The pain came surging shortly after.

Shaden’s legs buckled below him, causing him to fall on the floor. No strength remained in his body. His body screamed in agony, but his mouth made no sound, barely gasping for air.

Never had he felt such pain before. Raw, seething anguish. His body twitched from shock, and he mouthed a silent cry, unable to respond. Through all of the chaos, the voice spoke to him with perfect clarity.

“You’re a peculiar one. Not many can resist my aura.”

The words were like ice on his mind, momentarily breaking him away from the torment that plagued his body. He wanted to hear more of it, to respond to it. He wanted the voice to keep speaking to him. When it didn’t, only suffering remained.

Please, please, please—

Tears streamed out from his eyes. The more he tried to muster his mana to overpower the influence, the more the pain increased until he coughed out blood. His lungs were melting in his ribs, and the thumping of his heart felt dangerously frantic like a bomb about to explode. His eyes seemed to bulge out of his eyes, throbbing unbearably. Each breath was a gasp, an attempt to survive.

Relief filled him when the voice spoke once more.

“Who are you?”

“S-Shaden,” he coughed, feeling the pressure momentarily lifted.

“You have placed magic on my children. That is unacceptable. Do you seek war? Are you a spy? Peace must never be disrupted.”

“I—have no such plans,” Shaden growled. “I’m just here to study.”

“Under whom?”

“P—”

Shaden stopped himself. He couldn’t sell the Seines out.

“Speak.”

A thousand needles invaded Shaden’s mind. He wanted to die.

He remembered his feats at the Wall. He remembered the time he stopped the avalanche. He remembered flying across the land. He remembered the discomfort he’d felt at Fort Avagal—the stress, the oppression, the naive way he’d acted. He gritted his teeth, stretching the hole in his heart tenfold. A hundredfold.

A thousandfold.

He smashed his hand into the ground, getting up on one knee. His mana was continuously being pulled away from him, but he summoned more from deep within, so much that the siphon on his body wouldn’t be enough. It was a terrible amount. It felt as if his body would melt away, lost in the storm of power.

For the first time, the expression of the man changed. He lifted a finger and pointed it towards him.

Shaden let out a cry.

The man blinked. Before him, the boy that had been there just a moment ago had vanished without a trace. Had the boy teleported or blinked somewhere—which would be impossible as the room had layers and layers of barriers warding against magic—there would be traces of magic left. But the man found none as did the one looking through his eyes.

“If you don’t show yourself, you will die,” the man warned, getting up from his throne. Even with all of the mana Shaden was mustering, the voice still struck him like a block of ice. He shivered, frantically looking around for an exit.

There was none except the windows. The giant doors to the room were shut, and from a glance, he could tell that they were made of metal.

Before he could make up his mind, a wave of terror gripped him.

Though he was not looking at the man, his existence seemed to pulsate towards him, cells being torn apart by the second. His whole body shook from fear, wanting to die to ease himself of the terror.

Suddenly, the trembling was gone. He opened his eyes that he didn’t know he had shut.

He saw nothing but darkness. But by the soothing sensation that spread across his skin and skull, he knew that the shadow had saved him once more, shielding him from whatever was out there, from the unspeakable dread he had barely resisted.

Shaden wanted to cry. His mind was clear due to the endless mana surging through it, but the damage had already been done.

For the first time, he felt genuine fear.

He stood motionless where he was, afraid that the slightest movement would break the shadow’s protection and reveal his location. He stood there, hearing the blood thumping in his ears, sweat rolling down his back.

How had he been transported here? When he’d placed markers on the dragons, he’d thought he felt a jolt of mana surge from them onto him. He’d been overwhelmed by the man’s aura just after, but he was sure that the marker was the thing that had revealed him.

The man couldn’t find him now. It meant that his stealth magic was superior to whatever detection magic they had. It was strange because he’d had it active while marking the dragons. It had been canceled when he’d been overwhelmed by the magic in the room, but didn’t that mean—

Shaden’s eyes widened when his senses picked up something heading towards him.

His legs seemed to break when his body was pressed into the ground, bones creaking. The earth fractured below his feet. It took all he had to remain standing, and closing his eyes, he finally got a vision of his surroundings.

“There you are.”

Shaden jumped away just as something invisible crashed down where he’d stood like a hammer, making a circular crater in the floor.

“Strange.”

The man hadn’t detected him, but rather the irregular cracks on the ground. Shaden’s mind raced, making sense of the situation. The man—the King, he realized—couldn’t detect him but had managed to teleport him here somehow.

His link with the markers. He suspected that it had been hijacked and altered. The link was currently severed, but if he ever connected to it again, they would know where he was.

All of it made little sense. Magic was difficult. For the average person, such a thing would be impossible—

He turned to the King after positioning himself in the air, far away from the man as possible. This was no ordinary man. He’d messed with dragons.

It was likely a dragon who had control of the situation.

Shaden shivered. A Dragon. It was nowhere in sight, but he knew he was right. The King was a mortal. Only a dragon would be able to overpower him.

His initial fear of the unknown subsided a little, but remembering his position a few minutes before sent shivers down his spine. Even now, without the protection of the shadow, he would be at the mercy of the King.

He needed to escape. There were too many things he didn’t know. Now that he was in control of himself, he could think a little bit better.

“The strange presence I felt in the sky. That was you.”

The King had sat back down on his throne. His lips still didn’t move.

Shaden didn’t respond.

“You carry with you the Mark of Rathiash,” the voice continued. “It currently lies in Sol Ataria, in a room on the upper floors. A boy, his sister, and their father and mother reside there. Nothing escapes my sight.”

Shaden’s heart plummeted into the abyss.

“The room was provided by a certain noble in the countryside for his guests to use.”

The magic in the room subsided. Now was his chance to crash through the windows, grab his family, and escape.

He felt a shimmer. He willed the shadow to uncover his eyes.

Practol stood at the center of the throne room. The moment his eyes fell on the King, he fell on one knee and bowed his head.

“You submitted a report about a new student you had received, someone named Kitos,” the King said. “Who is he?”

“He is not someone who is—”

“Answer with the truth, and only the truth.”

The King was using much less aura than before, but to a man like Practol, it was enough to make him shake.

“His true name is Shaden,” Practol answered. “Our families are close acquaintances.”

“So you have told me. What exactly are they?”

“They—”

Practol paused. Shaden felt the intensity of aura increase.

“They are a family who will never be found,” Practol trembled. “They reside where a goddess is sealed, deep within the Forest of The Lost.”

“The Forest of the Lost, where once entered, cannot depart. But you are telling the truth. I have heard rumors…”

“My King, they are of no threat,” Practol begged. “Spare the boy and his family.”

The King closed his eyes. When he opened them, they glowed more brightly than before.

“The boy has touched my children with magic and has escaped from me this very day. Such a thing is unprecedented. He is dangerous.”

“My King, he would never bring you harm! It is out of curiosity that he has placed magic on your children—”

Practol shut his mouth again. The aura had intensified ever so slightly.

“Where does your loyalty lie? The crown, or this family you’ve kept hidden from me? I had allowed secrets before, but too many unknowns have made themselves known. Answer, Teacher of Disguises.”

“You, my King, and only you.”

Shaden had braced himself to snatch the man away and make a run for it, but when he heard Practol’s words, his heart dropped even further.

The King? Not Skotos? Not him or his grandfather?

“If the boy does not return, hang his family before the palace,” the King commanded. “You may deploy the Reaper Squadron.”

“Yes, my King,” Practol bowed.

The man vanished from the room, warped away by magic. The King leaned back on his chair, his glowing eyes staring into empty air.

“I know you are still within these walls,” the voice said. “Reveal yourself, or let your family die.”

The King’s lips had frozen again. The words being uttered by the presence that was not the King were brimming with power. Shaden knew that without the shadow, he would fall to the floor again, his body shaking uncontrollably.

But his family was in danger. Would he be able to get to them in time? Run away quickly enough? If he and Practol had been teleported there in an instant, couldn’t the King do the same with his family?

Shaden filled his body with power to the point he thought he would explode. He could feel every cell pulsating within him, every vessel and vein, every hair that rose on his skin. He willed the shadow to uncover him, making sure he was using enough power. The terrible magic was thick in the room, but he could bear it. It was a little more than a mild discomfort now.

He was strong. He knew that for sure.

Taking in a deep breath, he undid the layer of invisibility that covered his body. The King’s eyes immediately turned to him.

“I’m not—” Shaden began.

With the sound of a roaring gateway opening behind him, giant claws wrapped around Shaden in an instant, crushing his body in their indomitable grasp. He shouted, but the claws were too strong, too ancient, too powerful. His mana escaped him like air from a popped balloon, and with the sound of a few bones cracking—

His vision turned black.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

A surge of power nearby.

Garthan twisted his head to glance at the tallest building. His son had vanished in the direction where the surge had come from. He couldn’t feel his son due to his magic, but deep within, there was a whisper telling him that something was amiss.

Garthan was a soldier. He’d only learned the gift of hiding during his childhood, after which he spent most of his time on swordsmanship within the Swordsmanship Training Academy of Danark. His marriage with Melsei had torn him away from the battles he was used to, solidifying a peaceful life for him and his family. While he did train, it was not as fervently as before. The country was safe, and the quality of life was good. When Shaden had been selected to continue his family’s legacy, he’d prayed with all his heart that his son wouldn’t have to endure the cruelty he’d been raised in.

When he’d seen Shaden again after two years, he had only changed in the slightest. He hadn’t lost his cheer and smiles, his playfulness with his sister, or his innocent questions to him and his wife. He’d complained about the heat in the desert and the cold in the north, but none of them seemed to bother him much. He was a boy full of talent and power but did not flaunt or misuse it.

It was why Garthan hadn’t worried about Shaden very much. He worried for Rother more. His eldest son had found determination again, but he was alone now, within a land of foreigners. Shaden had always been fine by himself, even as a baby. It had been strange at first, but now, he took it for granted.

So why was it that he felt dread fill his stomach?

“Shaden!” he yelled, his voice overpowering the buzz of the crowd. “Shaden, we’re going now!”

“Dear, there’s no need to be so loud!” Melsei complained.

“My ears hurt,” Melany agreed, her small hands on her ears.

“I’m sorry, dear. But I feel something strange.”

“Strange?”

Garthan frowned. His time at Skotos, the Swordsmanship Academy, his training under former Headmistress Wimilin, his various expeditions, his duties in various squadrons, ending with the Goblin Squad—had sharpened his intuition. It had undoubtedly dulled, but this feeling—he couldn’t forget it.

He held his wife and daughter firmly. A minute had passed—still no reply from Shaden.

“We’re going back,” Garthan said.

“Shaden isn’t here yet.”

“He knows the streets better than us. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

They waded through the crowd, but instead of heading back to Sol Atalia, Garthan instead led them to the orphanage that the Seines managed. Practol or his son would be there at this time.

Shaden still hadn’t found them when they reached the building. The children were gone, likely out to see the procession.

“Sir! What brings you here?”

It was Shpiel who greeted them with a bundle of papers in his hands. “I was just organizing our plans. Is the procession over?”

“Yes,” Garthan nodded. “Is it fine if my wife and daughter stay here for a while?”

“Why yes, of course.”

Garthan led his family first to some chairs before moving aside with Shpiel to discuss with him. His family didn’t need to know. In the end, it could have been his imagination.

“Could you look after my family for the time being?” Garthan asked Shpiel.

“It would be my pleasure. What seems to be the matter?”

“Shaden has vanished.”

“Why, he vanishes all the time.”

“Yes. But something feels different. I will go look for him.”

Shpiel seemed to get the idea. “Your family will be safe here,” he promised.

Garthan nodded. Just as he was about to head out of the door, he felt the same feeling—this time, beyond the door. He turned around just as Practol emerged from the door, his face as pale as snow. Their eyes met, and suddenly—the man looked fine.

“Why, a merry surprise to find you here,” Practol smiled. “What brings you to the orphanage?”

“My son has vanished,” Garthan said quickly. “I would like my family to be safe while I go search for him.”

“Your family, they are here?”

“Yes.”

Practol nodded. “There is no need to worry. I’m sure the young heir is having his fill of fun at the procession.”

“I felt something dangerous,” Garthan scowled. “I felt it again just before you appeared.”

“Did you?”

“Father was simply summoned by the King,” Shpiel said cheerfully. “It has been a while since it has happened.”

Summoned?

Realization struck his head.

“Was my son summoned by the King?” Garthan said.

“Perhaps he has met the princesses,” Practol replied. “They may have invited him into the carriage out of curiosity. The magic you felt should be that of dragons. But I doubt anything could harm that boy. He is a genius among geniuses!”

Dragon magic. It was the first time he’d felt it. That would explain the unnatural feeling.

“My son is stronger than I am,” Garthan agreed, relaxing slightly. “He would be able to escape should danger come to him. But why would the princesses invite him?”

“He is powerful. He would attract anyone’s eyes. If you are still worried, allow me to send a message to the offices, and they will look for him. It would be much quicker that way.”

“Could you? I would be grateful, but perhaps it’s too much of a bother.”

Practol waved his hand. “Of course not. He is under our care as well. Shpiel, prepare the messenger bird. For urgent matters. Until then, would you join me for some tea?”

Garthan glanced back at the door. The feeling had subsided.

“My wife and daughters would love some tea,” he nodded.

The man led them towards a table and prepared some tea while Garthan and his family made themselves comfortable. The sun was gentle, and the smell of sweet leaves was pleasing. Cookies were brought out as well.

“Father—”

“My son, go get the small lady something to play with,” Practol said, artfully pouring a cup of steaming tea. “And some more sugar as well.”

Shpiel nodded with a smile. “Yes.”

Garthan looked down at his cup. Despite everything, something still felt off.

“On second thought, I think I will go,” he decided, getting up.

“Oh, there is no need,” Practol said, sipping on his cup.

Garthan felt a chill go down his spine.

When he stood up from his chair, knocking it backwards, he saw that his wife and daughter were held at knifepoint by two cloaked figures in white. They had appeared instantaneously, without a sound or movement. Even the air had been still. While his senses had dulled, he had still grown up in a family of hiders. If he hadn’t been able to sense these people before they’d appeared—

These two were dangerous.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his hands automatically bracing for combat. But the cloaked figures tightened their hands around Melsei and Melany, causing the little girl’s eyes to water.

He couldn’t risk his family.

“The moment you vanish will be the moment blood will be shed,” Practol informed, putting his cup down. “I am sorry for this. But the King has requested your family to be held, if only for the moment.”

“What did we do?” Garthan growled. Something clicked in his mind. “What did Shaden do?”

“Casting magic on the princesses and their kin is a grave crime,” Practol said, his face becoming darker. “I had believed that the boy had more common sense.”

“Did he attack them?”

“He marked them. I should have known when he marked me with that Nieut magic.”

“Shaden?” Melsei said worryingly. “Is he safe?”

“The King does not wish for his death,” Practol stated. “Not yet. He will be caught, one way or another.”

Garthan scowled. “You’re planning to use us as hostages.”

“I prefer the term, under supervision. I know you can use the gift of hiding. But your wife and daughter will be enough. I suggest that you stay with them without trying to escape.

Garthan glanced at the cloaked figures. He froze momentarily when he spotted the small emblem marked on their chests.

The Reaper Squadron. He’d heard tales of them. But to think that they’d come to capture a former soldier and two helpless people…

Shaden. They’d discovered his son’s potential. If the Reaper Squadron was notorious for one thing—

It was that they were the threat eliminators that served under the King. They were the invisible hands that controlled the country with death, the true tools that the King used to do his bidding all across the land. Each individual was a master of their art.

Garthan wasn’t sure if he’d be able to take on one, never mind two. What was certain was that his wife and daughter would be in danger.

“What do I do?” Garthan demanded. “But if you spill even a drop of blood, I will be sure to kill you all.”

Melany had begun crying, but Garthan remained steadfast. His eyes were cold, and a mist of deep red had begun emanating from his skin.

“You will be safe as long as you don’t run,” Practol promised. “But forgive me if I am fearful of your abilities. Only you will have to be restrained.”

Another figure appeared behind him with cuffs. Garthan let him restrain him. Immediately, he felt his mana being disturbed by interference from the handcuffs.

“Sealing shackles. Am I a criminal?”

“You are too dangerous. I must overestimate you. Now,”

Practol got up from his chair. Shpiel looked warily from him to Garthan to the cloaked figures, then finally to the mother and daughter who had been allowed to reunite after Garthan’s hands were bound. His eyes met Garthan’s—almost with an apologetic look.

Practol’s eyes had none of that. “Take us to the palace room of custody. It will be more hospitable than here.”

The man knew that Garthan wouldn't be able to vanish with the restraints on, so he was allowed to be hugged by his wife and children as one of the hooded figures took out a scroll and placed his hand on it. The individual activated the magic, and a glowing circle appeared beneath them.

Garthan knew about the Melernian Royalty. King Bern Selios and his children—they were all bonded to dragons. He also vaguely knew about the way things worked in the nation. Deep inside, it was a dictatorship of a thousand years and more. Not by the King, but by something much more ancient.

If such a being had its eyes on Shaden, there would be nothing he could do. His father had offered them a place at Skotos. Garthan had refused it—Melany deserved better.

But now, the rebukes his father had plagued him with during his childhood, the biting words that he had run from and had tried his best to forget rose before his eyes, gripping his heart with dread.

To be caught outside is death.

The circle below them shined brightly. The next second, only Shpiel remained in the room, who grabbed his head with both hands.

“Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no…”

He shook his head, praying that nothing dire would result from the situation.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

Where am I?

Shaden groaned, holding his hand over his eyes to shield the blinding streak of light. He weakly rolled to the side, putting his hands on the floor to steady himself. The bloody mess was gone from his body.

He felt frail. He felt like Demund. He felt like an ordinary human with no power whatsoever. All he could feel was a giant presence inside of his chest, absorbing any mana that seeped out from his body.

Something had been done to him.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness. He felt lightheaded. His body sagged as if he’d run a marathon and hadn’t gotten enough rest. It wasn’t pain, but rather an unexplainable weakness that made his whole body droop.

“So you’ve awoken.”

Shaden slowly turned his head to where the voice was coming from. The moment he laid eyes on the milky claw that was as tall as him, his body began to shake involuntarily, forcing him to avert his eyes to the ground. He instinctively knew that if he placed his eyes on the whole creature, the pressure would destroy him.

The first thought that came to his mind was not fear, but anger. Not a boiling, furious anger, but a deep, resentful sensation. Partly towards the being that had snared him, but also against himself. This wasn’t him. If he had to feel this frail as Shaden, there would be no point in living in the dream world.

“Kneel.”

The voice bent his body like clay, causing him to fall to the ground on his knees and hands. He grunted in pain but expressing his anger wouldn’t be a wise decision. His mind raced. There was always a way out of things.

“Shaden Limen. You were born and raised in Whitewater Village and moved to Danark at the age of two. Your family originates from a place called Skotos, hidden deep inside of the Forest of the Lost. Its specialty lies in stealth magic, and from long ago, had ties to the Seine family.”

Shaden could only stare at the floor, powerless. Practol had told everything.

“I’ve been told that you carry with you a mysterious power. Not stealth, but something else. Perhaps it is related to your vast mana pool, but…no. Before you left Whitewater Village, a strange incident was recorded by the Magic Awareness Bureau—an explosion by an unknown individual. Coincidentally, it was in the forest right behind where you lived.”

A low rumble shook the room. The dragon was moving, but Shaden could only look at the floor.

“Peculiar. You have also visited the Great Library before, seeing that you have Rathiash’s mark. A powerful and dangerous thing to have for a child. Why he allowed you to roam is a mystery, Then again, all he hungered for was knowledge.”

The dragon’s voice vibrated through every corner of Shaden’s body to the point where he didn’t know if it was his body or the voice that was causing him to tremble.

“I’ve been depleting your mana for hours,” the voice continued. Shaden could feel the air shift as the shadow caused by the presence above him grew clearer below him. “And yet, you show no signs of fatigue.”

I’m feeling terrible right now, thank you, Shaden thought. “Let me go,” he spoke, squeezing the words out.

“Never would I have imagined a mere human to possess more mana than I, but no—it is a link to the Spirit Realm. Yet I sense no connection. I pull and pull, but it shows no bottom. Alas, limitless mana is useless in the wrong hands. You would do well to serve me.”

“S-serve?” Shaden coughed. He could feel hot air blow down on him—the dragon’s breaths. It was terribly near him.

“Serve—or die. Rise, Shaden of Skotos.”

The pressure was released from his body, and he was able to look up.

Before him was a gargantuan head lined with silver scales, with eyes of lightning and teeth as white as snow, horns as prominent as mountain peaks in the winter. It brimmed with a powerful yet gentle glow. A deep reverberation echoed from its throat, threatening to explode into a roar that would wipe him from existence.

“Your answer,” the dragon spoke.

“Was putting detection magic on your children such an evil crime?” Shaden pleaded. “I only want peace.”

“Detection can be used for the cruelest of things. I have put marks on your family, and they too will die should you escape or die.”

“My—my family?”

“Your father, mother, and sister.”

Shaden’s body still trembled. He’d thought about mustering his strength again despite the great seal on his body, praying that quantity would overpower quality—but the news that his family was in danger sapped the last of his resilience away.

“Answer.”

“I—I will…”

It was supposed to be a carefree dream world. Shaden closed his eyes tightly. Perhaps…perhaps this was another opportunity to learn from a dragon. Yes, he could be optimistic about it, right?

Right?

He…had no other choice.

“I will serve,” Shaden managed to say.

“Good. Now, child, do not resist. Should you resist, your body will be entangled with chaotic magic, incapacitating your life.”

Shaden’s body was invaded with countless threads of power, pervading through every vein and artery, binding to his organs and even his heart. The initial seal slowly dispersed into the new, interrupting force, strengthening it. It felt as if his blood had been changed into oil—a perverse and uncomfortable feeling. The mana that was produced within his body no longer was directly under his control, but bound to the new system that had entered him, only being permitted under his control if the dragon willed it. And even now, his mana seeped out from him, though not as much as it had been before. He felt stronger and different—but weaker and unnatural.

“This is my blessing,” the dragon spoke to him, lifting its finger from Shaden’s forehead. “No longer will your vast mana be a danger to you.”

Shaden looked at his hands. He could circulate.

But the channels and paths felt drastically different. No longer were they free and surging wherever he directed, but his mana flowed at set intervals. The feeling was similar to getting his hair tied up into a thousand bundles. His hair would still shake when he shook his head but would be uncomfortable and restricted.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. This was no blessing.

It was a curse. He’d been downgraded. The worst part of it was the magic’s adaptability. It was already starting to feel like it was a part of his body, and his memory of feeling free and powerful was being replaced by a new one—which, at the moment, he knew was worse—but he knew he would forget it soon. The dragon’s magic was a powerful one. For normal people, it definitely would have been a blessing.

But with the talent and capacity he had, Shaden felt like he’d been shackled.

“Be thankful. Rejoice, for I have spared you,” the dragon growled. Shaden could tell that the dragon no longer looked upon him as a threat. It was only natural since now the dragon could take his life away whenever it wished.

It genuinely believed that it deserved gratitude. Shaden wanted to laugh. But he kept his emotions under control, fearing that the dragon might notice.

“Thank you for sparing my family,” Shaden said, getting up. “What will you do with us now?”

“I treat my subjects fairly,” the dragon said, retracting its head. Just the movement was enough to make the wind blow across the room. “You will remain in Melern under my watchful eye. Your family will enjoy the peace you wished for. As for you—”

The light in the room began to fade. “I will learn of your abilities. Your stealth magic will be of great use to the Kingdom.”

Shaden’s vision faded to black. When the light returned, he stood before a man seated behind a table, looking out of the window.

The man turned around after hearing him arrive. When their eyes met, Shaden couldn’t understand why the man looked so happy after seeing him.

“Shaden!” Practol exclaimed. “You’re alive! You—you look well!”

Shaden stared at the man.

Shaden didn’t know what to say.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

Demund opened his eyes.

The alarm hadn’t rung. The sun hadn’t risen, and the room was still dark. But he didn’t feel sleepy. He was disturbed.

He got up from his bed, almost forgetting to put on his prosthetic leg. But finding no strength to do so, he fell on the floor, turning on his back. He stared at the ceiling. He extended a hand before his eyes, wishing that the feeling wasn’t real.

He was shaking. He grabbed his hand with his other.

In a body that had little mana, the feeling of terror that the dragon had inflicted came rushing in. He still remembered the powerlessness, the hopelessness. Even as Shaden, there had been nothing he could do. He was away from all of it now, but now, his family was held hostage. His life was no longer his. His sensitivity to magic allowed him to feel the dragon’s presence always within his body, contaminating his mana and mind.

Think positively, think positively—

He had gone to bed straight after dinner. The reason why he’d awoken as Demund meant that his other body would sleep through the night, undisturbed. Or perhaps greatly disturbed, not wishing to wake up. But here he was, disturbed just the same as Demund—perhaps even more.

The dragon’s presence was overwhelming. Being on stage had felt much, much better.

But he was Demund now. The feeling was gone, and he was in control of his body. He gripped a fist, putting it on his chest.

And he took in a deep breath.

He’d made a lot of mistakes. This was by far the worst. His fun and relaxing life in the dream world was ruined as long as he was plagued by the dragon’s magic. But a mistake could become an opportunity. He’d always been excellent at learning magic as Shaden. While it was from a dragon, the magic was—he hoped—not absolute.

He’d find a way to break it.

But for now…

He wanted to rest and put his mind at peace.

He numbly looked at the unlit ceiling light. Black spots danced around the corners of his vision, and his eyes focused on specks that floated around.

He lay there for the longest time.

“......mana paths,” Demund muttered. The dragon had forced them on him, but perhaps he could learn from it. Maybe it was replicable. For his other self, it was bad, but for normal people, it would be a blessing.

He could try learning it himself.

It cheered him up a little. Demund sighed deeply.

He…didn’t want to keep losing. He couldn’t keep acting as he did. As long as he remained as he was, he would be taken advantage of, swayed by those around him. He needed to change.

He needed to be determined to change. But—but how? How did he have to act?

Would he even be able to escape from the dragon in the first place?

Demund crawled to his bed, setting his head back down on the pillow. His sleepiness was gone, but he needed to think.

Books. He’d read so many books before, but lately, his time had been spent on studying and teaching his friends. But reading was learning.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a graphic novel that Jothan had given him for his birthday long ago. It was something Jothan’s parents had prohibited him from reading, which was why he’d bought it as a present so that he could read it at Demund’s house. They’d agreed that while the main character was cool, there was no way they would be able to act like him and not go to jail in the process.

“Ha. Haha…”

Demund laughed.