SAVE POINT 26

Loading...Magic Lesson Level...100%

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Rosabella

I should listen—no, I have to listen. Sparo is going to tell me how to do the magic to save The Game world but...well, it's hard to listen when your bones ache.

...When your mind is numb...

And your body, number.

When you feel like you might just fall over, sitting down. My arms tremble even from their rested position in my lap—a shiver that seems to run through my very blood like a nudge I can't control or help. What is wrong with me? What is happening to my body? Have I ever felt this...drained?

Depleted?

Empty?

Even while my mind whirls with thoughts?

My health bar is low; I remember seeing it. Fighting the Darken horde had been more than I could handle, but it shouldn't mean I am this incapacitated, should it?

I can barely sit up straight—barely open my eyes long enough to watch Sparo's face, still leaning close to me...nearly so close to me that his forehead touches mine.

He seems to sense my fight—how hard I'm struggling to focus on only his eyes. He puts a steadying hand on my shoulder, and I press into it. It's nice not to have to hold all the weight for just a minute.

"I'm not doing so good," I concede shakily to him.

He nods.

I can see in his face that he understands; his forehead creases with concern. "It's okay," he tells me, "Everything is going to be okay. I'm just going to tell you a story, alright?"

I blink sleepily at him, the world sliding in and out of the darkness behind my lids, as I try to stay awake. "Okay," I breathe.

And it's suddenly like I'm reduced to the shell of a little kid again listening to a bedtime story as I sit here, propped up by his hand.

...As the dragon-non-dragon begins to speak...

"In the beginning, there was only emptiness, only darkness," he tells me, his voice soft and husky, "but a great dragon reared its head out of this darkness. No one knows where this dragon came from—a different dimension, created from nothing—there are only speculations. But this first, grand beast was the original Game Maker for he made The Game, you understand?"

He speaks softly to me—the question hangs in mid-air like the quietest prod as he leans into my face, making sure I'm catching his words.

I nod. "The first Game Maker was a dragon," I rasp out, too aware that my voice is hollow and rough.

He nods, "Yes, but this was an extraordinary dragon with an exceptional amount of creator magic. This dragon created humans to populate the beautiful game world—we call them The Gamers. And these Gamers, at first, revered and loved the dragon for his care of them...but they soon became restless. Some were jealous that the grand dragon could create, while they could not. They wanted the creator magic for themselves. Legend has it that they rose up against the grand dragon—"

"Did they kill it?" I want to know, trying to steady my quaking fingertips by pressing my hands firmly together. The cool quiet of the forest seems to press in on me on all sides, even as I'm just perched there.

Sparo shakes his head, his lips create a firm line, "No, but they pissed him off. And you know how dragons are when they're pissed off..." One of his eyebrows snakes up in jest.

He tries to shove me playfully which makes me smile, but everything about me is weak at the moment. I have to use all my energy just to focus on what he's saying. "What happened?" I ask, now more intrigued.

Sparo snorts, readjusting himself on the log, "The grand dragon gave up trying to please everyone. And he learned that day that no matter what you create, it is best to create for yourself because you'll never make everyone happy. They say that's why dragons are a selfish breed—why we use our creator skills only for ourselves. ...Because of the lesson of the grand elder who started this whole world."

"That's a terrible lesson," I mutter, tracing the patterns of the green undergrowth near my feet with my tired eyes, "it sounds like it's every man for himself—"

"Every dragon," Sparo interrupts, winking. "But, because, we dragons are pretty smart. The grand dragon knew there'd be all-out chaos if he just handed out creator magic and let every human Gamer create whatever they wanted. The Game world would be broken and distorted. He didn't want the responsibility of creating something the humans wanted, but he didn't want the world to break in two...so he gifted the creator magic to two humans: the first two Game Makers, a young couple—a boy and a girl. And it was decreed that the first child of the couple would continue the Game Maker tradition. They'd have the ability to create and patch The Game world...almost a government of sorts—"

"And, now, I'm the last one left." I don't mean to, but I say it sourly. The words taste bitter on my tongue, and Sparo notices.

Before I've realized what's happened, he's grabbed my chin.

Gently.

His fingers barely brushing the skin there.

As he lifts my chin upward.

So that we're seeing eye to eye.

So that I can see the fire and respect brimming in his gaze.

"Yes, you, Rosabella, are the last Game Maker"—he almost whispers it in reverent awe—"You have been given this gift. You have the magic within you."

I batt his hand away.

Partially because I suddenly feel like I want to cry.

Partially because I'm too weak for this shit.

Partially because if I fell off this log and into a deep sleep, I would not complain at all—

"I didn't ask for this," I say quickly and with more emphasis that I intend, "I get that it's important, but I just want to fix The Game in some wild hope that it will make up for what happened to my parents and be done with things here."

The words gush out of me—rapid and blunt.

And I watch Sparo's face turn granite—I hadn't expected that. ...What does the man expect from me? That I am going to try to walk in my parents' enormous footprints? That I am here for something other than revenge?

Oh, God.

Am I here for revenge?

Or to set things straight?

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

...Why is all of this such a muddled mess in my mind when the motives are clearly polar opposites?

I swallow.

I try to take in a desperate breath of air, but barely find any.

"Are you going to show me the magic or not?" I whisper quickly, my eyes darting up to meet Sparo's.

And I watch his shoulders sink in a way that makes me want to forget I've even asked.

"Sure," he says, turning away, "I just thought..."

He doesn't finish the thought. Only a woodpecker in the distance does. And we sit on that log, that I've just realized is wet and is seeping into the seat of my pants, longer than I want to admit.

In silence.

"I'm trying to help," I say finally.

He smiles faintly at me—not even a trace of the brilliance I know he's capable of—as he slides to face me, his hands churning in his lap, "I just thought...that, if you're the last Game Maker...you might... Never mind, I'll show you about the magic."

Unexpectantly, he gets up from the log.

It feels empty, there, without him, and I'm not sure if it's because I've been leaning so heavily on him or if there's another reason.

"Wait—" I call out, my hand reaching after him.

He turns to look over his shoulder; his eyes are an unnerving, dull brown. "Well, I can't give you the 25 points of creator magic if I'm using it to be in this form," he tells me.

And it makes sense.

He's turning back into a dragon.

The breath whooshes out of me, as a wind begins to kick up through the trees.

I watch him close his eyes and cup his hands up towards the sky.

And there's red smoke.

Suddenly.

Filling the woods around me.

Stinging my eyes—

Biting into my pupils and nose—

"Sparo?" I call into it, coughing.

And, then, there's a giant snout there. Red scales and...

Teeth?

Rows of pointed fangs open only inches from my face. The dragon's nostrils flare above them, sending out puffs of black smoke which choke up my eyes and throat.

"Sparo, you're scaring me," I admit, my voice wobbling dangerously as I try to back away from the creature's jaw.

> Put your hand in my mouth.

I recoil from both him and his words echoing in my head.

"Look," I argue, sudden anger coiling in me, "I might be young and sometimes stupid, but I'm not dumb enough to—"

> You humans are infuriating!

He huffs.

> I saved your life! I made you a machine gun—a freaking grenade launcher! Would I have done all that only to just kill you now? Don't you....trust me?

The hurt desperation in his voice shocks me—makes me feel even more off balance than before...like I might just teeter right off this log—

"O—okay," I stammer, lifting my fingers closer to his glistening jaws.

But this doesn't seem right—

> It's an old tradition that the first grand dragon put into place. If a human can truly trust a dragon, he can place his fingers securely in its mouth. Only then, will they be able to combine their magic and create together—only if there is mutual trust and respect.

His words are warm, and a pleasant breeze blows past my exposed neck, ruffling my hair as he speaks in my mind.

> I'm going to show you how to use your magic. It's what you asked for.

I can't ignore the upset sting in the dragon's voice, but I also can't ignore the memory...

Tugging...

Yanking at my aching head...

> "Have you ever been in a dragon's mouth, Rosie?"—Goran's voice suddenly echoes in the recesses of my mind—"...But have you ever seen a dragon's mouth?"

> My giggling laugh.

> My kid laugh—filling my ears.

> Mocking ,e.

> Tormenting me suddenly.

Goran had told me about this? Ever since I was a child he'd—he'd prepped me to combine my magic with a dragon's?

...Why had he prepped me?

My brow creases in confusion.

> You okay?

Sparo asks. I can see him really looking at me—peering in worry.

And I'm suddenly more confused than ever.

I nod—maybe a lie—"I'm okay."

And I take a deep breath, rejecting all the cringe and uncertainty running through me.

And I place my tiny, white hand into the jaws of the red beast.

And warmth flows over me like warm, welcoming honey.

...That feeling of...

Home.

***Creator Magic Given, The Gift of a Dragon +25***

> You have all the creator points you need now to fix The Game.

Sparo's tightened voice speaks in my head.

> Close your eyes and let your mind do the work. You have to dive into yourself.

Dive into myself? What does that even mean?

But, as I close my eyes, and feel the jagged sharpness of Sparo's teeth under my fingertips, I, somehow, instinctually know.

Like I've practiced this before.

Like I've known the way all along.

My mind stills.

And, in that stillness, something stirs.

Swirls of color.

Vibrating.

Combining.

Vibrant blues and pinks and greens and purples—

And, as I squint, I recognize a keyhole in the center of the swirling magic...

And I look down and realize with amazement that my fingers curl around a solid, gold key.

...What?

> You are a creator. You were born all this time TO BE a creator. You can make this Game. You can patch it. You can make anything you wish—any world you want. It is all at your fingertips.

The thrum and rush of the dragon's words whisk me away for a moment—fill me.

With momentum.

And power.

So full I could burst.

I can create anything!

I can DO everything the Game Wardens said I could!

I am—

The world blurs.

The magic pulsates, but red this time on the edges of my vision. My health bar pops into view, vibrating:

Something is wrong—

Something—

I hear my heartbeat pound in my ears—

"Sparo?" I call desperately, feeling lost as my words echo around me in the abyss of swirling colors. "Sparo?!" My voice holds more fear the second round—

"Rosabella?!"

It's Callen's voice this time, coming from somewhere overhead, but I can't blink my eyes open—

"Sparo! Help me wake her!" Callen's voice sound frantic.

"I'm okay!" I shout frantically into the silence, "I'm right here! I'm okay!"

"She's dying," Callen yells, "Sparo, wake her! If she dies here, she dies altogether. —We're losing her, goddamn it, Sparo!"

It's obvious they can't hear me.

Is Callen right? Am I...dying??? My heart leaps in my chest.

> I didn't mean to—I didn't know it would affect her like that—

Sparo's desperate voice joins the mix in my head.

"Where's the nearest health pack?" Callen demands.

I hear the dragon pause in my mind.

> It's crazy—

"Right now, I'm kinda into crazy," Callen growls, "Let's get her there, now!"

And I feel myself slipping.

As someone picks me up.

And I finally slide into the quiet behind my eyelids.

At last.