Chapter 560: Truth in the Timeless One’s Voice

Renard finally leaned back against the seat, his gaze cutting through the glass toward the distant spires of the city.

"Yes. And when the jaws close, Aelira..." His voice dropped to a whisper that still pressed on her chest like stone. "It will not be the White Comets that break, it will be the trap itself."

Aelira sat in silence, her datapad trembling faintly in her grip.

Just then, a low vibration stirred the silence, muffled at first but unmistakable. It came from Renard’s chest pocket.

Aelira blinked, startled, as a faint, lilting melody followed, a sound so sweet and delicate it felt out of place in the cold, humming transport.

Renard’s expression shifted, the smallest crease cutting across his calm mask. Slowly, he reached into his coat and drew out a small, polished white cube. Its surface shimmered with faint glyphs, and at his touch it unfolded like origami, light spilling into the cabin as it expanded into a hovering holographic device.

For the briefest heartbeat, Renard’s face betrayed something Aelira had never seen on him before, shock.

She leaned forward, her grip tightening on her datapad. "Guildmaster... who is it?"

Renard’s red eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on the shifting light of the cube.

"Master Yuuto."

Renard inclined his head deeply, crimson eyes lowered with solemn respect.

"Renard Callius," he said clearly, his tone smooth and reverent. "Guildmaster of the White Comets, pays his respects to the Timeless One."

A faint silence lingered, broken only by the low hum of the projection. Then, the figure spoke. His voice was calm, almost casual, yet it carried a weight that pressed against the skin like gravity itself.

"Renard," said Master Yuuto. "How have you been?"

Renard straightened, his composure flawless. "I have never been better, Master. And... if I may be so bold, might I ask the reason for your call?"

A pause followed, long enough for Aelira to feel her breath catch. Renard’s eyes remained steady, though she could see the faint tension in the way his hand rested against his knee.

Finally, Yuuto’s voice returned, low and deliberate.

"I am sure word has reached you by now. Of one calling himself the Dragon Lord, claiming the entirety of Megacity I as his domain."

Aelira’s eyes widened, her grip tightening around her datapad. The name alone was enough to stir unease, even whispered in passing.

Renard, however, only shifted slightly, his expression sharpening. He leaned back into his seat, crimson eyes glinting faintly beneath the flickering holographic light.

"I have," he said, his tone calm but edged with seriousness. "I doubt any city has not, given the fact it was live-streamed a few months back. Is there something about him you wish to notify me of?"

Yuuto’s voice filled the cabin, calm but heavy enough to crush the air between them.

"That man is no pretender. He is the Grand Progenitor himself. The father of dragonkind."

For the first time in many years, Renard’s composure faltered. His breath caught sharply, his eyes widening as the weight of those words struck him.

"You... don’t mean," his voice cracked, just faintly, before steadying again. "The legendary Radiant One? The Grand Progenitor himself?"

"Yes."

Renard stared, his crimson eyes wide in awe. All the poise, the calculated calm, the icy logic shattered in a heartbeat. He looked nothing short of reverent, his voice trembling with disbelief.

"By the heavens," he whispered. "If that is true, Master, then doesn’t that mean he is your..."

"Yes," Yuuto said simply.

Renard’s hand trembled against his knee, the datapad in Aelira’s grasp forgotten as she watched the unshakable guildmaster reduced to awe.

"By the heavens," Renard breathed again. "Then shouldn’t that be celebrated? Master, you should have notified me sooner. I would have come running to pay my respects!" He lowered his head briefly, crimson eyes burning with regret.

"And I, fool that I was, spoke such treacherous words of him before. I only hope the Radiant One will be able to forgive my ignorance."

One might wonder why Renard Callius, so sharp and calculating only moments earlier, would suddenly collapse into such devotion. Why a man who could silence a chamber of guildmasters would lower his head and speak with trembling awe.

The truth lay in his bloodline.

Renard was no ordinary human. He was part of a race carried into this world generations ago, a line of zealots known as the Dragon Faithful. They were not bound by kingdom or creed, but by worship. To them, the royal dragons were beings above gods, embodiments of the eternal will of creation itself.

Their order had first emerged in the ashes of the Second Great Dragon War, when dragonkind teetered at the edge of annihilation. The Faithful clung to the belief that only reverence, fanatical and undying reverence, could preserve what remained of draconic majesty.

Whispers told that their founding had not been mortal at all, but draconic. That one of the sons of the Third Dragon Overlord had gathered them in secret, forging the cult not merely as worshippers, but as living myth. Through faith, they sought to craft a mythos, a story so binding, so absolute, that it would shield dragonkind against the laws imposed by their enemies in House Oboros.

For a time, it worked. Their devotion, their blood-oaths and rituals, gave dragons room to breathe, a story of worship to resist chains. But faith, even burning faith, could not withstand an older mythos, one that had been carved into the bones of the world long before the first roar shook the skies. Against that ancient weight, the Faithful’s creed bent and buckled.

Yet still, they endured.

And Renard, born into that inheritance, bore the legacy in his marrow. To speak the name of the Radiant One, to hear him confirmed as the Grand Progenitor, it was not merely revelation. It was the voice of his faith made flesh.

No cunning, no political calculation, no cold logic could stand against that. For the Dragon Faithful, reverence was not weakness. It was law.