-retroactivity principle, shouldn't they?"

"They don't." Her response was succinct.

"That’s ridiculous!" Frustrated by the sheer lack of logic, I crossed my arms, making my dissatisfaction abundantly clear.

"You can reapply for the test once you meet the qualifications. There's no time limit on obtaining a license," Resolute said with a shrug. "Even after leaving the Academy, you can still try."

"I am qualified!" Though I knew raising my voice wouldn't help, I was enraged enough to nearly bring up my past experiences successfully dreamwalking and navigating through Tel’aran’rhiod in physical space to prove my capability. Of course, such an outburst would only result in more people seeing me as reckless and unruly.

"You are not," Resolute said, pulling up my course records and shoving her terminal under my nose.

Suppressing the growl of frustration rising in my throat, I turned and left, deciding to stop humiliating myself any further.

Since I couldn’t take the license exam, I arrived two hours early at the virtual reality chamber.

The empty room gave me the eerie feeling that I was about to be swallowed by the surrounding darkness—or perhaps it was the hollow ache in my chest that was consuming me.

To shake off the discomfort, I decided to distract myself with some practice. Logging into the room's terminal, I loaded a previously saved environment setup.

Accompanied by the sharp sound of shifting grains, the floor transformed into several tons of adamantine sand.

Tilting my muzzle upward, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. Riding the waves of expanding consciousness, I freed myself from gravity’s constraints and floated in midair.

Snow and wind swirled, drifting along.

An endless expanse of silver-white stretched out, the cold touch of melting snow on my nose.

Piqsirpoq clenched both fists and struck the edge of the balcony, sending some of the snow scattering down.

Cold exploded against the side of my face, the wet chill soaking into my fur.

A flash of light streaked across the gray sky, faint amid the falling snow.

When a gentle touch caressed the fur on my face, something felt... different.

Those cold, hard ice crystals had finally all melted, turning into a warm stream that trickled down, following the contours of the fur around my eyes.

Ominous dark clouds gather, blanketing the entire sky.

Wait—what?

A raging storm howled.

Tearing through millions of tons of armor plating felt as easy as pulling a tab on a soda can.

What was happening—this feeling?

Their screams echoed in the void that should have been silent...

Stop. Stop now!

After a sudden sense of falling, I found myself back on solid ground, the room resetting to its default mode.

Still reeling from the abrupt and jarring experience, I gasped for air, trying to steady my breathing and make sense of what had just happened.

What was that?

"Spectacular." The sudden voice startled me, and I spun toward the source, finding Master Field standing at the door.

"Master," I hurriedly bowed, struggling to mask my unease.

"And filled with anger," the towering dragon said as he approached with steady steps, stopping just before me. I kept my head down, not daring to move, allowing him to peer down at me. "I thought you'd already come to terms with your place."

"Master?" I tilted my head in confusion, hoping for further explanation. Field was usually direct, not one for cryptic riddles.

"Your place, and the reality that the higher you climb, the lonelier it gets," he said, tilting his head slightly, as if mildly surprised by my genuine confusion. "I assumed your childhood experiences would help you accept reality quickly."

"I... don't quite understand," I murmured softly, but when the Master raised his right brow, I understood. "The Dreamwalk License Exam." I heard the frustration in my voice but at least managed to suppress a growl this time.

"If you truly can't figure this out, I'd question whether you're ready to shoulder this responsibility," the Master said distantly, opening his right hand. A silver frame-like device rested in his large palm.

"That's..." I brushed against it with my consciousness, confirming it was made of adamantine.

"The original plan was to test your compatibility with the 'Heart' once your Domination cores surpassed one million. However, your rapid progress has unsettled many. There's too much noise to calm," the Master spat, rolling his nictitating membrane in a dramatic eye-roll. "Once you mastered the perfect Domination of a billion independent adamantine structures, even the staunchest critics had to concede. You’ve become impossible to ignore." The dragon tilted his head, green eyes flashing.

I wondered if the pride in his tone was the kind one has when boasting about a prized collection. Even after almost three years of working closely with him, I barely understood this dragon, who many considered eccentric. Then again, it wasn’t entirely my fault—our earlier interactions had been far from healthy. Perhaps it was just a cultural gap between dragons and gray wolves.

Or maybe the Master himself was just strange. I couldn’t tell.

"What is the 'Heart'?" I asked cautiously, continuing to probe the silver device with my consciousness.

"Strictly speaking, this isn’t the 'Heart,'" the Master answered quietly, shifting his gaze to his hand as his eyes narrowed. "It’s incomplete."

Incomplete?

"Before we proceed, we need to connect." The dragon’s green eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw hesitation—brief but unmistakable. "The ultimate goal is to forge the complete 'Heart,' but first, we need to reach an agreement on several matters."

The Master rarely showed such indecision, but his request for a connection troubled me more.

In earlier training sessions on psychic applications, I had practiced connecting with unfamiliar and even untrustworthy individuals. Yet linking with the Master felt like an entirely different matter.

I focused on the boundaries of our conscious domains, assessing the feasibility of a connection.

Various waves, each symbolizing different meanings, pulsed along the border. Countless signals and emotions intertwined, seeking understanding and to be understood...

Ah, isn’t that the way? Everyone longs to be understood, to connect with others. Amid the overwhelming torrent of consciousness, that yearning felt achingly familiar and earnest—the boundary between us abruptly dissolved.

In the default setting of the virtual reality chamber, deep brown scales materialized around the Master's emerald-green eyes, forming the features of a dragon.

We tacitly avoided delving into each other's memories, silently waiting for the other's full form to manifest.

"As I said earlier, apart from forging the 'Heart,' I need you to understand the authenticity of the information I disclose," the Master said. His green eyes, along with their lids, blinked slowly, looking somewhat weary. "At the same time, I must confirm your true thoughts." The towering dragon paused, seemingly giving me time to process. "This is not merely about trust. The importance of this transcends us entirely. Only absolute honesty can bear such a burden. If you cannot accept this, we will stop here."

Amid the sincerity pulsing in the space, I could also sense the Master's well-concealed, century-long anxiety. I nodded, signaling my agreement. Whatever he intended to reveal, and whether he was ready or not, I couldn’t turn away from those in need—those who needed my help.

Besides, how could I pass up the chance to finally get answers to my endless questions about the world?

"Curiosity, boldness, and ambition," the Master Field remarked, eyes fixed on me. "If you were a bit more cautious, I'd feel more reassured. The compassion, though, I didn’t foresee."

Even knowing our emotions were shared through the connection, having it stated so plainly felt strange. It made me reflexively try to hide my feelings and avoid his gaze in shame—this is why I hated linking with strangers!

"I’ll get straight to the point," the dragon continued, perhaps to save me from dying of embarrassment. "I asked you before about your thoughts on the purpose of the imperial flagship. Any new insights?"

"I..." I lowered my gaze, ashamed of my negligence. I had been so puzzled by the Field's initial reaction that I hadn’t tried to understand or delve deeper into the question. "I still don’t quite get it. Isn’t that just the purpose for which warships are made?"

"Our perspectives are limited by our vantage points," the dragon murmured, his tone heavy enough to slow my breath. "But we," I felt a tap at my chest, though his image remained unmoving, "people like us cannot afford such limitations. Those at the world's apex must possess a corresponding vision."

A projection of the sol materialized between us, the Master’s narrowed eyes giving me the impression the massive fiery sphere was too bright.

"Why do you think the imperial flagship is a 'warship'?" the Master asked, watching the celestial bodies orbiting in their fixed paths.

"I..." Why, indeed? "Because I was taught that."

"Then, as I mentioned earlier," he gestured, and the Oort Cloud marking the system's edge shimmered. "A constrained perspective."

"Yes, Master." I lowered my gaze, adopting a compliant posture to convey my understanding.

"Listen by the Howls, observe with keen Eyes, follow the paths the Gates reveal. Blood ensures warmth, Claw and Fang protect and clear obstacles, and Wisdom orchestrates all. The Tail guards the rear, remembering the dreams and foresight of our ancestors, until the generational starship, once called Home, is ready to depart." The Field recited the Dragon Song, and I seemed to see small points of light rising from Gaia.

"Exploration!" It dawned on me: the imperial flagship was designed for venturing into the vast cosmos and eventually initiating colonization. Each ship had a unique function, which was why these massive, specialized vessels were built instead of standardized, cost-efficient war tools. Wait, Howls, Eyes, Gates, Blood, Claw, Fang, Wisdom, Tail—weren’t we missing something? "The Empire's Heart...?"

"The ancestors agreed unanimously that bringing conflict to a new world would be as unwise as sowing chaos upon pristine land," the Field drew a deep breath, enlarging Gaia's projection to reveal a scarred surface riddled with fiery craters. Amidst the destruction, a colossal vessel rested quietly above the North Pole ice cap, standing out starkly against the harrowing backdrop. "The Heart... will unite everyone, end strife, and usher in reconciliation."

"With... a ship?" Tilting my head, I sought further explanation. I knew the adaptive armor of Empire's Heart was a marvel of material science, but in my mind, uniting people required a different kind of miracle.

"No. Tools are essential but remain mere tools," the dragon shook his head and continued singing, "The Heart's master shall unite everyone."

As the Master finished, the Empire’s Heart unfolded all its armor, forming countless points of light that enveloped Gaia—like a Dyson Swarm tailored for the planet.

"Resonance through adamantine as a medium," the Dragon Song’s rhythm reverberated in my chest. "Connecting everyone, fostering mutual understanding, and preparing for the final unknown as a mature collective to seek the ultimate answers."

Indeed, adamantine could amplify a psychic's abilities. Theoretically, sufficient adamantine and a powerful enough psychic could connect everyone.

But...

"Is that enough?" I asked softly, unable to ignore the disquiet whispering in my ear. "Connections can remove barriers to communication and reveal each other's true hearts, but they can’t directly create understanding, can they?"

"No, it's not that simple. But this is the closest we can get," the Master sighed, dispelling the sol's projection with a wave. "No one knows exactly how to do it, and different factions have wildly diverging views on the specifics. In short, everyone seems to believe they alone know how to achieve 'mutual understanding,' yet even reaching a consensus within the Council is a struggle." The Master's tone carried an unmistakable mockery, even without relying on the song's resonance. "This is why the current situation is so... interesting."

"Connecting... everyone." So this was the role the Master Field had prepared for me? "Is it truly feasible?"

"Yes, we know it’s feasible; the simulation data is crystal clear. The problem isn’t in connecting everyone or even finding a way to achieve mutual understanding—we’ll figure that out eventually." The Field's gaze flickered, and I could sense he was forcing himself to maintain eye contact. "The problem lies in... the cost."

This was it. The thing the Master had been skirting around, something so significant that we needed to be connected to ensure no secrets were withheld.

The cost—what was the cost?

"The simulation indicates that the 'Heart's' master must be at least Alpha-level and exceptionally skilled in Domination. Simultaneously, the results also show," the dragon hesitated briefly before finishing, "that the psychic acting as the bridge to connect everyone will inevitably die in the process."

"Huh?" The revelation blindsided me, my astonishment impossible to conceal.

A sacrificial offering—that’s what this was.

"No mind can withstand that amount of information. The connecting bridge will inevitably burn out during the process," the Master stared straight at me as he explained. "No matter how powerful, it cannot be avoided. At most, it only extends the time limit of the connection, giving more leeway for the chosen methods to operate."

"Uh... no offense, Master," even in a linked state, I instinctively started with a polite preamble. "You’ve spent so much time training me, hoping I’d someday take on... um, let’s call it this responsibility for now," I said, struggling to find a less awkward term. "But you’ve also made it clear I’d have to die for it. Isn’t that... discouraging?"

Suddenly, a memory of something Qana once said to me echoed in my mind.

The price they demand...

"When Farsight displayed sufficient potential in Domination, I also brought the 'Heart’s' prototype to him, just as I’m doing with you today," the Master sighed, lowering his gaze to the newly materialized silver frame. "I explained the 'Heart’s' capabilities, the grand ideals it could achieve, and the expansive future it promised by uniting everyone. The fire in his eyes nearly burned me alive with excitement. But when we connected and began forging the complete 'Heart,' Farsight detected my 'subtle' omission of the inevitable ending, and he exploded in fury." The Master chuckled wryly, continuing, "It’s been over a century now. It feels like it just happened yesterday." The space pulsed with complex emotions, regret overpowering all others. "It’s been too long—I can’t even be certain if I deliberately intended to conceal the truth back then. I mean, I shouldn’t have been stupid enough to forget the effects of connecting or to think Farsight wouldn’t notice, but I really can’t be sure anymore because the original memories seem to have been tampered with..."

I sensed the Field rifling through his memories before landing on a murky, obscure fragment.

"But it’s water under the bridge now. Dwelling on it changes nothing. Occasionally, though, moments like these make me reflect on the responsibility I bear for how Farsight ended up this way," the Master dispelled all remaining images with a wave. "So I resolved that if another suitable candidate appeared, I wouldn’t repeat my mistakes."

"Oh... I see," I murmured. "So let me confirm: because Master Sunflare refused to become the Empire’s Heart’s master, you need me, correct?"

"Strictly speaking, Farsight didn’t refuse," the Field replied after a long pause. "He was furious, finished the forging, and left without speaking to me for six months. Since then, he hasn’t mentioned the subject and has become exceedingly passive about lifting the galactic blockade. But he never explicitly stated he refused to take on the role—he still completed the forging. So to say 'need' isn’t entirely accurate."

What? From my perspective, Master Sunflare’s refusal seemed pretty clear-cut. Could it be a cultural difference among dragons?

"Due to heigh sensitivity to Domination, many people forget that the 'Unity Principle' also applies to adamantine," the Master shifted into lecture mode, suspending the silver frame between us. "Materials that can be seen as one will resonate more readily and more powerfully." A drone comprising the Empire’s Heart’s armor appeared beside the frame in a preset configuration. "The adamantine in the drone and the 'Heart' share the same origin."

"Same origin?" I tilted my head involuntarily, voicing my confusion. "What does that mean?"

"You’ve hoarded so much of it, I’m starting to suspect you’re sleeping on adamantine, yet you don’t know what that means?" The Master Field chuckled, making it clear he’d cracked a joke only dragons would get.

"I haven't withdrawn any part of the trades; it’s just an accounting transfer," I replied, scratching my ear.

"Then perhaps you should try sleeping on it," the Master suggested, tapping his chin with a claw. "Who knows? You might discover something. Anyway, back to the question at hand: I don’t consider you the Heart’s Master. I believe you have the potential." The silver frame floated over and stopped in front of me. "The Master must prove themselves to the Heart and gain its recognition. No one else can interfere with this process. However, synchronizing with the Heart increases your chances of being chosen in theory." The Master tapped the frame’s surface with the tip of his claw. "Besides, fine-tuning takes time after synchronization, so the earlier we begin, the better."

I focused on the silver frame, seemingly catching a faint glimmer across its surface. Though intangible in our linked space, its presence felt vivid.

"Of course, that's only if you don’t plan on refusing," he added.

"Uh... so, I’m like a backup?" I tried piecing together the information. "Even if I forge the complete Heart, there’s no guarantee I’ll be chosen? This is more about running through the process… right?"

"You could see it that way. But the main purpose is to familiarize you with the operations, not as some kind of ceremony," the Master explained. "Controlling one billion Domination cores is a whole other level of difficulty compared to managing a billion variable-armor drones."

"Then... does the plan to connect everyone have a concrete timeline?" I recalled him mentioning earlier that many had differing views on how to achieve this, suggesting there must be a clear schedule.

"That’s one area of consensus," the Master said. "It must be done within fifty years, with the most optimistic scenario aiming for thirty-five years from now."

"Oh," I scratched my ear again. "So there’s still plenty of time."

I wasn’t sure how long it would take to master the Empire’s Heart’s drones, but thirty-five years sounded generous.

"Yes, there’s a long time yet," the Master agreed, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at the silver frame. "That’s so you can carefully consider whether you’re willing to bear this responsibility. Even if you ultimately refuse, I won’t blame you. Because asking—"

"I accept," I interrupted, sensing a pang of guilt. "I don’t see what there is to consider." I wasn’t saying this to prove I was different from Master Sunflare; I just knew we were inherently different people, no matter his claims otherwise.

"Making such a weighty decision without fully understanding the situation isn’t very wise," the Master said slowly, as if choosing his words with care.

"Someone has to do it, don’t they? If not me, it’ll be someone else," I shrugged.

"There’s also the possibility that, for lack of a suitable candidate, the Heart cannot be activated at all. No one can guarantee we’ll successfully lift the solar system’s blockade," the Master looked me directly in the eye. "Before the Snow faction stabilized, there was a breeding direction that involved removing parts of the amygdala responsible for processing fear to create warriors who would never retreat under any circumstances."

"I assume they failed?" I tilted my head slightly, curious.

"Or succeeded too well," the Master replied with a wave of his hand. "Reckless to the extreme, incapable of assessing situations properly, and utterly unsuitable as soldiers. Later, when planning the warcraft-inheriting faction, that trait was no longer preserved during breeding. However, that doesn’t mean another faction made the same decision."

"Gray..." I immediately grasped the Master’s implication and gained a deeper understanding of what I had inherited. "But isn’t this awfully convenient? Almost like some predestined arrangement," I said, not bothering to mask the sarcasm in my tone—resonance in this space made such efforts pointless. "Every tool has its purpose, after all."

"I believe you will know how to view yourself one day," the Master replied. "Time changes many things. As your burdens grow heavier, you might not think the same way."

"There’s still plenty of time to consider, right?" The Master’s unusually... understanding attitude felt strange to me. His past with Master Sunflare seemed far more intertwined than I knew, and the century-old conflict had left deeper scars than he cared to admit.

"Indeed. And I look forward to the day we can have a deeper conversation—you’re still very young," he said. While I felt a twinge of defiance, I couldn’t deny the objective truth of his statement. "Now, let’s begin." He raised his hand, and I felt a surge of pressure sweeping through the conscious space. "You already know how to forge and shape it, so I’ll begin by pouring in the consciousness. Watch closely!"

Commands engraved the surroundings with a brilliant green light. At the center of the dazzling scene, the silver frame began pulsing like a living heart.

The Master sang the soaring Dragon Song, accompanying it with intricate gestures. I felt his consciousness—or rather, something more profound, like his very soul—pouring into the Heart, imbued with all his hopes and possibilities. He was forging and shaping it, crafting something extraordinary.

Amidst the torrent of consciousness, I planted my feet firmly, forcing myself to focus. Yet the sheer magnificence of the scene made me wonder if I was glimpsing some ultimate truth. The Master’s powerful, solemn voice seemed to grow distant, overtaken by the overwhelming spectacle.

"Now, shine!"