“According to folklore, The extinct Illvari are descended from Fairies. It is believed that they were fairies who wished to involve themselves with affairs of the World and therefore exchanged their bodies of magic for ones of flesh and bone. from Nithenoel Wyndham’s Facts and Fiction, In the Mages’ Guild Almanac Issue 1, Year 1504 AC.

Arthur was in limbo; the state between wakefulness and oblivion. Flashes of agony seared into his nerves cavorting around his extremities before piercing through his core. His eyelids were sealed shut but his eyeballs felt like someone had just socked him with an elbow.

He was in a world of pain, yet all around him was nothing but darkness and silence. Beyond the precipice of his awareness, fragments and snippets of his forgotten memories lingered. Occasionally, they would resolve into scenes his subconscious tried to grasp before they scattered into the ether once more.

Arthur wanted to wake up. He wanted to be anywhere—anywhere but that unfathomless oblivion of darkness that felt claustrophobic, as if he was being squeezed into an egg. It felt worse than having a bout of sleep paralysis in the dark.

For a moment, his consciousness entertained perhaps he was no longer with the living. Maybe, just maybe, it was okay to let go and fade into oblivion. But then, his impersonator's declaration echoed and shook his soul.

[Heritage-Bloodline Awoken!]

[Conditions Met: Bloodline Heritage Class acquired!]

[Bloodline Heritage Class-Storm Dragon's Scion!]

[Skill-regeneration acquired!]

[Skill-Draconic Sight Acquired!]

[Skill-Aer Mastery Acquired!]

[Derivative Skill- Fulgur Mastery acquired!]

[Synergy Met: Skill Consolidation Successful!]

[Skill-Thunder Bolt Acquired!]

[Skill- Gust Shield Acquired!]

…

……

[Enchanter Level 10!]

[Mage Level 15!]

[Synergy Met: Unique Class Consolidation Successful]

[New Class-Magitech Aercrafter!]

[Magitech Aercrafter Level 13!]

[Skill-Diagnostics Acquired!]

[Skill-Basic Repair Acquired!]

[Skill-Null Field Acquired!]

Silence reigned for a while longer. However, that intrusion, his own voice speaking to him in lieu of the World rekindled a spark of awareness in him. Arthur’s soul suddenly recalled its vessel of flesh and bone before his mind jolted to wakefulness.

Awareness hit him like a bucket of cold water as he gasped. His eyes snapped open—the action caused pain to lance through his optic nerves.

“Ugh! Who turned the brightness to eleven?” he croaked

“Hmm?” the voice murmured, “ Ah, you’ll live. A little light never hurt anybody.”

“Fuck!” he rasped as he squinted through the gaps in his fingers. His vision gradually resolved to clarity, clearer than it was supposed to be. Though Arthur had 20/20 vision, he was sure that his eyes were not supposed to be so inhumanly perceptive.

The world looked as if someone had decided the previous colour palette was drab and decided to redo reality in a richer shade.

Motes and swirls of magic danced around the room, phasing through walls, the floor, and the ceiling. He grabbed hold of a sphere of turquoise light scintillating across his vision but it sank through his hand as if it were never there. It was then that he noticed the complexion of his right hand had abruptly grown pale; almost as pale as a certain draconic woman. He could swear his nails had turned into claws.

Arthur eyed his nurse with an expression that screamed, ‘What the hell happened to me?!’. There was a blue-green haze surrounding her body while her eyes were blazing like twin suns.

“Well, morn greetings to you. I hope you levelled up in [Suicidal Pyromaniac].”

“What did you do to me?!” he exclaimed as he pulled at the swathes of bandages that were wrapped around his body like a mummy.

“Ho, no gratitude? Not even thanks for pulling you back from the brink?”

“Oh,” realization hit him .” How bad was it?”

A scowl marred her features while her feline pupils flashed, eyes smouldering with unbridled fury.

“ You lost your arm, cracked some ribs, and broke some bones in your back. You also lost a lot of blood. Curse my middling ability with healing magic.” She pursed her lips and blew a stray lock of hair from her eyes, “Impetuous whelp!”

Arthur winced at the outburst and dug himself a deeper hole, “Er, why then are you angry?”

“Huh?” Aeskyre chuckled mirthlessly. “Your brain must’ve healed wrong,” she professed absentmindedly. In a blur of motion she was in front of him lifting him up from his sickbed with a one-handed grip.

“ Mayhap you should tell me why I am angry. Do I look angry to you?” She growled. Lightning wreathed her hands, barely contained from striking at his neck.

Eyes wide, Arthur’s breath hitched as he held still.

“Why?” he croaked. Her grip was sure, unwavering, even as she glared at him as though wanting to bore through his head.

“ I will not suffer your death because of your idiocy. You hear me?” She said, tone laced with a veiled threat. “ Perhaps someone needs reminding that they’re only alive because I allowed it. [Lost Worlder] or not, remember your place.”

Arthur’s mind whizzed through his recent memories, of all the times he’d interacted with her. Maybe he’d become too familiar because he had a dragon for a housemate. Maybe that was the reason she was angry at him. He was incautious and frivolous, and that would get him killed out there.

Aeskyre was well within her rights to chasten him for that goof up. There were things out there that he needed to be wary of, or else his Earthen common sense would be his undoing.

Arthur nodded profusely, as Aeskyre’s claws pressed tightly against his throat, enough to draw blood from his own not as resilient skin. Aeskyre must have intimated remorse because she sighed and then dropped him.

“Now eat your food. Your body needs it.” Aeskyre insisted with the austerity of a matron. She pointed to a bowl of unappetizing slop. “It’s wyvern meat, eat it and leave nothing behind—your body needs it.”

Arthur eyed the bowl and nodded in thanks as he picked himself up from the floor. He grabbed the bowl and gorged himself on the food. The taste was bland and gamy but Arthur realized that he'd been hungry.

“I also have to warn you that the changes your body has been subjected to are beyond cosmetic. You have been using one of them unknowingly,”

Arthur wiped off the rest of the pottage and looked up from the bowl. “Wha?”

Aeskyre continued unperturbed, “[Draconic Sight]—when you opened your eyes you recoiled as though someone had cast [Light Flare] in your face. That was you unconsciously using your skill to look directly at the mage lights. Your eyes might be sharper as a result. As your strength has also increased exponentially, you might want to avoid exerting yourself, lest you give yourself a sprain, or worse, break your bones. Drink lots of milk.”

“As you say, “Arthur acquiesced, putting away the bowl.

“I shall leave you to it—I’m going hunting. And no more of your maniacal experiments while I’m away!”

"Ma'am, yes ma’am.” Arthur piped as the draconic woman left. He still felt shaken from having his neck wrung and hoisted aloft like he barely weighed a thing. Aeskyre was terrifying when she wanted to be, and Arthur realized that he only had himself to blame for becoming complacent.

The youth shuddered, clenching his hands over the bedding so hard that he heard his knuckles crack. One of the nails on his right hand tore at the sheets; he grimaced at the grooming he had to do.

Arthur let himself lean against the bed. As he shut his eyes his only thought was, ‘I really did it’.

After a period of restful sleep, Arthur decided he’d had enough of it to pull an all-nighter. He'd been convalescent for close to five days after Aeskyre revived and tended to him. He picked up a clean change of clothes, a towel and his half-full showergel from his duffel bag.

Gingerly, he walked to the baths, wary of the ache from pulled muscles all over his body. Like a newborn, he toddled on, unused to his sudden growth spurt as well as strength.

A few minutes later, he was soaking in the bath, smaller but no less extravagant like an indoor Roman bath. For the first time, he let the twinges of exhaustion ebb with the warmth of the water.

As his mind wandered, he went through the skills and the new class he’d acquired. For ill or for good, the experience had tipped two of his classes towards consolidation. He lamented the loss of his levels and the fogginess of recalling some of his magic.

He tested his grip strength tenderly and found that his body was slowly adjusting to it. His biceps and triceps were taut and would fill out in time if he ate to replenish the lost mass. Even as he flexed them as he watched, it was unnerving to see the way they coiled under his skin like snakes poised to strike.

His right hand's muscles were more toned than his left, leaving him with a lopsided feeling of brawn. Whatever had transpired had not only patched it up but gone above and beyond to reinforce it.

To his sharper eyes, the skin on that side looked as though it was made up of tiny scales. Nonetheless, the phantom pains on his shoulder were all he needed to remember that he had lost that arm.

Swirling lines, like elaborate birthmarks in the shape of a Lichtenberg flower, were scored along the length of his arm. Unlike Aeskyre’s magical markings, Arthur’s were inert, and looked more like someone who’d survived being struck by lightning.

‘Haha, I’ve always wanted to get one of those, but needles make me squeamish,’ he mused.

Suddenly, his stomach felt emptier, as if he hadn’t eaten a few breaths ago. His metabolism had also hiked up; closer scrutiny of his physique revealed that his stomach had visibly deflated. Arthur had been happy with six pack abs that could be felt but not seen, but now he was decked with a sculptor’s wet dream.

Blowing the bangs away from his face, he noticed the silver highlights in his auburn hair, which ended up giving him the colour of the copper and mithril he’d been working on.

‘Great, maybe I should call myself Red the Mithril then, he chuckled internally.

’No shit! It’s a good alias for when I become an adventurer. With this kind of strength, I should ask Aeskyre to test my mettle,’

He winced as he massaged his neck where the draconic woman had held him up like a mewling kitten.

After his bath, Arthur did a bit of grooming. Before the incident, he’d been a bit greasy after skimping on baths, so a couple of things were in order; like removing the dirt beneath his claw-nails, for example.

It was with a lot of exertion that he clipped the dead things—they were stupidly hard. Then, with a silver dish as a mirror, he shaved his itchy stubble and trimmed his locks short.

The impromptu mirror reflected another change in his irises. Whenever he switched between his normal and draconic sight, specks of gold would be highlighted in his blue.

‘Looks like I inherited some of her heterochromia,’ he sighed. ‘Heh, despite the makeover! Let’s not do that again,'

While dressing, he found his clothes fit way too snugly like they were meant for someone of a smaller stature; the shirt stuck to the contours of his shoulders and chest. Even his stretchy sweats had ridden up all the way to his thighs.

‘Great, even my clothes wee bit smaller,’ he scowled. Pushing the issue to the back of his mind, he headed out for some dinner—he was so hungry he felt like eating a half a wyvern, and boy did he jinx it.

In the kitchen, Aeskyre was deboning the haunch of a wyvern. There was blood splattered on her cheeks and a manic grin was plastered on her face as she butchered the carcass, stripping off its wings with a cleaver the size of a claymore.

Its owner might have been one of the unfortunate souls who met their end when Aeskyre went to ‘stretch her wings’. With a flex of her magic, Aeskyre cleaned up the blood as she finished butchering the wyvern into pieces that could fit cooking utensils.

“Please tell me we’re not just about to boil that. Storm wyvern meat can be pretty gamey and oily if all you do is boil it.”

“What would you have me do? Hmm?”

’ Too proud to ask for help,’ he left that unsaid. Schooling his face he approached the woman, leery of the cleaver which might or might not have been someone's weapon.

“ Let me take over from here. Help me with the herbs and spices?” he asked hesitantly.

“Hmph!” She snorted. “Tell me what you need.”

Arthur took over the cooking as Aeskyre passed him that world’s version of citrus fruit, the cytran. It was a green tropical fruit with tinges of yellow. He mixed with it a variety of dry spices and vinegar to marinate it then let the wyvern meat soak in the flavour.

Using makeshift skewers, he added raw vegetables to make kebabs. At this stage of cooking, Arthur learnt to never trust a dragon’s advice on vegetables.

The end result was a rotisserie dish that brought tears to a dragon’s eyes; it provoked scandalous vocal reactions from her. There was also a bit of alcohol from Aeskyre’s previous errand poured to celebrate Arthur’s recovery and enliven the night.

The drink was a thick and spicy drink, the colour of lava. It tasted like someone had mixed cleaning spirits, tabasco sauce and fermented it in a cask of the strychnine tree. Yet he could not deny the buzz that accompanied a hot fire in his belly and the sides of his temples that made his eyes water.

Such was Dragonbreath liqueur, made from ingredients he wouldn't have thought of—mushrooms. Aeskyre went into a full-blown oration of its history. Where there was alcohol, loose lips were not far behind. Thus, the story behind Dragonbreath was told by an inebriated dragon woman to her audience of one,

“The rumours go like this; a dwarf who was prospecting for Pyrtherite crystals chanced upon a mother lode located in some forsaken cave. Unfortunately, the cave’s owner came back before he had mined what he could carry away, and you know the story about dwarves and minerals—”

“Don’t forget alcohol,” Arthur chipped in. The memory of their earlier altercation evaporated with drink.

“Yes, hic—and alcohol. I was just getting there—hic. Apparently, dwarves also add some mushrooms as an ingredient to ferment their alcohol. And you know, ember caps are a species that grows wherever Pyrtherite crystals are to be found—hic.”

“Mmh…go on... ”

“So, this old dwarf thinks the time to go to Eog’s hallowed halls has finally come. He had nothing but a pickaxe between him and his would-be attacker—hic. Also dwarves worship Eog as their god of the mountains, miners, and money. I digress, hic—Anyway, since this old dwarf thinks he’s going to die sooner rather than later—hic, he does the unthinkable—”

“And what would that be?” Arthur asked with rapt attention.

“The damn old goat mixed ember puff mushrooms into his brew—hic. And the results were explosive— He didn’t even get to taste it because it evaporated into fumes that even made the fire drake tear up—hic. Ha-ha-ha!”

“I’m guessing this certain dwarf survived?”

“Of course! We wouldn’t be having this wonderful drink otherwise—pour me another…”

Arthur poured her another while he sipped a watered down sample of the whisky. [Regeneration] was cleansing his blood and his liver kept metabolizing fast enough he was barely tipsy at the end of it. By the gods, it burned.

Even diluting the crimson liqueur did nothing but cause his crystal tumbler to steam. He was sure he could use it to clean some of his tools but he left that thought unspoken; the damn drink had to have cost an arm and a leg

With [Regeneration] he was assured that, if his liver cells died, well—regeneration was not something he could turn off because it was a passive skill. Just as well as he could not switch off his immune system. Though, even if he could, he wouldn’t.

Alcohol was just one of those things I didn't care for and the fact that he drank Dragonbreath liqueur watered down spoke volumes about its potency. And surprise of surprises, he found pointier canines while picking his teeth. He hoped that didn’t mean he’d start having a craving for meat.

“Great, I'm a Cullen now,”Arthur thought out loud. His teeth were not that sharp be classified as being fangs though.

“What’s a Cullen?” slurred a certain drunk.

“A vampire. You know, it has sharp fangs and drinks blood. Makes thralls?”

“Ha! Those night dwellers?”

“I’ll go ahead and assume they exist. This world does not surprise me anymore.”

“Mayhap they do, or used to. I don’t know—I haven’t heard incidents involving the blood suckers for a long time now,” Aeskyre replied as she eyed her empty crystal stein—she was already sobering up.

“ Their kin, the Dhampir half-bloods, are day-walkers. You might run into them if you look hard enough.”

“Oh? Why do you think they may no longer exist?”

“Before I was a hatchling—they fought against other races on the side of the Fiend. At the time, it was known as the Fiendish Wars,” She grimaced. “Those were dark times, and vampires loved nothing but darkness.”

He knew that he was due for another one of Aeskyre’s impromptu lectures. Arthur put down his crystal tumbler to listen.

“At the end of the decades-old war, almost all traces of vampires were eradicated along with the fiends. And that was only when the rest of the Erythrean races finally formed a war council. All that remains as a testament of war are the dhampirs and the tieflings, who are half-fiends and half other races. They are still treated with vitriol, often discriminated against because of their parentage.”

“That’s so sad. The retribution for the sins of the parents must not be visited upon their children,” Arthur spoke quietly.

“I would agree with you. Were it not for the Church of Thea, those two young races would have faded into oblivion, besieged on all sides by kith and kin who lost their loved ones to the war. The Church of Thea was impartial; it took in some of the half-blood children.

In the Fiendish wars, everything went to hell on a carriage—you can imagine the horrors visited upon helpless maidens who could not defend themselves. It was not their fault that they spawned the offspring of the enemies they loathed. In the end, many children and sympathetic mothers were cast away.”

“Uh, I didn’t mean to be such a downer.”

“Hmm,” Aeskyre grunted, tipping back her stein.

“Something on your mind, Arthur?” She asked, after having cleared the rest of the drink and wiping off the dribble with the back of her hand.

Arthur was hesitant to give voice to his thoughts, but he had to know for sure.

‘Here’s to hoping I won't get throttled twice in one night,’ he sucked in a deep breath, almost choking as a result of the heavy alcoholic fumes. Nonetheless, he caught himself and outed it.

“I just noticed you no longer have a preconception of what I am thinking about, nor do your words have a certain weight to them ”

“I never thought you’d ask.” Her eyes glinted dangerously. Arthur swallowed, preparing to duck out of the way as if that would do jack against Aeskyre’s strength. “ I would think that happened because I imprinted on you. You’re now more powerful, magically, physically, and mentally. I can’t read your surface thoughts like I did before, unless you let me in.”

“What do you mean, you imprinted on me? Isn’t that like—”

“ Imprinting is a mark of trust. In ages past, whence dragons took some of the hominid races as mates, imprinting was part of the bonding process. Like exchanging oaths... only with the World as a witness. Such bonds were made for life and rarely were they ever broken unless either partner died or worse... became an oath breaker.”

“Am I your—”Arthur scratched his neck in confusion.

“By Aeris, no!” She recoiled. Then she broke into a fitful of giggles that sounded sweetly unbecoming of her mien as Arthur had known her. Arthur felt…felt like he’d been put down a peg. He had an uneasy smile on his face and felt stupid for even asking the question.

Wiping off mirthful tears, she managed to slip in, “ Not in a millennium, Arthur.” Then, reining in her amusement, she added, “Imprinting was also used by dragons to pass on knowledge to their young ones when they came out of hatching. It was meant to give them a head start in the world. So I’d rather you call me mother,” winking as she said so.

Arthur sputtered. Alcohol went into the wrong pipe

‘It burns!’ His eyes watered. He flew to the enchanted water spigot and took mouthfuls of the precious liquid.

“Ahaha, you know me well. You should have seen your expression!” She chuckled. “Verily, I shall belabour the point. However—” said Aeskyre, amusement still on her lips.

She got up from her kitchen seat and picked up an unopened bottle.“This I’ll tell you; the bond can be what you want it to be.”

And she walked out, Arthur was still dousing his face with cold water to take the edge off the stinging alcohol.