The room was filled with a sad silence. Jonah stood before the huge, beating heart of the Golden Dragon, and he could feel the creature's loneliness pressing on his own soul. He had come to take some of its power, to tear away a part of it. But he couldn't.

He was a Weaver. His power came from a partnership with his creations, a bond of trust and respect. To harm this ancient, imprisoned being would go against everything he believed in. He would be no different from Thorne or Sterling.

The ancient consciousness in his mind became active. It sensed his presence, his unique power. It recognized him. It felt the clean, natural frequency of his God Mark, a power so different from the artificial, draining energy of the Divine Serum and the prison that held it captive.

It didn't sense a jailer in him. It felt... a friend. Another creator. A child of the universe.

You are not one of them, the feeling sounded in his mind. You are like me.

Jonah knew what he had to do. He couldn't take from this creature. But maybe... maybe he could just ask.

He closed his eyes. He didn't try to build a psychic wall to protect himself from the creature. He did the opposite. He opened his mind completely. He let his own thoughts, his own memories, flow outwards, offering them to the god in the crystal heart.

He did not try to speak with words. He spoke with feelings, with images, with pure, honest intent.

He showed the dragon everything.

He showed it the cold eyes of Julian Sterling. He showed it the corporate perfection of Silas. He showed it the roaring group of the metal bugs, a harmful spread of soulless, mass-produced things.

He showed it the blueprint for Project Damocles, the terrible weapon floating in the darkness of space, a gun pointed at the heart of the world.

And then, he showed it his own impossible plan. He showed it the image of the Void-Class Progeny, the strange and beautiful alien creature he dreamed of building. A creature made of the deep sea and the burning sun, a creature that could walk through space between worlds.

He showed the dragon a chance. A small, hopeful chance to see the stars once more, even if it was just through the eyes of another creature he would build.

The ancient consciousness was silent for a long moment. Jonah felt it processing his thoughts, his fears, his hopes. He felt how curious it was. It had been alone in the dark for so long, and now, this strange, little human was showing it a vision of a battle among the stars.

You would build a star-swimmer, the dragon's thought came, carrying a sense of endless wonder. You would build a child of the void.

Jonah knew what he had to offer in return. It wasn't a deal. It wasn't a trade. It was a promise. A sacred vow from one creator to another.

I can't free you now, Jonah thought, sending the feeling out with all the honesty in his soul. But I swear this to you. If you help me, if you give me the key to build this creature, I will not forget you. One day, I will come back. And I will find a way to break this prison. Not to steal your power, but to let your soul finally be free. To let you die in peace, among the stars where you belong.

It was an impossible promise. He had no idea how he could ever keep it. But he meant it. With all his heart, he meant it.

The huge, crystal heart pulsed once, a slow, powerful beat.

THUMP-THUMP.

The golden light in the room became brighter. Jonah felt a new feeling from the ancient consciousness. It was not hope. Hope was a feeling for mortals. This was something older, deeper. It was a small bit of interest in a soul that had known nothing but pain for hundreds of years.

It was one final act of strength. A god taking a chance on a mortal boy.

The dragon agreed.

A small point of light separated itself from the surface of the huge, crystal heart.

It wasn't a drop of gold or a piece of crystal. It was a spark. A small and bright spark of pure starlight.

It floated silently through the air, across the space between the heart and the platform where Jonah stood. It moved slowly and carefully, in a graceful way.

The Headmaster, who stood at the doorway watching in shock and silence, gasped.

The spark of starlight did not stop at Jonah's hand. It floated directly to his chest and, with a soft hiss, it went deep into his body, merging with his soul.

For a second, Jonah felt a sudden burst of knowledge about the universe that seemed impossible. He saw the universe through the eyes of a creature born from a dying star. He felt the gravity's pull, the cold emptiness of the void, and the light of distant galaxies.

The feeling faded, but the knowledge remained.

The system prompt that appeared in his mind was not for an essence. It was for something new. Something he had never seen before.

[Conceptual Anchor Acquired: The Dragon's Star-Chart. Innate knowledge of space travel and cosmic stability has been integrated.]

He had it. He had the key. He had the anchor. The missing piece of the puzzle. It wasn't a physical ingredient. It was an idea. A piece of a god's own soul, a map of the stars.

He opened his eyes. The room was the same, the huge heart still beating its slow rhythm. But everything felt different. He felt the consciousness of the dragon go back into its long sleep.

He turned to the Headmaster, his face turning serious.

"I have what I need," he said.

The time for planning was over. It was time to build a star.

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