After reading the last line of the book, Leo turned back to inspect the mural once again, this time with far more patience and intention than when he had first stumbled into this forgotten room.
However, no matter how many times he looked at it, the painting refused to feel like just another piece of preserved art, as there was something deeper about it, something intangible woven into its strokes and shadows, that although wasn't obvious when observed simply, still gnawed at one's curiosity.
Thankfully, now that he could roughly translate parts of the ancient language, he could understand the meaning of the symbols scattered around on the painting, like the ones etched on Zharnok's stony armor that translated to 'Wisdom' and 'Honor', and the one written on the base of the stone that the serpent was curled on, which meant 'liar' or 'cheat'.
Leo took his time with each of the eleven gods, analyzing the smaller symbols, noting the patterns and phrasing near their feet and claws, but no matter how much he tried to study them all equally, his gaze was always pulled back to the twelfth—back to the dragon.
His eyes lingered there, longer than they had with any of the others, as his fingers unconsciously traced the sweep of the dragon's wings, the curve of its horns, and the haunting stillness of its closed eyes.
Something about the Dragon unsettled him in a way that was difficult to explain, as looking at the painting, he couldn't help but feel a personal connection to the beast, which was odd since he was very much a human.
He could feel the tension in the way its claws curled inward, in the way its tail wrapped around its base, and especially in how its head wasn't looking forward like the rest of the beasts, but angled slightly up, toward the painted sun above, as if the artist had been trying to convey something subtle—something only those who truly shared a connection with it would understand.
However, although he could feel that there was more to the painting than what met the naked eye, he couldn't wrap his head around what it was?
'What? Just what are you trying to tell me? Just what am I supposed to find out?' Leo wondered, as he narrowed his eyes further, crouching low to examine the detailing in the scales, running his fingers along the raised edges of the paint, wondering just why this particular beast felt so different from the rest.
Then, without a word, he let his mana surge slightly and activated [Absolute Vision], as he tried to observe the painting with his mana eyes instead of real eyes, as immediately the chalked reds on the faded painting deepened into flowing crimson, the black outline thickened like hardened obsidian, and faint filaments of energy began to bleed into view, revealing a layer of the mural that no normal eye would have ever caught.
Behind each beast, Leo saw thin threads of dormant energy, mini mana veins running inwards, with each beast possessing its own unique pattern and color that had, although dimmed with time, was still very much present.
But while all the beasts mostly had a steady mana vein with energy flowing within it at a constant speed, the Dragon was different.
The energy behind it wasn't smooth flowing, it was pulsing—soft and steady like the beat of a sleeping heart—thicker, denser, and more alive than the others, as though even in stillness, it resisted being forgotten.
Leo stared at it, breath slowing, as a strange rhythm began to beat inside his own chest, matching the pulse he saw in the dragon's energy, and before he could stop himself or second-guess the impulse, his hand rose and pressed against the mural, landing squarely on the chest of the painted beast.
The moment he touched it, the surface felt colder than it should have, and in that moment, he felt a strong desire to channel his mana into the painting, as he let a small stream of his mana enter through his palm and into the mural, as he fed it energy rather cautiously.
At first, nothing happened.
Then the mural shimmered faintly.
The lines trembled.
And the eye of the dragon, the one that had always been shut, slowly opened, revealing a glowing red eye behind it that should not have existed on a painting.
Leo barely had time to process what he was seeing before the red eye blinked once and began pulling his consciousness out of his body, as he felt as if he were being pulled into a ghost sleep episode, however, this time he was wide awake and conscious.
Within seconds, the world around him began to bleed into darkness streaked with red and gold, as he found himself powerless to stop the phenomenon.
As the tugging only stopped when he eventually found himself on his knees, surrounded by heat, smoke, and air so heavy with power it made the simple act of breathing feel very difficult.
'The fuck?' he wondered, as he slowly raised his head, only to find himself looking at the feet of a massive ancient beast that seemed to be shifting and alive.
'The fuckkkk??'
He thought again, as he looked higher, only to find out that he was staring right into the eyes of the ancient dragon.
Its gaze wasn't hostile, but it wasn't passive either.
It was sharp, direct and heavy, as if the beast was aware of his presence and had been waiting for his arrival.
Leo didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't even breathe for a second too long, because the weight in the air felt like it would crush him if he dared to look away.
Yet, strangely enough, he wasn't afraid.
He wasn't calm either.
It was something else.
A slow rising pull inside his chest, like something ancient buried in his blood had finally been awakened, as he felt his mana heart pulsing wildly in his chest.
The dragon calmly stared at him.
And Leo stared back.
Silent. Still.
As two beings—divided by species, time, and fate—locked eyes for the very first time.