“…there are many hypotheses about how the aerlands came to be. The first hypothesis is that they were originally part of the great seas separating our lands; the second is that they are the remnants of what remained after the great rent that scars Alkerdia; that is the Alkerdian rift sundered the North West from the South East. But I say that is preposterous; the most viable hypothesis is that they were originally part of Eryth’s fourth moon that toppled out of the heavens when the old gods fought and what remains of it are the aerlands that sojourn our skies…” –excerpt from a transcription of a public discourse by controversial [Geographical Researcher] Keanu Silvertongue.

She didn’t come for dinner that night. Before then, Arthur thought the food tasting better with other people was just a saying people used to encourage sharing, now he wasn't so sure.

The food tasted...bland. no, perhaps bland was too strong a word, subdued was more like it. The taste seemed muted.All the while, Arthur was locked in an endless iteration of the what ifs and the what could have been. There was no conclusion to it.

' Why do I feel sorry for her?' he mulled. 'Sure, everyone's got a sob story. No one's perfect...but why can't she just leave?'

The Keep was so quiet, no pitter patter of the draconic woman’s feet on the bare stone floors or her archaic diction to accompany conversation. Her speech and mannerisms were haughty, brash even. But, Arthur would've been the first to say that she was just bad at expressing herself.

Her conventions of things could not be applied to human standards, her punishment was brutal, rewards were rather offhanded, as if she was doing someone a favour. But it was the only way she knew how to interact with him.

Truth be told however, there were many times that Arthur saw his life flashing before his eyes. Like training, sometimes the woman never pulled her punches and by day’s end he'd be sore in more places than he could count on one hand

If Arthur could compare his association with the draconic woman to something, it would be that she was like a mother, stumbling over her parenting for the first time. Or a big sister, tough on him because she knew had to take it to get him accustomed to holding his own against the neighborhood bully.

That could surely explain why she was so heavy handed with him, expecting nothing short of being thorough with everything. Either that, or he was the one rationalizing everything she did.

Call it paranoia, but Aeskyre really put the fear of Eryth in him, just so he could take things seriously. She understood that for someone who's common sense was not of Eryth, she had to browbeat some of it into him until it stuck.

“Right, yeah…that's what a masochist would say, yeah?” Arthur spoke out loud. He looked over his shoulders as if half-expecting Aeskyre to drop out of thin air and pick on him for his utterances.

So despite his treatment, Arthur was grateful. Profusely so. Without her, he would have sunk into depression, given up before he saw what good things Eryth had to offer.

Without her, he would've been floundering around like a new-born, no direction at all. It was understandable, she knew through experience what that felt like, hence she was resolved that none of that would happen to him.

'Aeskyre really saved my life twice over huh? I owe her for real.'

Woe was he, what he would give to just have her silence as long as she was somewhere he could see her. Dejected, even a bit-of shuteye was almost elusive hence, he was left staring at the bed’s magical canopy until it lulled him into a restless sleep.

Arthur knew that if he led his mood spiral down any further, he would be caught in a rabbit-hole trapped with scenarios that would never come to pass. He’d already been there before.

Thus, he picked another evil, lesser compared to what melancholy. Workaholism. He put his nose to the grindstone, hoping to lose the heavy clouds hanging over his head.

Mornings, he trained with the sword, repeating swordsmanship katas beating them into his muscles like a smith tempering steel. If [Regeneration] could return control of an amputated arm to him how could ruptured muscles even compare?

High noon, if his arms didn’t seem like they could hold anything larger than a penknife from swinging the heavy hunk of a wooden sword, he would be in the study. He spared no quarter on what he considered pertinent to keeping his head on his shoulders both literally and figuratively.

There was no way he was going to get duped by wily merchants just because he didn’t know his coppers and bronzes. Or pay with his neck on the block because he unknowingly stepped on an important personage’s toes.

In a dog-eat-dog world, it was writ-large that you kept your wits and brawn about you or you were dead—there was no in between. At least if he was going to stand out for being partially ignorant he would rather be better than the next native from the boonies.

Contrarily, if he deemed his hands steady enough to do rune work, he would be in the workshop attending to his mana engine. It was his ticket to live on his own terms. A launch pad to enjoy one of his creature comforts; he was a man used to getting everywhere fast.

There was no way he’d regress to medieval-sque modes of transport like horse drawn carriages and aerships that bowed to the whims of the elements.

Not that he was going to be traveling in inclement weather but you couldn’t blame a man for trying. Less dependence on mana sails meant less risk of falling out of the skies when something so much did them in. And sails were just big targets. It was going to take some time to get something flight-worthy but it was a step in the right direction.

It could take months or years to scrounge up enough gold to get the material to build an aership from the ground up. However, the engine was already half of it; he could wait.

Maybe he would become an adventurer or something. Or if he deemed himself too chicken to jump headfirst into danger he could do something safe…like his enchanting for instance. There was no shortage of people using magic items right?

The most challenging part of all his preparations was plotting a route to the nearest town. There was no global positioning system in this world. Short of scrying spells to see where you were going you had to use known landmarks and read maps that did not zoom in or zoom out or point you in the right direction.

And compasses could always misbehave when you most needed them. Who knew what throwing mana into the mix could do to the planet’s magnetic poles? Did it even have poles in the first place? He didn’t know if it was a spheroid. For all he knew, it might have well been a dodecahedron because in Eryth, pigs might have grown wings and flown.

From Sturm’s Keep, the nearest settlement large enough to give him a semblance of modern civilization was Aldmoor and its dwarven outpost of a twin.

To get there, he would have to cross three biomes if he used the overland route; traversing a desert, then a mountain range and after that, a dense forest that could put the Amazon to shame.

Finally, he had to cross the rent on the ground that divided North west and South east Alkerd but that was a non-issue because then he would already be within eyeshot of the harbor. That was essentially the shortest route.

If he detoured around the forest that was the Great Vale, it would take him close to a month just to cross it. And that was assuming he didn’t get eaten or lose his way in a sea of trees.

The other option was traveling by air, following a series of aerlands that had steles serving as magical communication arrays. These were remnants of a bygone civilization that was as old if not older than the one that inhabited Sturm’s Keep.

He could use them as waypoints to rest and resupply and if he was lucky, he could hitch a ride on a passing aership. That said, it had its own share of peril if he were to run to a weyr of wyverns. Sure his spells and magic had grown, but he was only one man and if they managed to swarm him, he was done for.

‘Damn, I’ll have to make it up as I go . I could alternate between land and air if I can find a high enough elevation to launch and land. Otherwise I might be easy pickings for any winged beast large enough to swoop down on me from the skies…storm wyverns.’ Arthur shivered as he looked over a leather parchment map.

‘The desert is a no man’s land… inhabited by some groups of desert clans who control the oases, simply known as the Clans…no affiliation to any powers that people are aware of. Apart from that, the rest of the land is scrub and whatever passes for cactus in this world. Mmh, the bestiary doesn’t have much to go on about what kind of monsters I would expect to find out there. Save for sand wurms, there isn’t enough information to go on’ he thought as he referenced a bestiary.

‘So nowpe, traveling on the ground is a no go. I’ll just have to fly and plot my course to known oases; I wonder if my compass will work. If not I’ll just have to use the sun and a stick; it can't be that hard. I think I read somewhere that the Clans should be open to trading supplies and water if one does not show any outside signs of hostility.

‘‘Well then…onto supplies, I need a tent, will have to see about getting leather or water proof cloth and poles which I can get just fine.” He noted on a piece of paper. ” Next, don’t forget to bring the pens I am using right now, my experimental bags of holding…should still have some durability left on them.

Water is a given…food; wyvern steak, should hold out in my [Inventory] skill. Already tested that and time stops inside even for hot food; no energy loss but cannot absorb active spells.”

Staring off into the air as if looking at something unseen he added, ‘Mmh, I have about approximately 15 cubic metres of space. Should be enough, no need to pack anything, heh, that saves me the hassle. I’ll just throw in my bag and be done with it. Aaand I shouldn’t forget that seat I left back at the pond and the engine of course; that’s just about everything.

Several days later, Arthur had reached a level of preparation he deemed would suffice for roughing it out on the wilds. The only reason he had yet to depart was that the owner of the Keep had yet to return and he didn’t know if talking to her main body through the barrier would get his message across. So he waited.

Not long afterwards, one night, Arthur was having dinner by his lonesome at the kitchen when he heard echoing footsteps from the hallway. He looked up from his food as Aeskyre sat on the seat across from him.

“Aeskyre, I—”

“Here—” Aeskyre said, practically steamrolling him as she produced a nondescript leather knap-sack. However, Arthur’s mana sense told him it was anything but that.

“For me?” he pointed to himself. “What is it?”

She dipped her hand into the bag and drew out a black hooded robe. “Nightstalker wyvern cloak. Pass mana through it and it makes you hard to see; works like a ward that turns aside someone’s attention.” She demonstrated.

Thereafter, she drew out a smaller pouch, a two handed sword and a dagger that was made of black metal. The dagger’s wicked blade had a blue sheen when it caught the light. Seeing as Arthur was surprised she added, “What? You thought I was sending you out into the world defenseless?”

“Damn, I forgot about that. Force of habit from my world I guess,” he said as he accepted the pouch and weapons.

“Perhaps there may yet be time to beat more sense into you,” Aeskyre grinned, then the expression dropped off her face as she prompted him to open the pouch. Hesitantly, he unfastened the knot holding the mouth of the seemingly weightless bag closed and peered into its bottomless depths. “Another bag of holding?” he asked.

“It has limited space; only suitable as a coin pouch. There are enough gold crowns in there to let you live like a baron for a year…and no, before you ask I’m not taking it back. Be grateful and be done with it.”

“ The sword—,” she pointed to the Zweihander whose nondescript scabbard Arthur was inspecting. “Is made of unenchanted blue Mithril. It's versatile enough to deal even with the worst of undead. However, when you are ready you should have it enchanted by a high level [Enchanter Smith]. I would not have you die from being overconfident just because I gave you a very powerful weapon. Remember, the sword’s ability makes half the swordsman.”

“Wait, what?! Did you just say undead…” Arthur exclaimed, stupefied.

“Yes, I did. What of it?” Aeskyre snorted. She stared at him as if he’d missed the most obvious thing.

“Nothing…” Arthur sighed. “I guess undead do not belong in a bestiary because technically, they are…what are they again?”

“Find out. Moving on—the black dagger made of black adamantite is the most powerful item you will have on your person. It is [Rogue]’s weapon enchanted for durability and sharpness that grows with the amount of mana you channel into it regardless of what affinity it is. With your lightning magic, it'll make you dangerous enough someone would think twice about attacking. Since you have some skill with a small weapon, it should serve you well until your sword grows on you—”

“Make sure you don’t draw attention to your weapons as well; that’s what the run-of-the-mill scabbards are for. Featureless they may be, make no mistake, they are more durable than any armor I can give you. They have glamor spells to ensure no one tries to appraise them.”

‘ Damn, okay…when I said you were like a mother bumbling around with their first born—’

“There is armor?” Arthur enquired giving the knapsack another appraisal.

“Chainmail, bracers, knee guards and elbow guard, do what you want with them. And make a point of acquiring protection for your head; it’s already had enough trouble as it is.” she sneered.

“Ah—right. There is just so much in here.”

“That there is. What I just mentioned is just half of what I put in there. Like a practice sword for instance; make good use of it. As for the rest, you will have to figure out what they do, ” she grunted.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But I must ask you Arthur Tyrell…” Aeskyre’s face turned grave. Meeting his eyes, she leveled him an enquiring gaze. Arthur shifted in his seat.

“Are you ready to kill to defend yourself? To take another sapient life to preserve your own? Do you have the stomach to bloody your hands if you think someone stands between you and your goal or if you think someone you hold dear is being threatened? Will you wield your spell and blade for something you think is just? I am going to be the one to remind you that in the world out there—, “she pointed beyond the kitchen wall, where the light of waxing twin moons shone through a glass alcove window, “ are monsters worse than mindless beasts who wear the skin of men. So I ask again, Arthur Wyatt Tyrell, are you ready to have the blood of another sapient being on your hands?”

“Well, when you just drop that on me out of the blue—” Arthur responded, wringing his hands as he tried and failed to meet her eyes.

“You need not answer me. While you slumber, mayhap you shall find the answer,” she said as she stood up to go. Just as she had reached the door, she turned around, “Arthur…”

“Yes?”

“Nothing…” She paused contemplatively. It was so unlike her to be unsure of something. “May your night be restful and your dreams pleasant,” then she left.

‘What was that all about?’ Arthur thought, drawing the just under 2 metres long Zweihander from the scabbard. It caught the light of the moons shining from outside and glinted hues of blue, greens and magentas; his blurry visage was reflected on the blade.

Sighing, he returned the sword to its sheathe with a baldric to carry the cumbersome piece of magical metal over the shoulder and stowed it away into his magical [Inventory].

Testing the dagger, he passed his magic through it. It was like pushing oil through a straw. The dagger had not been used for a long time and so, the conduits were depleted of their magic. Then it gave, and invisible runes on the fuller lit it up in electric blue like a small lightsaber.

He yelped and dispelled his magic. The dagger clattered on the table. It felt hungry! He felt his mana veins ache after just a couple mere breaths of giving it his power. It was akin to sneezing a booger and blowing away a part of your brain with it!

However, it wasn’t a sentient weapon, else Aeskyre would have told him. Or would she? Gingerly, he sheathed it and attached it to his belt. Despite its peculiarity, the weight of the weapon was reassuring; it had had enough mana to once again rekindle its magic. A precipitous drop in the levels of his mana well but it was only a one time thing.

Nonetheless, it still needed to be said that even as he went to sleep, with the anticipation of a child on christmas eve, Aeskyre’s challenge left him unsettled. But that was a bridge he would have to cross when he came to it.

The following morning, Arthur was decked in traveling gear; his aviator jacket, safety goggles with dark cut crystals for lenses and a scarf to stave off the cold from his nose.

On top of everything, he had his Nightstalker’s cloak draped over his pack. It turned out, there was a limit to what size of magic storage you could put inside another.

Only his coin pouches went in; his knapsack refused. However, that was the least of his worries. There was nothing more he abhorred than drawstring fasteners; those belonged on loungewear…like sweatpants. Not traveling clothes!

‘Great no more zippers’ he thought, looking at the draw-string pair of khaki-like trousers. Aeskyre had given him that in lieu of his clothes which no longer fit him. Belonged to some long dead adventurer she said, as she saddled him with a wardrobe full of the things.

Arthur also wore chainmail under his shirt as well as knee and elbow guards. He felt confident that he could elbow or knee someone’s teeth in with them. He also had the dagger on his hip while the rest of his things were stowed away in [Inventory] including his duffle bag.

Carried within were also the yet to be named third iteration of his mana engine. He’d also retrieved the plane seat from the pond’s tiny island as a memento of his origin.

“I am of half a mind to put you in chains than risk you meeting with unforeseen peril,” Aeskyre opined, exhaling a cloud of mist in the morning air. Arthur noticed her brazenness was nowhere in sight.

The sun was just about cresting the horizon and the dew on the rocks had yet to dry. “Nevertheless, you are your own person and but again it would be remiss of me if I did not caution you. Wherever civilization is to be found Arthur Tyrell, I want you to keep your head down since I can’t protect you from here. Avoid attention if you can until you have the strength to warrant it.

“Haha, I’m no royal prince to keep caged up in a lonely keep,” Arthur chuckled nervously.

Aeskyre gave him an obtuse stare, “All that literature about dragons kidnapping helpless royals is in poor taste. What use is keeping a fragile trophy if it doesn’t appreciate with age?”

“I hate goodbyes. I didn’t even get a chance to tell the people I knew, before I found myself here,” Arthur began, with a forlorn look on his face. “But I remembered a little song that I used to hear when I was younger and I think it suits the moment. So, Aloha Oe from me to you. I wish I could sing it but I am afraid I’m no [Bard]…I doubt my voice would please you.”

“Many thanks Arthur Tyrell,” She smiled.The first straightforward smile that Arthur knew from her. It was so disarming the human got whiplash from the turnaround. Even the gratitude, it wasn't said as if the woman had wrung the words out of her throat of magic made flesh.

“I know what it means; love to you, welcome, farewell. And no, you do not need to sing it to me. That you intended to, already warms my bosom. Mayhap another time when we meet again because verily, I do not wish to bid thee farewell myself.” Then she paused, a far away look overtaking her expression for a breath before she turned back to him.

“ Be as it may, I shall leave you with my blessing.”

“ Erm, I don’t know what to say,” Arthur said. He switched his weight to his left foot. It was not the luggage, rather, he was feeling antsy as if sitting at a meeting whose adjournment had been drawn out too long. “ You’ve already done so much for me,” he added after a beat.

“ No. You might as well take this one and leave everything behind.” she said, brooking no argument of the fact. “How many names do you think an average Erythean human has Arthur Tyrell?”

“ Uhm...two?” Arthur hazarded a guess. He hadn’t noticed it but every time the dragon used his name, not out of fury. Well, how many times was that even? But, every time the draconic woman regard him, it was always with the first two names.

“I am pleased I didn't take in a complete slack-headed idiot,”

Arthur winced at the jab.

“ Your name is too conspicuous. Someone or someones might notice can scry you from afar. I know not how magic progresses out there,” she posited, looking towards the open mouth of the cave

The sky was clearing up. The sun was coming out; somehow it seemed even nature had waited for this moment. Like the moment a nestling made their first flight. “ [Identify] skills and its ilk can peel away the veil of your origins. However, some names are powerful depending on who bequeathed them.”

“ I—” Arthur started. His eyes went wide.

“ Kneel Arthur Tyrell son of Oreilly.”

Arthur clumsily shuffled to kneel, unencumbered by the gear. He stared at the dragon, dressed in a woman’s likeness. There was a presence to her, even more so than he’d ever felt all the time he’d been around her. There was solemnity in the air; it even bid him close his eyes… trusting in what the dragon was about to do. So he did.

He sensed it before he felt it. A thread of tension between Aeskyre’s manicured claw; beautiful and deadly. She touched his forehead and Arthur felt a shock go through him. Then came the words, a soliloquy woven from power itself, orated by nothing but a draconic tongue. He understood every single word of it.

“ Neath Aeris’ fair skies,

World, heed my entreaties,

All-mother, be my witness

On this morn, I , Aeskyre

Stormdragon,

Proclaim Arthur, Scion of Sturmdrache,

I acknowledge this bond,

As a progenitoress ,

A guardian

A patron

Go forth and Conquer

Arise, Arthur Sturmdrache”

And then, it was done. No fanfare, no flashes of great magic; just the feeling that time had resumed. Was that even a thing? But Arthur felt it, he felt surer, anchored. Like a tether knotted so tightly on terra firma that it would take naught but the worst of storms to shake him. And one good turn deserved another; how could he not?

“I…I want you to leave you with something,” Arthur suggested. He took out his smartphone…dead smartphone.

“Your artifact?” Aeskyre inquiringly furrowed her brow. There was nothing of her condescending scowl, almost like she’d mellowed out in the span of a few heartbeats. “Hmph, there’s naught but the tiniest sliver of gold in that thing ” She folded her arms under her bosom.

“Eh, not at all?”

“Then why?”

“ I think I’d rather you experience it yourself.”

“ Ho?”

“ Do you remember the way you duplicated my socks?”

“[Replicate] spell. However, Things that have been universally accepted as a form of currency or status like Gold or Mithril are not easily copied. And that goes doubly so for materials of magical nature. I think the World is being judicious in that aspect.”

“Can you at least try it? Maybe it might work because it is made of ordinary matter”

“Hmm, I will do as you say,” the woman acquiesced without further argument.

Aeskyre received the phone and motioned for Arthur to move a little ways off. Closing her eyes, she held out the phone in a closed fist and the other, palm-out. Pacing herself, she muttered, “Rᛖᛈᛚᛁᚲᚨᛏᛖ !”.

Her voice took on an otherworldly echo as her eyes lit up through her closed eyelids like miniature stars. Torrents of mana ripped out of the ground, out of the air and from the walls of the cave. Arthur had stepped back, shying away from the maelstroms of energy swirling in front of Aeskyre. Aeskyre’s face was scrunched in concentration.

The phone was complex, intricate, internals finely crafted in miniature such that it could rival a relic-class artifact. Grunting in effort, she tapped on the well of power from her main body.

Reality groaned and bucked at the density of mana being concentrated in a space as small as the palm of her hands, yet the laws of the World acquiesced to Aeskyre’s will.

An identical phone materialized out of thin air, copied atom for atom down to the corner of the screen spider-webbed by cracks and the rainbow effect of water damage.

Then it was done. Though her cheeks were flushed from overextending herself, her triumphant grin more than made up for it. There were two of Arthur’s phones on Eryth now.

“May I?” Arthur asked. Seeing it done in front of him was enchanting to say the least. Like gazing at the birth of a star in real-time. The amount of magic had to have been staggering to build a replica from the atomic level. Understandable; Arthur needed to know more about magic. Still bedazzled and blinking out the stars from his eyes, he received the gadgets, pocketing one. The other he held in his hand.

‘This has been a long time coming. Lets hope World Skills work on Earth technology.’

“Let’s hope this works—[Diagnostics]!” he activated the skill. In his mind’s eye, Arthur saw everything that was wrong and within the ability to fix, lay bare before him.

Instinctively, he knew that the skill would detect problems that prevented any inanimate objects of a certain complexity and,or parts from working as they are intended to.

“Did it work?” Aeskyre peered at him curiously when she noticed he’d zoned out.

“Huh? Oh yeah, of course.” Arthur replied, mulling over what he was about to do. He felt stupid for not having considered doing it earlier. But no, that wasn't it; it was the hesitation. Fear of the unknown.

“If [Basic Repair] does more than what I think it does… [Basic Repair]!”

There was a flash of light that appeared to shine from within the cracked screen before it mended itself at a speed visible to the naked eye, erasing the trapped moisture while at it. The gadget became good as new, the light faded, then the blank screen lit up. Arthur was all smiles while Aeskyre stared at it in fascination.

0%....12%....36%...72 %, the battery indicator blinked, becoming red, orange then at 90% it turned green. Of all the things, that was the easiest part. The hardest, as knowing that he was only one click away from getting back what he lost and yet, stubbornly keeping it off like that one appointment to the dentist he kept postponing.

Guarded against baring the content to himself, Arthur went the long way. He did a factory wipe straight out of the power up and when he was done, his palm was a phone that was as untouched as the day it rolled out the factory.

Even as Aeskyre watched on, face impassive as ever but no doubt curious against her simulacran facade, Arthur booted it up, scrolled past the welcome screen and skipped all the new user customization prompts.

Subtly, when he landed on the home screen he opened the camera app while Aeskyre furrowed her brow oblivious to his plans. Arthur flipped the main camera towards the woman and shamelessly shouted the catchall phrase for photo shoots. As so it was, that, the first digital image on Eryth came to be.