Rise of the Primordial Dragon beast tamer

With a flicker of thought, space twisted around him. A portal tore open.

And in the blink of an eye—he was gone.

Azvoid stepped into his room. His body screamed in exhaustion, muscles aching from the absurd dungeon battle he had just barely survived. The stench of blood, dust, and burnt flesh still clung to his clothes, a testament to the sheer madness he had endured.

With a tired groan, he slumped against the wall for a moment, breathing deeply. His black obsidian eyes, gleaming faintly in the dim light, stared at the ceiling as if it held the secrets to life itself. The soft glow of his system interface still flickered in his vision, the aftermath of his level-up lingering in his mind.

[Current Rank: Peak D]

The system had been far too dramatic about it, announcing his level-up with an explosion of light and a fanfare so loud he was sure it woke up the dead. But now that the adrenaline had worn off, all he wanted was to throw himself onto his bed and not move for an eternity.

Dragging himself forward, he pulled off his tattered cloak and collapsed onto the mattress face-first, arms outstretched like a man who had fought fate itself and lost.

"I think I hate dungeons," he mumbled into the pillow.

"Strange. You seem quite fond of them when you're not bleeding out."

Azvoid sighed as the familiar smooth yet chilling voice of Noctis curled through his mind, dripping with amusement. He didn't even lift his head.

"Oh great, you're awake. Just what I needed."

"I am always awake."

Azvoid groaned, rolling onto his back. "Even better."

"You should be celebrating. You survived an F-Rank dungeon, reached Peak D-Rank, and even witnessed an opponent strong enough to nearly erase you from existence. A delightful experience, truly."

Azvoid stared at the ceiling. "You have a messed-up definition of 'delightful.'"

"And you have a tendency to court death with reckless enthusiasm. I believe that makes us even."

Azvoid huffed, rubbing his temples. His mind still buzzed with lingering tension, the echoes of battle flashing in his memory. His Spatial Vector Mastery had come in clutch, warping space just enough to give him an edge. But even then—he had nearly died.

"You know," he muttered, "I had this crazy thought earlier. Maybe, just maybe, I could rest like a normal person for once. But no, apparently, the universe has other plans."

"Ah, yes. The tragedy of being interesting."

Azvoid scoffed. "That's one way to put it."

He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly.

Silence settled.

Then—

"You realize you cannot ignore what has just happened."

Azvoid cracked an eye open. "Oh, I can try."

"Then the whispers will haunt you."

As if on cue, a deep, reverberating voice slithered through the fabric of reality.

"You have been chosen."

Azvoid clenched his jaw. The same unnerving message that had echoed in his mind ever since he left the dungeon.

Noctis chuckled, the sound both ancient and entertained.

"It appears someone has taken notice of you."

Azvoid sighed. "Great. Another problem. Exactly what I needed."

"You attract problems like a star collapsing into itself. It is… fascinating."

Azvoid grumbled, flipping onto his side. "I officially hate how poetic you are."

"Sleep, little mortal. Enjoy the illusion of rest while you can."

Azvoid groaned, burying his face into the pillow. "That's not ominous at all."

"It was meant to be."

Despite the cryptic warning, exhaustion finally won. His breath steadied, his body sinking into much-needed rest.

But even as he drifted into sleep, the whispers remained.

And somewhere, across the vast reaches of the universe—

The cosmos watched.

While Azvoid Larkson slept, his mind weighed with exhaustion and the whisper of fate creeping into his dreams, the highest authorities in the known universe convened in secrecy.

The Celestial Hall of the Global Cosmic Alliance was no ordinary chamber.

Suspended in the depths of cosmic void, it existed beyond time itself, a realm where the most powerful beings gathered to shape the destiny of civilizations. The hall was an immense floating construct of ethereal obsidian and star-forged crystal, its walls shifting with the ever-changing constellations of a thousand galaxies.

At its center was the Grand cosmic Table, a structure that defied mortal comprehension. It did not rest on any surface—it simply existed, held aloft by invisible laws of cosmic will. The twelve members of the Supreme Council were seated around it, their mere presence enough to warp the flow of energy within the chamber.

At the head of the assembly, exuding an authority that could crush weaker beings by presence alone, sat High Empress Xyra Veilhart, the Celestial Arbiter.

Her violet irises gleamed with cosmic wisdom, a woman of celestial lineage whose very existence was intertwined with the fabric of law itself. She draped herself in flowing robes of nightwoven stardust, each fiber humming with the echoes of judgment she had passed throughout the millennia.

She raised a hand—effortlessly commanding silence.

"The time has come," she spoke, her voice reverberating throughout the infinite void. "The emergence of Supreme Talents has accelerated. The balance of power shifts once more."

The air crackled as a deep voice responded.

"To think it has begun so soon," rumbled Lord Zephiron Vailis, the Storm Conqueror, his platinum-silver armor humming with arcs of contained golden lightning. His presence was like a living storm—a force of nature bound within the form of a man.

Across from him, Lady Velmira Orinth, the Azure Oracle, a seer of impossible foresight, gazed into the flickering images projected above the table. She was adorned in deep blue robes, an ethereal halo of water-like energy flowing behind her as her sapphire eyes rippled with unseen wisdom.

"The threads of destiny stir," she intoned, her voice an eerie whisper that rang through the chamber. "A convergence of talents… a fate yet unwritten."

A harsh laugh cut through the reverence.

Seated with a lazily arrogant slouch, General Lucas Kael, the Crimson eraser, smirked. His war-scorched red battleplate bore the scars of countless galactic wars, and his crimson eyes glowed with an insatiable thirst for combat.

"Well, then. Let them fight," he declared, a carnivore awaiting the bloodbath. "The strong will rise. The weak will perish. What's the point of destiny if it can't be tested in battle?"

A snort came from beside him.

"That's such a barbaric outlook."

Grand Strategist Veylan Druun, the Silver Mind, tapped his metallic filigree-covered fingers against the table, his emerald eyes flickering with calculation. His pale skin seemed almost crystalline under the shifting glow of the chamber.

"However," he continued, "it is not entirely incorrect. The emergence of Supreme Talents must be met with an equal challenge."

A soft chuckle resonated from the shadows.

Seated away from the light, Mistress Solphira Noctre, the Umbral Weaver, tilted her head in amusement. She was wrapped in black silk robes that barely contained the writhing shadows coiling around her, shifting like living ink.

"It is quite entertaining," she murmured, her voice like silk laced with venom. "Watching these little flames struggle against the void."

A flick of her fingers sent a wave of darkness rippling across the table's surface, revealing a vast projection of names—Supreme Talents selected from across the stars.

Each name carried weight, legacy, and terrifying potential.

Warriors, prodigies, and anomalies—each one a being whose existence could shake the foundation of reality itself.

Yet among them—

Azvoid Larkson's name did not appear.

His feats, his trials, his battle in the depths of an F-Rank Dungeon, and even his awakening of the Supreme Dragon Beast Tamer System—all had gone unnoticed.

The council did not speak of him.

He was overshadowed, his name eclipsed by those who had already been marked by fate.

And the invitation that would soon ripple across the cosmos—

It would not reach him through his system.

It would come to him through something else entirely.

Something unseen.

Something watching.

Yet unknown to these celestial rulers—

A being beyond their comprehension had already taken interest.

---

Meanwhile—Back on Azvoid's Side of Reality…

Azvoid Larkson stirred.

His consciousness drifted between exhaustion and something else—a sensation like being watched from a place just out of reach.

Then, the feeling grew stronger.

A whisper brushed against the edges of his mind.

"You have been chosen."

Azvoid shot up, his breath sharp. His black obsidian eyes flickered with alertness, scanning the dimly lit room.

Noctis's voice curled into his mind, thick with amusement.

"And so it begins."

Azvoid exhaled heavily. "I was really hoping that was just my imagination."

"Unfortunate for you, reality rarely grants such mercy."

Azvoid ran a hand through his hair. "I swear, if I get dragged into another life-or-death situation—"

"'If'?" Noctis interrupted, sounding genuinely amused. "You mean when."

Azvoid flopped back down onto the bed, staring at the ceiling with a deep, existential sigh.

"...I hate that you're always right."

"And yet, here we are."

As the whispers continued to stir in the void—

Somewhere, across the vast reaches of the universe, a force beyond the council's understanding watched him.

Waiting.