A gentle mist. A soft touch of vapor.

Something whispered to him from the darkness, yet the voice was too dim to be heard. But he was content and at peace. There was nothing for him there, not even a single thought, but in the same way, his worries were gone and his pains relieved from him. The shadow was deep and no light shined on him, but there was no fear in his heart.

And from that deep darkness, he heard a sound. It was a strange and new sound that he’d never heard before, but it brought him joy—and with it, sadness. It was nostalgia. They were there together, but they had never met before. A stranger, yet the closest friend he’d ever had.

Demund opened his eyes.

“Crap!” he yelled, grabbing his head and sitting up on his bed.

The notes were already fading from his mind, replaced with a gaping hole where the memories had been. The inexplicable and mystifying feelings he had experienced were now light-years away, falling further into the void.

He’d forgotten it again.

Demund sighed, putting his forehead on his hand. The dream always came when he transitioned from the dream world to the waking one—the only dream he had as Demund. Now gone, only the faint feelings remained.

Why? Lately, he’d been dreaming more and more. This was his fourth or fifth, and something had triggered it. While he always forgot, he knew he was missing that certain feeling, that unexplainable sentiment that seeped into every corner of his mind and body—and he wanted to remember.

Darkness. He remembered the darkness. But many dreams were dark, and the deepest dreams had no color. He always dreamed deeply after he’d gotten his ability, so that was nothing special.

But he couldn’t dwell on it. He had things to do.

Hopping to the bathroom and grabbing the walls for support, he took off his clothes for a quick shower. Sitting down in the tub while the warm water fell on him was refreshing, and it helped him prepare for the day. He was already used to living with one leg, and time had numbed the anxiety so it was a little more than a tickle in the back of his mind.

Would he be able to dream again?

The thought melted away when he dried himself and put on his clothes. Heading downstairs, he found his parents eating breakfast.

“Good morning,” his mom said, getting up.

“Mom, it’s okay,” Demund assured.

She sat back down, and Demund went to sit down next to her. After muttering thanks, he began to eat.

“You’re up early, dad,” Demund said, munching on a slice of bread. “Are you going to work today?”

“Yes,” his dad replied. “And you? You could sleep in more.”

“I need to finish my project and study.”

“I thought you were finished with midterms. No hanging out with friends this weekend?”

“Nah. And well, I need to prepare for the future, right? We got new books, so I was thinking about reviewing them before break ended.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Not really, but I want to get perfect scores.”

His dad shook his head. “Ever since you’ve entered high school, you’ve been doing so well. And even during the break, you’re going on a school trip. I hope you aren’t pushing yourself too much.”

“I’m fine.”

His dad smiled. “Then, do what you want to do.”

It was easier to talk to his parents after trying to befriend strangers so much as Shaden. It was boring, but this was home. The place that seemed to remain permanently, the place he could always return to. He was going to move soon in the other world, after all. He’d have to readjust to everything again.

“Dad, you talk to a lot of strangers, right?” Demund asked. “How do you even befriend them?”

“You don’t have to. If you give them what they want, then things end simply.”

“How about your colleagues?”

“I’ve known them for years. But for new faces…hmm. They adjust soon enough.”

“What if you are the new face?”

“If I was, then I would try to do my best,” his dad answered. “It’s hard to ignore a hard worker.”

“So do your best?”

“That’s as simple as it can get.”

“What if you’re too good?” Demund asked. “So...like you’re the son of the president of the company, and you go in as an intern.”

“Still, no one dislikes hard workers, unless they’re jealous.”

“That happens?”

“More often than you’d think. It’s impossible to befriend everyone. You should choose the people you want to be close with and be kind to them instead of trying to look good to the ones who don’t like you.”

“I mean, everyone has a good side, right?”

It was his mom who spoke this time. “Yes. But you’ll hurt yourself in the process. Sometimes it’s best to avoid people who intend to harm you.”

“Life is complicated,” his dad said. “There are different types of people with different lives, and you can’t please them all. Are you worried about the people you’ll meet during your trip? Or is school—”

“It’s nothing like that,” Demund told them. Or maybe it was. He didn’t have that many friends in school.

As his father left the house, Demund thought. He’d worked his hardest to study and achieve all he could during his school life so far, and yet, the only people he’d managed to befriend were three. There was that Wane guy, but he’d been missing for quite a while now. The guy hadn’t returned to school yet, and the searching had ended quickly.

The two girls who’d helped him alongside Wane—Portia and Rory. He saw them around school sometimes, but they were both in the normal class. And in the normal class, he’d gotten somewhat of a good reputation for his excellent grades and winning the relay race against Enariss. Things had been fun there, and he’d talked to people about projects and homework more than now. They’d ask him as well.

In the special class—he did talk to people, but only during projects. That would be it. After it was done, no one would invite him to hang out; no one would ask him to eat lunch together. Maybe he shouldn’t have always eaten lunch with Riley and Rhyne all the time, because now he barely knew people.

It wasn’t necessarily a strange thing. But there was something strange going on—especially in the group Davis was in. It had been a while since Demund had visited the MMA Club, but he’d seen familiar faces watching him when he walked through the halls to get to class.

Davis. The guy had looked like he was being bullied. Demund hadn’t bothered to change it. He was too busy doing his own things. Besides, maybe he wasn’t. In this time and age? No way.

It couldn’t be worse than being attacked by a blazing firestorm by a crazy prince.

He had a project to polish and an instrument to learn.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

It was like any other normal day.

The sun was blazing down on the settlement as usual, and busy voices echoed throughout, mixed in with the bleats and moos and neighing of the animals. Normally he would have been doing the chores, watering the livestock, and cleaning their pens—but today was a special day.

“Are you really going so soon?” Keyga asked, looking more downcast than ever. “You still have a few weeks left.”

“I heard it takes more than a week to get there,” Shaden said, tightening the saddle on Grak.

“Indeed, it does,” Mayarrack nodded, and his cheetah-like beast next to him purred in agreement. “It is cold up there, even during the summer. You will face new difficulties, and you will have to adjust.”

“And meet my family,” Shaden smiled. “I’d like to visit them along the way.”

“Did you pack everything?” Eshel fussed, looking over his body. “Will Grak be able to carry everything? And Shaden, though you might have received permission to take the wyvern out of the country, you are still forbidden to breed them.”

“Yeah, I know.” It was a stupid law for Shaden—restricting the export of live wyverns outside of Nafar—but at least the Royalty had permitted him.

He looked over at Grak, who swished his tail. “He’ll manage,” Shaden said. He was light, and he wasn’t taking much except food. Water was unnecessary because he could create it with magic. He wished he had some kind of dimensional storage, but all he’d been able to do so far was creating vacuums that only served to make pop sounds in the air.

He finally got on the saddle and looked at the people saying goodbye. Everyone was there—The family head, his older sister (who’d been a sweetheart once he’d gotten to know her, though she made him eat too much), his three daughters—Shaya, Eshan, and Eshel, his two sons—Eshon and Keyga, all there to send him off. Teval was also there, as well as Neneh the horse caretaker, Peyah the shepherd, Zorah who cooked excellent pies, and other servants who he’d had the pleasure of talking to, even if it was only a little.

They’d already had a great celebration yesterday filled with goodbyes and storytelling. All there was left to do was to leave.

“I’ll be going now,” he smiled, holding onto the saddle handle. “I’ll see you again in a few years.”

“Time passes quickly when you’re busy,” Eshel said, crossing her arms. “Don’t try to be lazy up there. I heard the Nieuts are the strictest bunch. Maybe stop showing off too.”

“Hey, I didn’t show off that much.”

“You know, you were a jerk when all of us were shoveling dung and you stood in the back, watching us while your magic did everything for you.”

“In my defense, I did the most. Because I have skills.”

Eshel rolled her eyes.

“The cats will miss you,” Eshon sniffed, holding up Proody.

Shaden grinned. “I hope there are cats in the north too.”

“Will you send letters?” Keyga asked.

“He will be too busy,” Eshan said, holding her brother.

“But we will send you letters,” Shaya added.

Eshel sighed. “I heard it costs a few gold coins too—”

Mayarrack cleared his throat so that everyone stopped talking. Stepping forward, he placed something into Shaden’s hand.

“A final gift to remember us by,” he said, stepping back.

Shaden looked at his hand. He recognized this familiar yet different feeling—the sensation of mana dwelling inside of an inanimate object.

“A ring?” he observed, holding it up. It was very thin, and though colored like gold, was lighter, like a drop of sunlight had been mixed in. It seemed to glow as if it had been heated, but it was cool to the touch. Shaya flinched when she saw it.

“We couldn’t possibly be overshadowed by the Veurbois,” Mayarrack chuckled, tapping his staff. “Given your control over mana, you will be able to bend it to your will to fit your finger. It is a small gift, but it holds our sincerity.”

“Is this magical metal?” Shaden said, sliding into his finger. It was like the silver bracelet Eilae had given him, though this one felt...deeper. “I’ve heard that it’s very expensive.”

“Magical metal?” Eshel exclaimed. “Do you mean—wait, I thought it was illegal to use it!”

“But he’s not from Nafar, is he?” Mayarrack smiled. “He is not bound to this country’s customs. Now, go. We are making you wait too long.”

“Thank you,” Shaden said genuinely. “I’ll treasure it. Goodbye, everyone. I had a wonderful time here.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

They waved and yelled as the wyvern broke into a dash and flew into the air, their shouts filling the camp—and it made him smile. They were very loud, not to say pushy—especially the women. When he’d first arrived, he’d wondered when it would end.

Now that it had, he knew he was going to miss all of the shouting and yelling. He looked back one final time from the sky, and they were still waving.

“Goodbye, everyone. Goodbye, the heat and desert.”

Some hawks flew next to him for a few minutes, and he knew that they were bonded to Eshel and Keyga. When they swerved back to return to the camp, he knew that his time with the Jakhar Kishaks had come to an end.

He slid his hand over the surface of the ring. When he poured his mana into it, glowing lines appeared on its surface, and warmth surrounded his body.

“For the cold,” Shaden guessed. It was his first time receiving something enchanted. His dagger was arguably enchanted, though now it was a part of his body.

Shaden looked over at the endless desert that expanded over his vision. Though he had no map, he knew where to go.

The shadow was pulling his heart towards a certain direction, much like the dagger had done during his trial with Hairy the hair monster. The feeling increased as he drew nearer to his birthday—there was something conscious leading him on.

“You can feel it too, can you?” Shaden asked. Grak growled in response.

Shaden sighed. Flying was great, but the nausea was terrible. Wyverns weren’t meant for riding, because Grak’s body jerked up and down every time he flapped his wings. It was smooth when they were gliding, but the problem was gaining altitude.

After commanding Grak to spread his wings, Shaden summoned a gust of wind below the wyvern to send them up. Only when they were higher up in the sky was he able to relax.

It was boring to travel alone. Though he guessed he would reach his destination much faster than by horse, there was still much time to be endured.

He took out his flute and placed it on his lips. Lately, he’d been practicing without circulating to improve his muscle memory, and it had worked like a charm for the waking world. Though his fingers and lips as Demund weren’t as stable, with practice, he’d achieved playing all the songs he’d memorized. Months of daily practice, crystallized into his brain. While not a master, he was far from being a novice.

The only problem was that the type of flute that had been the most similar to his current one was never played in orchestras or bands, nor was there sheet music widely available for it. He was fortunate that the fingerings had been identical. Then again, he’d done his research before buying it.

It had been fairly expensive. He had his parents to thank for that. They’d been skeptical, asking if he was certain of his choice. They probably thought he’d bought it out of an impulse.

He smiled. He wondered what kind of faces they would make when he played a song from Nafar for them.

Maybe he would start a career as a musician if everything else failed in his life. If he copied music from Exarria and recreated them, he’d be hailed as a genius. And no one would be there to call him out for plagiarism.

Oh well. It was a fun thought, copying everything from this world to the other one. Stories, music, designs, art, everything.

But that wouldn’t feel genuine, would it? It would be used as a last resort. He didn’t want to live his life as a copycat.

So he practiced, letting the notes fill his mind as they soared across the sky.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

“There it is,” Shaden yawned, loosening his spell under the wyvern’s wings.

In the distance, a lone black tree stood in the middle of the sands and boulders, its white leaves swaying left and right—though not in the direction of the wind. Shaden felt the invisible tug grow stronger, beckoning him into the portal.

He shuddered—or was it because of the cold air? The tree had torn open to reveal an endless puddle of black even without his interference, almost as it was alive. Somehow, he recognized the darkness, as if he’d seen it somewhere before…

But of course. He’d seen it multiple times, as he’d been through it often. His shadow also had similar properties. If anything, it was convenient that the portal had opened up for him because now it was stretching apart wide enough to let the whole wyvern through. Shaden gripped on tightly to the handle of his saddle.

“We’re going through there, okay?” Shaden told Grak, who shook his head in response. With a screech, the wyvern swiftly glided down, straight towards the entrance of the tree portal. Shaden forced his eyes to remain open as they entered the nothingness.

The sensation of calm dampness rippled over his skin, but within seconds, the wyvern burst through the other side with him on it. It took him a second to realize where they were.

“Stoooop!” he screamed, but it was too late. Their momentum carried them forward, and the wyvern barely missed a pillar as it plummeted towards the exit, falling to the floor—its wing had been struck. They toppled on the floor and Shaden went rolling violently, his vision dark as he instinctively raised his hands to protect his face.

“Argh, ow!” he groaned, getting up from the floor. He yelped after his left leg buckled under his weight, causing him to fall on the floor again.

Uh-oh. Were his toes supposed to face that way? Shaden began to circulate and winced as his mana overcame his disjointed senses.

He groaned again. Gritting his teeth, he twisted his foot and applied healing magic. Immediately, relief overcame him, and he relaxed on the floor, panting.

The darkness of the building had made him panic. That hadn’t been wonderful at all.

Shaden quickly got up, remembering his wyvern who was still lying there. Unlike him, Grak didn’t seem to have any serious injuries—it was just his left wing that had been struck by the pillar. He was lying on the floor now, growling and gurgling in pain.

“Relax,” Shaden reassured, and the wyvern lay still. Putting out a hand, he applied healing magic, and soon enough, the wyvern’s wings were ready to go.

He looked around, approaching the only source of light in the ancient structure. The leaves of the black tree shimmered like fireflies at night, softly shifting like they had been touched by a breeze. Shaden walked up to it and placed his hand on its bark.

It didn’t respond.

“Why?” Shaden asked. “Why here? Where’s Skotos?”

No one replied. He tried to open the portal again by slicing down the bark with his shadow, but it quickly mended together, refusing to welcome him.

And the tug on his heart was towards the opposite direction, towards the exit and to the north. Something wished for him to go to the Nieuts right away, and that something was the dagger that now lived inside of him—an indispensable, indestructible tool that was impossible to remove and sometimes acted on its own.

He didn't feel any ill intent from it. It was...different. It was urging him to move forward.

“Why?”

Yet, it didn’t respond.

It was already nighttime. Hoping that things would change in the morning, he set up a small fire with some fallen branches he’d found outside and pulled the white wyvern cloak he’d received over his body. The temperature difference was apparent, and while he could manage somehow, he noticed that Grak’s heartbeat was slowing down rapidly.

The wyvern wasn’t dying, but the sudden shift in climate was making it pseudo-hibernate, causing its eyelids to droop. While Shaden increased the temperature around them, there was something inherent about the change that he couldn’t affect.

Well, it wasn’t something that circulation couldn’t fix. Besides, Grak had traveled all day with few breaks in between. Even with magical assistance, he was still bound to be tired.

The good news was that Grak seemed to be back in shape in the morning, fluttering his wings and tail in anticipation. The bad news was that the tree still didn’t respond to him, only urging him to continue north. Without a map or a guide, he knew he couldn’t backtrack.

He’d have to move forward.

When he emerged into the brilliant green, memories of traveling in the elven country swirled back into his mind. He almost seemed to recall the path he’d taken with Lytha and Eilae to the small village where they’d gotten their horse. It had been so long ago.

Come to think of it, he wondered what Ronar and Prem would be doing. Had Ronar been set free yet? Had Prem reached his mother with the cure?

Their lives had been unfortunate. But they’d brought it upon themselves.

To be exact, they’d lacked the ability to better their situation. And he, being Shaden, had been able to resolve every problem he’d had so far through sheer force and magic—and it didn’t make him feel any better. Had he not had his infinite source of mana, would he still have been treated the same way?

It was as if no one cared about the real him, but rather his power and bloodline. The Jakhar Kishaks had been kind. But wasn’t that because he was the heir?

What if he wasn’t? How then would he have been treated?

Shaden sighed. No; they had been generous to travelers as well. He was overthinking things.

But if he got another chance, he wondered what it would be like to be known by his character and not by his heritage and abilities. How different would it be? Would he be liked? Scorned?

“At least you like me as I am, right?” he said, touching Grak’s head. The wyvern blinked, then yawned, displaying its vicious set of pointy teeth. Shaden jerked his head back from the pungent smell of rotten breath.

“Thanks,” he muttered. What was he expecting? The wyvern was under his control. It had to like him.

They rose to the skies once more, leaving the deserted structure behind them in the thickets. Shaden took a deep breath in. It was different here. The mana was much denser, and wisps of magic blew around like it was normal. He didn’t know what kind of magic it was—it was less of a spell and more like random breezes of patterned mana. But there was magic in the land, living and blessing its residents.

“It’s so green!” he exclaimed.

After being in the barren desert for a year, the cool air of Yrmar was as refreshing as pouring mint down his lungs. At that moment, he knew his body was meant for the cold, not the heat. And he was happy because he knew that he wouldn’t sweat as much now—if not ever.

Grak didn’t enjoy it as much as he did but continued. While they glided above the trees, Shaden helped his wyvern circulate, teaching it to conserve its energy with each flap—though it was mostly learning by itself. Grak still had a long path ahead of him before he would be able to become legendary.

Shaden liked the sound of that. If his wyvern became powerful, it would be intimidating to his enemies, not to say cool. It made him smile to think about how the people up north would react once he descended upon them on his steed.

The feeling continued to tug at him, and he headed north, continuing for hours—for days. Many times he would play the flute, and he’d assist Grak by casting healing magic on him when he became too tired. He made sure not to push his wyvern too much; he knew its feelings.

He’d attempted to enter a village one time, but the elves had fired arrows towards them. Only when he’d waved his arms after landing and shouted at them to stop had they lowered their weapons. He’d spent the night there—outside—but only after he’d offered them some magic crystals he’d conjured. And they still hadn’t been very friendly.

He couldn’t tell. They were so quiet and composed, a little different from the elves he remembered. The elves in the cities had been more expressive, but these elves who lived in the wilderness were wary. Shaden guessed that the only reason why they’d let him stay in the first place was that he’d been able to speak their language.

Then again, they had given him provisions in the morning. Woven baskets with a marking that said For Stranger Boy had been placed by a tree near where they’d slept. He left a couple more crystals at the spot before he left, though no one came out to wave goodbye.

Yep, he was missing the desert people already. Was it strange that the people who lived in harsher conditions showed greater kindness? Or was it just the culture of the elves in that village to act coldly to outsiders—namely, humans?

He wouldn’t know unless he talked with them, which he didn’t. He simply continued to head north, hunting wild game and picking berries along the way for food. Grak was useless when hunting because he would be hesitant to go after prey that it wasn’t used to eating.

“You’ve eaten everything I’ve given you,” Shaden complained. “Why not hunt by yourself?”

“Grrrak?” replied Grak.

Only through intense suggestions could he finally manage to get the beast to kill something, and only kill, not eat. Shaden rolled his eyes when the wyvern ate the chunks of meat he’d cut out for it, greedily swallowing the juicy slabs one by one.

“Seriously? They’re the same thing!” he complained, but the wyvern didn’t understand. Of course it wouldn’t. Or maybe it did, but it just liked its meal prepared and sanitized, not completely raw and full of parasites. Shaden couldn’t tell. He only knew that the beast was happy when he prepared the meal.

What Shaden did know was that though Grak could hunt prey by swerving through the trees, he wasn’t a fan of it. Trees weren’t something he was familiar with, even after over a week. So Shaden did most of the hunting in the end because that was the simplest.

The chill continued to build, and Shaden was glad that he had his wyvern leather cloak with him. And while Grak had none, Shaden maintained a warmth spell for his bond, allowing it to remain happy even in the dwindling temperatures. It was tiring casting it for hours and hours, but what choice did he have? While he could cast simple magic, he couldn’t create automatic ones yet. Those were learned in schools, and he hadn’t had the opportunity to attend one.

The Great Library had been something else. Had he known better, he would have tried to get his hands on more information, but he’d been so short-sighted. Oh, how that was backfiring on him. It wasn’t serious, but it was a pain to constantly make sure his wyvern wasn’t falling asleep.

Slowly but surely, they advanced north. One day, Shaden felt the dense magic fall away, and he knew that they’d crossed the border. The leaves weren’t as green anymore, becoming darker and pointier, and the grass was low, brown in some places. There were mountains on the horizon, covered in snow.

Snow. Ever since then, there wasn’t a day where he didn’t see it.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

“Hah. This...but we’re almost there,” Shaden urged.

Grak weakly flapped his wings, pushing them forward in the gentle snowfall.

The land had flattened, and with it, the vegetation and animals had become sparse. Shaden had made sure to pack plenty of meat before heading deeper north, but after they’d run out, small critters were proving to be difficult for the wyvern. It had only been two days, but the wyvern’s extraordinary metabolism was proving to be poison to it now.

Healing magic didn’t fill the stomach.

“Come on, if you circulate well enough, you won’t feel hungry,” Shaden said. Grak shook his body.

“That’s it. Should we rest?”

Grak snorted. Not yet. He could still go on.

“Spread your wings out.”

Once more, Shaden pushed against the wyvern’s wings. He hadn’t wanted to because it would make Grak sleepier, but they were close to their destination. He could feel it. The snow was making it hard to see, and the fact that the sky lost its light much more quickly didn’t help—but he could feel it.

The snow melted before it reached them. While Shaden didn’t like being wet, it was better than snow. He applied more heat around them, and Grak gurgled in satisfaction.

“Don’t fall asleep, or we’ll both fall,” Shaden told the wyvern.

“Grrrrrrrk,” it managed to say.

Shaden was tired of traveling. When he arrived, he vowed to himself that he would never travel again for a good few months, because he was sick of it. Without a proper road to follow, it was just grass, trees, rocks, grass, trees, rocks—now turned into bushes, rocks, dirt, moss, rocks, and random bushes.

But snow already? It was still summer. Then again, he’d heard some strange instances where snow had suddenly fallen in cities during the warmer months.

As expected of snow in the summer, it was soft, slow, and lazy, falling in clumps. Shaden wiped away another bead of moisture that had formed on his forehead. It was fortunate that his cloak was somewhat waterproof because he would have been drenched.

Though Grak wasn’t doing as well. The added weight was tiring him, and his eyelids drooped lower and lower, comforted by the warmth that Shaden was casting around them.

Shaden decided to let it doze as they glided through the air. He’d done it before. In an emergency, he could jolt the wyvern awake through their connection.

Oh well.

He leaned back on his saddle and looked at the sky. While out of place, the snow was beautiful. How long had it been since he’d seen falling snow?

Right. He’d seen it in the other world already. Still, there was something mystifying about feeling the snow around him while he flew through the sky on a wyvern.

He relaxed, closing his eyes. A short while later, he realized that the tug was pulling him in the other direction. They’d passed their destination.

The sky was already diminishing. But it would only take a few moments until they landed.

“Let’s go,” Shaden urged, and Grak positioned his wings so that they would turn around. Shaden smiled, seeing that the wyvern’s eyes were still closed.

“I’ll get you a warm meal once we arrive,” Shaden promised.

It was only a few minutes before he saw the castle-like structure rise behind a hill, surrounded by sparsely positioned trees. He knew that he’d finally arrived. Squinting, he saw some people on the top of the walls.

Some of them were pointing things at him.

Shaden squinted his eyes—he coud react to arrows.

Grak’s head exploded, the blood, brains, and chipped bone splattering on Shaden’s face.

“Ah—AH—”

Shaden circulated, but the second shot erupted before him, and his vision turned into darkness.