Night had fallen over the sanctuary of the Dragon-Men, but Zelongue and Salomé had already moved away, following a forgotten path winding between barren cliffs. Beyond the valleys, a mountain stood alone, its summit devoured by gray clouds. No breath of life seemed to inhabit it: no bird song, no trace of grass, only bare stone beaten by ancient winds.
Zelongue stopped at the foot of the slope, crossing his arms.
— This is where you will learn. A dead mountain, detached from the echoes of the living... perfect for your first approach.
Salomé looked up at the summit, feeling an almost hostile silence envelop them.
— And... what am I supposed to do? How do you manipulate something as elusive as Meta-Concepts?
Zelongue gave a brief smile.
— You're mistaken. You don't "manipulate" a Meta-Concept like you move a rock. You are Deviant; your existence already touches the layers that support them. The problem is not your power: it is your will.
Salomé frowned.
— My will?
— Yes. Meta-Concepts do not respond to brute force or even knowledge. They bend to a will that asserts itself as the only valid reality. If your being hesitates, if your determination relies on something external... you will get nothing.
They climbed the last meters, reaching a plateau where the mist unfurled in pale spirals. Zelongue turned to her:
— Start by listening to this mountain. See it not as a mass of stone, but as an assembly of fundamental data: presence, persistence, weight. Then, erase it mentally.
Salomé closed her eyes. The rock beneath her feet, the wind against her skin... all of this dissipated, replaced by an abstract framework, a dull vibration. She felt her heart pounding faster.
— I... I think I see something... a network of filaments...
— Good. Now, assert your will. Don't try to "change" the mountain. Simply decide that its state must obey you, you alone. Not fear, nor doubt.
An invisible tension rose around her. The mist thickened, the air vibrated, and a fragment of the plateau before her suddenly eroded, as if it had always been destined to collapse. Salomé abruptly opened her eyes, gasping.
— That was... me?
Zelongue nodded slowly.
— Exactly. You imposed your will on a fundamental datum: the persistence of this stone.
Salomé took a step back, still shaken.
— So... manipulating Meta-Concepts is asserting that everything, even the roots of reality, must bend to my vision?
— Not exactly, Zelongue corrected. What you did is only an echo, a branch. The true Meta-Concepts belong to entities far beyond us, but as long as you know how to focus your will, you can touch these reflections.
Salomé watched the mist reform above the chasm she had just opened.
— So... it's enough to sharpen my will?
— No. You must rid it of everything that is not you. Fear, anger, doubts, others' expectations... there is only room for absolute certainty: "what I decide is." As long as you hesitate, you will only access the surface.
A long silence fell on the plateau. Salomé lowered her eyes on her trembling hand.
— I think... I'm beginning to understand.
Zelongue gave a rare smile.
— Then continue. The mountain is vast, and your trials have only just begun.
Salomé took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on the mountain around her.
— I'll try again.
She closed her eyes, trying to find again the invisible thread she had felt. The first time, everything had seemed almost instinctive; now, every attempt seemed to slip through her fingers. The mountain resisted, frozen in its own inertia.
Zelongue, arms crossed, watched without intervening.
— You hesitate. The mountain doesn't feel your will, only your doubt.
Salomé clenched her fists. What I decide is... Her mind flickered. Barely did a vibration arise than it immediately dissipated, like a muffled echo. A cold shiver ran up her spine. For a fraction of a second, she thought she felt something watching her — a presence lurking behind the filaments she was trying to touch.
She suddenly reopened her eyes, panting.
— What was... that?
Zelongue sighed.
— Meta-Concepts do not let themselves be approached with impunity. You only touched a branch, and it already showed you how tiny you are. If you force it, you risk erasing part of yourself without even realizing it.
Salomé nodded, wiping cold sweat from her forehead.
— So I must... get rid of everything else?
— Exactly. Fear, anger, doubts... every parasite of your will prevents you from imposing your reality.
She took her position again, closing her eyes once more. This time, she expelled everything: the weight of recent battles, the memory of Raktabīja Rāvana, Kai's voice still trembling with fear. She focused on one thought: this world must yield.
The vibration returned, clearer. A shard of stone cracked at her feet, disintegrating into white sand that rose as if drawn by the sky. But hardly had she released her concentration than a sharp pain pierced her skull. She fell to her knees, holding her head.
— A-ah!
Zelongue crouched near her, without touching.
— Here is the real danger: imposing your will also means accepting that it replaces part of you. Every mistake leaves a void... a loss you can never fill.
Salomé, trembling, caught her breath.
— I feel like I left something behind...
— Because that's the case, Zelongue answered, unyielding. The closer you get to the Meta-Concepts, the more you'll lose everything that is not your absolute will. You can't cheat.
She rose, staggering. Her gaze hardened:
— Then I will try again, again and again. Until nothing else remains but my will.
A thin smile stretched Zelongue's lips.
— Finally, an answer worthy of a Deviant.
Salomé took her stance again, breath short but determined.
Her eyes closed one last time, and all tension dissipated: no more anger, no more fear. Only one thing remained, sharp and bare: my will exists, therefore everything must bend to it.
The mountain trembled.
At first, it was a shiver, as if the stone itself hesitated to obey. Then, with a tearing crash, a large crevice spiraled open around her. The rock twisted, folding like soft matter; entire slabs flipped over themselves, exposing an unreal light, a void where fragments of dissolved concepts fluttered like spectral fireflies.
Zelongue raised an eyebrow.
— Impressive... you did it.
Salomé opened her eyes and remained frozen. Where the mountain stood no longer remained but a stone colossus sculpted in her image: a being without distinct features, but whose mere posture imposed instinctive submission. Every fragment of rock vibrated in unison with her breath.
A cold wind rose, charged with a strange resonance: as if the mountain were no longer a landscape but a living thought that belonged to her.
Salomé stepped back, heart pounding.
— I... did that?
— Yes, Zelongue replied, his voice grave. You imposed your will on the fundamental data level of this mountain. To it, you are no longer an intruder: you are its very principle.
She swallowed, overwhelmed by a dizzying sensation: a fragment of her will now lived outside her.
— It's... terrifying.
Zelongue nodded slowly.
— Here is the price: each time you impose your will, you lose a bit more of yourself in what you transform. One day, you will no longer know if you are Salomé or all those realities that bear your mark.
Salomé remained silent, her gaze fixed on the mountain animated with new life. For the first time, she felt that this power was not a victory... but a crushing responsibility.
Zelongue, a smile on his lips, watched Salomé:
— Now... would you like to learn the draconic technique Ōculus Vorago?
Salomé raised an eyebrow.
— I haven't even finished learning to handle Meta-Concepts, and you already want me to move on? Besides, what is this technique?
— You don't need training for that, Zelongue replied. A meta-conceptual being does not need repeated learning. Since you already master branches of Meta-Concepts, I assure you that you will succeed easily.
Salomé placed a hand on her chin, intrigued.
— Go ahead... show me.
Zelongue nodded slowly.
— Watch closely.
The sky shattered like black glass under a supernatural wave. Splinters of pure mana shot out, then, through the cracks, countless draconic eyes opened. They blazed with magma-red and stellar-gold lights, vertical reptilian pupils probing the very foundations of reality. Each gaze weighed like a cosmic verdict; the air vibrated with a resonance that made the soul tremble.
Salomé gasped: her own thoughts slipped away, her defenses melted, and a cold sensation crept within her, as if the world rejected her magical existence. Her breathing quickened, her hands trembled.
— ...What is... that?
Zelongue, serene, declared:
— The Ōculus Vorago judge everything. They probe intrinsic truth, destroy lies and illusions, and impose contradictions in the very being of their target. As long as these eyes fix you, you cannot escape them.
The pressure increased. Salomé's magic dissipated, her reserves refused to respond, and even her body felt foreign. Cold sweat ran down her temple. She felt her will falter; the very idea of fighting seemed ripped from her.
— Salomé, use your will! Zelongue shouted. Create a meta-conceptual barrier!
She closed her eyes and refocused: My will precedes everything. Even this oppression exists only because I allow it. A deep pulse flooded her; a translucent sphere of meta-conceptual energy formed around her. The pressure broke like a bubble bursting in the light.
Salomé opened her eyes, panting.
— I... succeeded?
— Yes, Zelongue confirmed while dispelling the eyes. You just created your first meta-conceptual barrier. Against the Ōculus Vorago, only a defense prior to all else can resist.
Salomé, still short of breath, stared at the cracks closing in the sky.
— Those eyes... they made me doubt even my own existence.
— That's their essence, Zelongue explained. Ōculus Vorago do not confront a body nor a soul; they attack the very definition of what you are. As long as you maintain your meta-conceptual will, you will escape them. Without it, they would reduce you to a "never-was."
Zelongue crossed his arms, his golden eyes dimly shining.
— Did you feel their weight? Ōculus Vorago is not an ordinary technique. Among dragons, it is called the weapon of Supreme Judgment. These eyes do not destroy a body, nor a soul, nor even a story. They deny the possibility that you ever existed, in any timeline, in any memory, in any "what if."
Salomé frowned.
— It is... total annihilation?
— Beyond that. Ōculus Vorago goes back before any definition. Once marked, a being is not simply erased: it even loses the right to have been thought of one day. No memory, no alternate reality preserves its trace. Even those who might have imagined your existence retain nothing.
Salomé swallowed, a shiver running down her spine.
— And you want to teach me that?
— Yes, Zelongue answered firmly. This technique does not obey brute force but the sharpness of your meta-conceptual will. The eyes judge from what you believe to be true: if your will wavers, they turn against you.
He approached and placed a hand on Salomé's shoulder.
— To invoke Ōculus Vorago, you must stop "believing" you are Salomé. You must place yourself upstream of your name, your history, and all ties. Let only your will speak, the part of you that precedes even your existence.
Salomé took a deep breath, closing her eyes.
— My will... that precedes everything.
Zelongue stepped back, raising his voice slightly:
— Do not try to force it. Ōculus Vorago does not appear by compulsion. Let your will unfold as an obvious truth: a silent verdict on reality itself.
A long silence fell. The wind grew heavy, the clouds darkened. A crack suddenly appeared in the sky, spreading like a luminous spiderweb. Countless eyes were born in the void, motionless but terrifying, filled with absolute clarity. The ground trembled under the invisible impact of their gaze.
Zelongue smiled, slightly proud.
— There. You did it, Salomé. These eyes respond to you because you have risen to their level: a will that needs neither proof nor justification.
Salomé slowly opened her eyelids. The black sky reflected in her eyes; a cold light shone in her irises.
— I... feel them. It's as if every being before me is stripped bare, unable to hide anything.
— Exactly, Zelongue confirmed. As long as Ōculus Vorago serves you, no illusion, no plan, no secret can subsist. Even the most powerful creatures hesitate to meet this gaze: they fear discovering they were only a contradiction ready to collapse.
With a simple blink, Salomé dispelled the eyes, and the sky closed. She exhaled slowly, the air still charged with that overwhelming pressure.
— I understand why it's the Supreme Judgment... One feels... prior to all, yet responsible for all.
Zelongue nodded gravely.
— Remember: Ōculus Vorago is not a tool. It is the consequence of your will when it precedes all definition. Invoke it only when you accept the weight of judging.
Salomé stayed silent, her hands slightly trembling.
— ...I think I finally understand.