It should have been impossible for anyone to tell that my core was dormant. The sheer level of my innate power masked the telltale signs most wouldn't have noticed, even with a closer inspection. My vitality, my appearance, and the aura I radiated were all misleading indicators. To most, I seemed far too alive and vibrant for a dormant core.

But the truth was different. My core had once been active, forcibly awakened far too early during my time in the Crib. It had been started through what they called Dawning, the initiation of core starting puberty. I had been far too young, and my core was forced to activate before I was physically or emotionally ready. My captors didn't care about my long-term health, only about the mana and sex they could siphon from me. That forced activation had left deep scars, both physical and emotional, that never fully healed.

Maeriel had coaxed my core into dormancy as she rebuilt my body, a self-protective mechanism to preserve what remained of me. Dormancy suppressed my libido to nearly nothing and left me physically impotent. A small price to pay for peace of mind and, perhaps, survival. It shielded me from the women who surrounded me, many of whom would have eagerly taken advantage of my mana-rich potential if given the chance. But more importantly, it kept me safe from myself. Those old cravings, those lingering echoes of a warped past, still whispered at the edges of my mind. The temptation was always there: I could reach out, reignite the core, and awaken what lay dormant within me. But with that awakening would come the pain. The pain of memories, of control stolen from me, of vulnerability exposed.

Now, facing Medarda, no wonder she found out. She was a dragon, the apex predators of this world and undisputed masters of magic. If anyone could see beyond the carefully crafted facade, it would be her. I could feel her golden gaze boring into me, unrelenting and impossibly keen, as if she were peeling back the layers of my being to uncover my deepest secrets.

"Yes," I replied finally, my voice steady but guarded.

Medarda tilted her head, her golden horns catching the light, her expression unreadable. "Fascinating," she murmured, drawing out the word as though tasting it. Her gaze remained fixed on me, unblinking, waiting for more. An explanation, a confession, something. But I offered nothing. Silence stretched between us, a deliberate barrier I wasn't ready to let her cross.

She arched a delicate brow, the corner of her mouth quirking into what might have been amusement or perhaps mild frustration. "You're a man full of secrets, aren't you?" she said, her tone lighter now, though no less probing. "I wonder just how many layers there are to peel back."

I didn't respond, keeping my expression neutral. There was no point in giving her more ammunition, no matter how harmless her words seemed on the surface.

Medarda leaned back slightly, folding her arms across her scaled chest as she continued to study me. "Dormancy isn't a common condition, you know. It's not without its risks, particularly for someone with your level of mana. Most would see it as…unnatural." Her golden eyes flicked toward my face, sharp and assessing. "And yet, I sense it suits you. An intentional decision, perhaps?"

Her words cut deeper than I cared to admit, but I maintained my composure. "It's what I needed," I said simply, hoping the brevity would dissuade her from pressing further.

She smiled faintly, though there was something almost predatory in her expression. "What you needed," she echoed softly. "Interesting."

The way she said it made my skin crawl, as if she were filing the information away for later use. She didn't push further, but the weight of her curiosity lingered, heavy and unspoken. It was clear that Medarda was far from finished with me, and the thought sent a chill down my spine. For now, though, she let the matter drop, turning her attention back to the room at large with an air of practiced nonchalance.

Asah had drifted off in my lap, her breathing soft and even, the occasional gentle snore punctuating the otherwise quiet room. Every now and then, a contented thrumming sound—something between a purr and a hum—came from deep in her throat. My hand moved automatically, stroking her mane-like hair as if she were some oversized housecat. Despite the surreal absurdity of the situation, it was oddly calming.

Across from me, Medarda's gaze sharpened, something flickering in her golden eyes. Was it jealousy? Amusement? Envy? I couldn't tell, but the emotion was there, raw and unguarded, for just a moment before her expression smoothed into something unreadable. Whatever had passed through her mind seemed to solidify a decision.

"Tell me, John," Medarda began, her voice laced with an almost teasing curiosity, "how much do you know about Reflections?"

I blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "Uh… the basics, I guess," I admitted hesitantly, still absently petting Asah's hair. "A Reflection is a connection to a Primordial Spirit or a Great Spirit. A Nemean lionessin Asah's case, right?"

Medarda's lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yes, that's the standard explanation, the one taught to children and whispered in common lore. And, for most, that surface level knowledge is all they'll ever need. But, as with most things in this world, the truth is far more nuanced and complicated."

"How so?" I asked, curiosity creeping into my voice despite my weariness.

Medarda leaned forward slightly, her scaled hands resting gracefully on her lap, her golden eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. "Reflections are not merely connections, John. They are mergers, two beings intertwined at the deepest level. A Reflection isn't just a bond but a coexistence. Two distinct entities one a Kindred, the other a Spirit woven together into a single soul."

Her words sent a ripple of unease through me. I'd always thought of Reflections as external allies or companions, like familiars. But this? This was far more intimate than I'd imagined. "Two beings in one soul? Like identical twins?" I murmured, frowning slightly. "I didn't realize it went that deep."

"Few do," Medarda replied with a faint shrug, her tone matter-of-fact. "It's not something openly discussed, even among the Beastkin. You see, these two entities are not in perfect harmony. They are, by their nature, often at odds. One is Kindred, the thinking, reasoning, human like half. The other is the beas, instinct driven, primal, governed by the laws of nature." She paused, her gaze flicking down to Asah's slumbering form. "And in the case of the Beastkin, these two beings even share two physical forms. Only one can exist on the physical plane at a time, while the other resides in the spiritual, ever ready to be called upon."

I processed this, the weight of her explanation settling over me. "That's… a lot more complex than I thought," I admitted quietly.

Medarda nodded. "Indeed. And for a lioness like Asah, the beast within her carries its own imperatives urges and instincts that can be as unrelenting as they are ancient. Chief among them is the need to find a lion for her pride."

She said the last part pointedly, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she looked directly at me. The weight of her words sank in slowly, piece by piece, until I felt my throat tighten.

"Oh," I managed, the word coming out more like a croak than I intended.

Medarda's smile grew sharper, the glint in her eyes almost predatory. "Oh, indeed," she said smoothly. "Now consider this, John: you're likely the first man to ever truly stand up to her, let alone best her in any capacity. That alone would have piqued her instincts. Combine that with your… shall we say, unique scent intoxicating, even to me and your appearance, and you become irresistible. And let us not forget," she added with a wry chuckle, "the fact that she is currently high as a kite on a substance that amplifies her natural impulses."

I swallowed hard, glancing down at Asah. Her expression was one of utter contentment, her grip on me unyielding even in sleep. The bite she'd given me earlier sent a phantom tingle through my hand, a reminder of what Medarda had called her "mark."

"She marked me," I said aloud, more to myself than anyone else.

"Yes," Medarda confirmed, her tone turning almost clinical. "She did. A beastkin's claim is no small thing, John. It's more than just a declaration of affection or intent it's a binding act of spiritual and biological significance. And whether you like it or not, you are now a part of her pride in her mind even if I can remove the part of her spirt she has gifted you."

The room seemed to tilt slightly, the enormity of her words crashing over me like a wave. "But I didn't agree to—"

"It doesn't matter," Medarda interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. "The beast within her doesn't require your consent. It acts on instinct, and once the mark is made, the process begins. You will accept her claim when you pat her, and know you need to deal with the consequences."

"Consequences?" I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Medarda tilted her head, her gaze softening ever so slightly. "For her, rejection would mean heartbreak a wound to both her spirit and her mana core. For you? It means navigating the fallout of turning down a lioness who has already decided you're hers. Neither option is without its challenges, I assure you."

I leaned back slightly, feeling the weight of Asah against me as she stirred faintly in her sleep. My hand had stilled, but her soft purring continued, a sound that felt oddly soothing despite the storm brewing inside my mind.

"You have a decision to make, John," Medarda said quietly, her voice low and measured. "But I suggest you take your time. This isn't something to be rushed. I have stopped the process for the time being. Your dormant core was a complication I wasn't expecting, and I will need to investigate the matter to see how to extract her essence without harming you."

"Is it really my choice?" I asked, my voice quiet but laden with a bitterness that surprised even me. "How many times in this life have I truly been given a choice? Or is this just Fate intervening in my life again, pulling strings I didn't even know were there?"

Medarda's gaze softened, a flicker of something like sympathy crossing her golden eyes. She regarded me with an almost maternal intensity, though beneath that calm exterior was an undeniable current of restrained power. "It is your choice, John," she said gently, her voice a velvet caress that nevertheless held unshakable weight. "I am not capable of denying you anything you ask of me. But…" She paused, her tone shifting to something more measured. "I would advise you to consider this very carefully."

I frowned, my mind tangled in uncertainty. "And why is that?" I asked, my voice tinged with skepticism.

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"Asah has had a difficult life," Medarda began, her gaze briefly drifting down to the sleeping lioness curled in my lap. "The Zodiac Clans are not known for their softness. She has grown up under a mantle of expectations, traditions, and responsibilities that have shaped her into what you see today a fierce warrior, a proud champion, and, yes, a woman deeply in need of something she cannot name. You could give her that, John. You could show her a world outside of the confines of her clan's rigid structure. A glimpse of freedom, of balance."

"And what about me?" I countered, my voice sharpening. "What if I don't want to be anyone's savior or balm for their wounds? What if I'm tired of being dragged into other people's expectations?"

Medarda tilted her head, studying me as though weighing the very fabric of my soul. "I understand your weariness," she said, her voice low and understanding. "But there's more to this than just Asah. I think you will need her, John. Perhaps more than you realize. The days ahead will not be easy for you."

I narrowed my eyes, her cryptic tone sparking unease. "What do you mean by that?" I asked, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if debating how much to reveal. Finally, she exhaled softly. "John, have you noticed that powerful women seem increasingly drawn to you? That their interest in you isn't just casual or fleeting?"

The question made my breath hitch. My mind flashed to Taimi's shy but persistent attentions, to Adora's earnest declarations, and even to Asah's impulsive claim. "Yes," I admitted reluctantly. "How do you know that?"

A faint smile curved Medarda's lips, though it didn't reach her eyes. "It's not difficult to see," she replied. "You are a remarkable man, John. You may not see it in yourself, but women like us, women who hold power, whose magic is a key part of their being we see it. We're drawn to it, like moths to a flame."

Her words made my chest tighten. "Drawn to what, exactly?" I asked, my voice wary.

"To your potential," she said simply, leaning forward slightly. "Your core isn't even active, and yet your mana radiates with a quiet strength most men couldn't dream of. If your core were to awaken, John, you could grow to be the most powerful man alive. That kind of potential doesn't go unnoticed. And it doesn't go unclaimed."

Her words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy with implications. "Unclaimed?" I repeated, my stomach knotting.

"Yes," Medarda confirmed, her tone growing sharper. "Powerful women those who see what you could become will be drawn to you. Some, like Asah, will want to protect you. Others…" Her gaze darkened, and a flicker of something dangerous passed over her face. "Others will see you as a resource to be taken. By force, if necessary."

I swallowed hard, the weight of her warning settling like a stone in my chest. "You think someone will try to… what? Kidnap me? Use me?"

"Not think, John. Know," Medarda said bluntly. "It's only a matter of time. That is the other reason I asked everyone else to leave the room."

The sudden shift in her tone made my pulse quicken. "Why?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Medarda's golden eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. "Because every instinct in my being is urging me to take you myself, to make you part of my hoard, to protect and nourish you above all else" she said, her voice low and thrumming with restrained power. "To ensure that you are mine to serve, to claim you before anyone else does."

The air between us crackled with tension. I felt like prey under her piercing gaze, the weight of her words coiling around me like a net. Medarda leaned back slightly, giving me a moment to breathe, though her eyes never left mine.

"But I won't," she added softly, almost regretfully. "Not unless you ask me to. This is your choice, John. But understand if you don't choose someone to stand by your side, to shield you from what's coming, someone else will make that choice for you."

Her words hung in the air like a foreboding specter, casting a shadow over everything I thought I understood. For the first time in a long while, a deep vulnerability settled over me not just the kind that left me feeling exposed in body, but a profound, gnawing uncertainty about the enormity of my future and the forces converging upon it.

I forced myself to meet her golden gaze, my voice strained as I finally spoke. "You're one of the most powerful women in the world, aren't you? The wealthiest, too, by any measure. So why would you even need to ask me? Why not just… take me, like everyone else seems so eager to do?"

A shadow of something ancient flickered behind her eyes, equal parts sorrow and hunger. She tilted her head, her golden horns catching the soft glow of the room's remaining light, and her scaled tail curled lazily around the leg of the chair, the tip brushing against my calf. "Because I can't," she said simply, her voice carrying the weight of restraint. "Much like Asah, I, too, am tethered to my True Form. Though in my case, it is often the other way around. You see, John, I am a dragon. And people often forget this truth about us."

"Forget what?" I asked, my throat dry.

"That dragons," she said softly, her voice almost reverent, "are not naturally matriarchal. We have become so out of necessity, not design. The extinction of our males hurt us deeply wounded us in ways we could never heal from. Every dragoness, no matter how powerful or seemingly independent, harbors an instinct. A need." Her voice grew quieter, her words more deliberate. "We long for a Lord. Someone to serve. To provide for. To give our hoard. To claim us, to control us. A Dragon Lord to call Master."

Her gaze burned with a fire that seemed to pierce through my soul, and I felt a faint shiver crawl down my spine. Her tail moved more deliberately now, brushing against my leg in a way that made my pulse quicken with equal parts trepidation and intrigue.

"I'm not a dragon," I said firmly, though the words felt more like a question than a statement as they left my mouth. I tried to sound certain, but Medarda's expression told me my protest didn't hold much weight.

"That," she said, a predatory smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "is where you are only partially correct. You may not wear scales or bear horns, but there is more to you than you realize. The Crystal Dragon, had children, many of whom were human. By now the bloodlines have long since faded, diluted by countless generations, but every so often, a man awakens something deep within that dormant lineage. Something we dragons recognize immediately." Her voice lowered, the hunger in her tone unmistakable now. "To us, you are no ordinary man, John. You are a Dragon Lord."

The words struck me like a thunderclap, leaving me reeling. My instincts wanted to reject the notion outright, but a part of me a small, buried part felt an eerie resonance with her declaration. I tried to mask my unease. "You're saying that all this… attention I've been getting is because of some ancient bloodline?"

"Precisely, " Medarda said, leaning in slightly, her presence overwhelming. "All those stories you've heard, of feral dragonesses abducting young princes? They are no mere legends or propaganda. They are echoes of a truth we dragons have carried for ages. When a man like you appears, with power potent enough to awaken our instincts, we are powerless to resist. Your scent, your aura, the very air around you it sings to us. It calls to us in ways that words cannot capture.

Her gaze softened, though the intensity in her eyes remained. "We had believed that such potential had faded entirely. The Age of Revolution and Great Dying Wars destroyed many of the strong bloodlines. That there would never be another man who could invoke such a response in our kind. Yet here you are, standing before me, John. My Dragon Lord." She smiled then, a mixture of reverence and yearning crossing her face. "And I am here, ready and willing to serve you however you desire."

The room seemed to tilt as her words settled over me, heavy and unyielding. My mind raced, trying to process the implications of what she'd said. The raw devotion in her tone, the sheer intensity of her presence it was almost too much to bear. For a moment, I wasn't sure whether to feel flattered, terrified, or completely overwhelmed. The only thing I knew for certain was that my life had just become infinitely more complicated once again.

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Codex

Scene from Linkshow Mum's Army Season Four Episode Six.

Leslie (suddenly remembering something): Hey, where do the beastkin keep their clothes when they shift?

Riona (looking baffled): What?

Leslie (shrugging): I just never really thought about it, you know? But the other day, the Shield Captain shifted right in front of me in a dirty uniform. Then when she shifted back, she was wearing a clean one. And not even the same one. It's weird. Weird, I tell you.

Riona (snorts): And you're asking me? Fuck are you asking that for, Leslie? Like I've got a "Guide to Beastkin Fashion" hidden under my bunk?

Leslie: Well, you were a Scholastic before the war, weren't you?

Riona: Yes, but I studied plants, not spirit world mechanics. I could tell you how to brew a potent healing salve from swamp moss, but not how the Shield Captain keeps her breeches tidy through transformations.

Leslie (leaning in, eyes sparkling with mischief): So, you do think it's something to do with the spirit world?

Riona (throws up her hands): I guess? Maybe. I mean, sure, they might stash their clothing there along with their extra form. Do I look like the Spirit Realm expert?

Leslie (thoughtful): If that's the case, could they store other stuff in there, like a sword? A crossbow? Snacks? I mean, if you have a whole pocket dimension for pants, you might as well keep rations in there too.

Riona (rolling her eyes): Is this what you spend your guard shifts thinking about?

Leslie: Yes. Because it's mysterious. How do we defend ourselves properly if we don't understand it?

Riona: You could always ask the shield captain or heavens forbid read a book. I'm sure they'd be thrilled to give you a demonstration.

Leslie (shudders): She'd probably bite my head off. Or literally rearrange my skeleton with one glare.

(They both pause, imagining the scenario, then shudder together.)

Riona: So… that's a no, then?

Leslie (sheepish): Big no. If I value my neck, I better keep quiet. At least until I figure out some polite, scholarly way to ask.

Riona (raising an eyebrow): "Excuse me, Shield Captain, but might I inquire about the astral storage of your undergarments?" (She mimics a stiff, polite bow, then laughs.)

Leslie (snorts laughing): Exactly! That'd go so well. I'd be on latrine duty for the third month in a row.