The night was oppressive, but Sebas didn’t sleep for long. His dreams were no longer just his own; they belonged to her now. When he closed his eyes, the inn’s modest walls dissolved into nothingness, replaced by the vast obsidian chamber of Tiameth. He felt the familiar warmth of molten gold beneath his feet, its liquid edges swirling with unspent power.
Her voice greeted him before her form did. “You survived. Good. But survival is not enough.”
Sebas turned, forcing himself to meet the burning gaze of the Dragon Queen. Her towering presence exuded heat and strength, a reminder of the chasm that still existed between them. She studied him, her molten eyes narrowing.
“You’re fragile,” she said, her tone sharp. “Too soft to bear my power in full. But I shall not have my chosen vessel break so easily. Tonight, I shall begin your reforging.”
Sebas opened his mouth to reply, but her gaze silenced him. The chamber seemed to tremble as she unfurled her wings, her voice growing louder. “You will not leave this place as you entered. Brace yourself.”
Suddenly, the air around him ignited. Flames rose from the floor, coiling around his body. The heat was overwhelming, but it didn’t burn. Instead, it seeped into him, suffusing his bones and muscles with searing energy. He cried out as his limbs grew heavy, his skin tingling with an alien sensation.
“You are weak,” Tiameth said, circling him. Her tail scraped the ground, molten sparks flying. “But even the weakest coal can become a flame under the right conditions. I will shape you into something worthy of my pact.”
Sebas felt his body shift under the pressure of the flames. Scales began to form along his forearms, dark as obsidian and glinting with streaks of crimson. His fingers stretched and narrowed, their tips hardening into claws that gleamed with an unnatural sharpness. Each moment of transformation brought a strange mix of pain and exhilaration.
“Your mortal armor is a crutch,” Tiameth declared. “From now on, your body itself will serve as your shield. These scales will grow as you do, harder than any steel. And these—” she gestured with a claw, and Sebas felt the sharp edges of his new talons scrape together, “—will be your weapons.”
Sebas clenched his fists, staring at his altered hands. His breath came in shallow gasps as he fought to adjust to the sensation. “I… I don’t feel like myself anymore.”
Tiameth’s laughter boomed through the chamber. “Good. Your old self was weak. What you feel now is my power remaking you. Accept it, or you will break.”
The flames around him dimmed, but his trial was far from over. Tiameth stepped closer, lowering her head until her massive snout was mere inches from him. “Your body is but one part of the equation. To wield my gifts, you must also understand the language of power. The ancient tongues of the dragons.”
Sebas blinked. “The ancient tongues?”
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“The language of fire and fury, of command and destruction,” Tiameth explained, her voice resonating with authority. “The words themselves are magic. To speak them is to bend reality to your will. Without them, you are nothing but a child playing with sparks.”
She extended a claw, pressing its tip against his forehead. Sebas felt a searing heat flood his mind, images and sounds flooding his consciousness. Words he didn’t recognize yet instinctively understood echoed in his thoughts, their syllables brimming with power.
“This knowledge is a gift,” Tiameth said, her tone softer now. “But beware. The tongues demand respect. Speak them carelessly, and they will consume you.”
Sebas nodded, his voice hoarse. “I understand.”
Tiameth’s eyes narrowed. “We shall see.”
---
Sebas awoke with a start, his chest heaving. The faint light of dawn crept through the inn’s shutters, but the heat of Tiameth’s chamber lingered on his skin. He sat up, instinctively looking at his hands. The scales were still there, shimmering faintly in the soft light. His claws retracted as he willed them to, a newfound sense of control settling over him.
His mind buzzed with the knowledge he’d gained in the dream. The ancient tongues felt heavy on his tongue, yet their power was undeniable. He whispered a single word, testing its strength. A tiny spark of flame appeared in the air before him, its heat warming his face. He clenched his fist, extinguishing it.
“This is real,” he murmured to himself. The transformation, the power, the connection to Tiameth—it was all real. And it was only the beginning.
Sebas rose from the bed, his movements deliberate. He no longer felt like the fragile boy who had left the orphanage. He was something else now, something stronger. Tiameth’s words echoed in his mind: *Continue to grow, or I will reclaim what I have given.*
---
The streets of the town were already bustling when Sebas emerged from the inn. The familiar sounds of merchants and adventurers greeted him, but he saw everything with new eyes. His heightened senses picked up details he’d never noticed before: the faint hum of magicules in the air, the subtle tension in a swordsman’s posture, the hidden glances exchanged between two cloaked figures in an alley.
Sebas headed for the Adventurers’ Guild. The looming building was a hive of activity, its main hall filled with adventurers poring over quest boards, exchanging tales, and bartering for supplies. Sebas made his way to a quieter corner, where he could test his newfound powers without drawing too much attention.
He raised his hand, focusing on the sigil that marked his pact with Tiameth. The energy responded instantly, a small flame flickering to life in his palm. But this time, he didn’t stop there. He whispered one of the ancient words he’d learned, and the flame grew, its color shifting to a brilliant blue.
“Impressive,” a familiar voice said. Sebas turned to see Marek leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed. The rogue’s dark eyes glinted with curiosity. “Seems our little fledgling is learning to spread his wings.”
Sebas extinguished the flame, his expression guarded. “What do you want, Marek?”
Marek smirked. “Just checking in. After all, it’s not every day you see a greenhorn suddenly grow scales and start speaking dragon tongues.”
Sebas’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been watching me.”
“Always,” Marek admitted. “And I’ll keep watching. You’re more interesting than most of the fools who pass through here.”
Sebas crossed his arms, his tone sharp. “I don’t need your approval.”
Marek chuckled. “Good. You’ll need that fire if you’re going to survive. Just remember, Sebas—power attracts attention. And not all of it will be as friendly as mine.”
With that, the rogue melted into the crowd, leaving Sebas to his thoughts. He clenched his fists, feeling the heat of Tiameth’s power simmer beneath his skin. Marek was right. This was only the beginning, and the path ahead would be fraught with challenges.
But Sebas was ready. He had to be.
---
As the day wore on, Sebas continued to practice, pushing himself to understand the limits of his new abilities. He experimented with the ancient tongues, each word unlocking new possibilities. He felt the weight of Tiameth’s power settling into him, a constant reminder of the pact he’d made.
By evening, he returned to the inn, his body exhausted but his spirit alight with determination. He knew what he needed to do: grow stronger, hone his skills, and prove himself worthy of the Dragon Queen’s gifts.
And so, with the first flickers of ambition burning in his heart, Sebas prepared for the next step in his journey. The world awaited his fire.