The Matriarch bowed her head, as did every single fairy dragon. “You do not know this,” she said solemnly, “But the Winterbloom are the Elvish ladies and lords of old who created our species from magic and the essence of this Realm itself. The strongest of the four bloodlines…technically, this place belongs to you. You might be a distant, far-off relative of the bloodline…but we are your servants. Quite literally, made to serve.”
Tristan felt his heart skip a few beats and his breath caught in his lungs. “What?”
“It is our honor to welcome you home, my lord. I knew I smelled the bloodline within you, but it has been so long.”
“But…this isn’t my home. I came here so you could get me home.”
The Matriarch raised her head slightly but kept it under Tristan’s head level. “You are welcome to come and go as you please.” She moved her enormous, clawed front leg that was the size of an ox cart, and there were several rings upon the claws. “Take one.”
Tristan grabbed one of the rings and pulled it off. It shrunk in his palm down to his finger’s size, “What does it do?”
“This is a Fey Realm Ring. An item of artifice. Imbue it with your essence, and you will be able to open a portal here. It cannot be used more than once every twenty-four hours and takes an hour to activate from the Mortal Realm. If activated while here, you instantly travel away.”
“Thanks…why give me one?”
Felicity groaned, “Are you not listening, dummy? You are literal royalty here! The only way you could command more respect is if you were a woman. Not that I care too much, you’re still a dum-”
The Matriarch whipped her head around and admonished Felicity in a deep, terrifying growl that shook Tristan to the bone. “We do not call his bloodline dummy, daughter.” Felicity deflated a bit and grumbled, and The Matriarch turned back to Tristan. “You may come and go as you please by channeling essence into that ring.”
“Can you use them?”
“No. They are bound to Elvish blood.” The Matriarch smiled, “If you would indulge me, my lord, I would like to take you to where your ancestral arms and armor are located. They are yours to take if you can unlock them.”
“Come again? Unlock them?”
“Come with me, my lord.” The Matriarch stood and went into the tree. Tristan followed her, sheathing his sword as he took off his gauntlet, slipped the ring onto his finger, and watched as it resized to fit him. He wriggled his hand back into the gauntlet.
Items of artifice were not unknown to him; in fact his sword and armor were such items. Even without essence – which up until now, he did not have – they would operate at a fraction of their power.
Maybe with essence, my armor and sword have some effect I can activate that I couldn’t use before. I’ll have to experiment with that.
Looking down at the gauntlet again, he noticed that he had become a bit slimmer. He still felt strong – in fact, he felt stronger than ever before as he flexed muscles against taut skin. But he was wirier now. And I guess pushing out my Human side changed my body, too.
One would think that having their body changed against their will would be a shocking change…but Tristan felt good. Better than he ever had before. So the changes were not disconcerting.
The interior of the tree was a cavernous, hollow space. She led him down a spiraling ramp that led under the roots and into caverns below. Whereas the tree above looked like it was designed for fairy dragons with plentiful perches and nests of colorful feathers, down here the earthen walls and roots were formed and molded into pristine, high-quality tunnels.
“Before the Essence Surge when our Realm connected with the Prime Realm, the Elves lived here. Well, the Winterbloom, at least, lived here, at the Queen’s Wood. The lesser lineages of Springthaw, Summerbalm, and Fallthorn are all subservient in rank compared to you, and their homes within the Fey Realm are elsewhere.”
“Sorry. Prime Realm? I’ve never heard of that one.”
The Matriarch laughed, “Another time, perhaps. I do not wish to overburden you with new insights so soon. Unless, you demand otherwise.”
“No! I’m good with holding off for now,” Tristan replied. I am getting a lot of information all at once. Better to take it little by little to really understand it.
Being methodical was one of his most beneficial traits – something his grandfather had instilled in him from a young age. Always fully understand before committing to action, were the words passed down to Tristan and hammered into his mind. Plus, I can return here any time to learn more. Once I’ve digested all this information. And talked to mom. And grandfather.
“Come, we go to the vault.” She began leading the way and commented as she walked, “You are now a Lord of the Fey, and the de-facto ruler of this realm. The only way someone could overrule you in this Realm is if they were female, older, and Winterbloom.” She glanced back at him and smiled, “Since stepping foot in this Realm and being infused by its essence that has been gathering for so long – you’re effectively full-blooded. The racial traits of your Human heritage are being suppressed. That does mean you have inherited the restrictions of your superior Elven side.”
Tristan knew that certain heritages were restricted to certain spell types, but he had little clue about the specifics; except that Humans were the only heritage that had no such restriction on spell types.
Half-breed children, which were only possible between Humans and another heritage, could manifest physical traits of their parentage. But, when that happened, they would also inherit the restrictions inhibiting spell versatility.
Depending on the kingdom, half-breeds were welcomed but in other locales they were shunned. Half-breeds did not begin to show those physical traits until their late childhood. And often, those physical traits more than compensated for their lack of essence-weaving versatility. Especially since essence-weavers were somewhat rare.
Bloodlines were more common knowledge, and Tristan was well-versed in that lore. Every person had at least one, and sometimes two. Bloodlines enabled a person to bypass the restriction on their heritage for a single, specific spell type…if they had enough essence to use a spell in the first place.
Plus, bloodlines enabled the person with it to use Eleventh Order or higher Order spells; but only for that specific spell type. All the others were capped at Tenth Order. That meant a Human essence-weaver without any bloodline would be able to use any spell of the Tenth Order, but never above that. Some ancient rule of creation enforced that decree.
He recalled one of his mother’s lessons on essence-weaving, hoping that he had some knack for it like she did. Her calm, entrancing voice was always slightly muted by the artificed choker she wore.
“A Drakonid from the Elemental Realm of Light would normally be unable to use shadow elementalism, as their heritage does not allow for such spell use. But, if they were Half-Drakonid, and had a bloodline that gave access to shadow elementalism from their Human side, they could bypass their racial restriction on spell types to use that type, and use above Tenth Order spells. You, my little sapling, are going to be a great mage!”
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The memory brought warmth to his chest. His mother was the most important person in his life, save maybe for his grandfather. His grandfather, who passed on a prestigious bloodline through Fawkes – Tristan’s father – and down to him.
Tristan knew that his grandfather’s bloodline, the Dragonslayer, was wholly unique, with its own custom spell type created by the man that enabled them to siphon the power from those creatures when slain and eaten. No one else in the world except his grandfather, his father, and his half-siblings had it – or even had knowledge of it. The family’s best-kept secret. The dragonbane spell type.
He had no clue what Winterbloom gave him access to. Ice was a reasonable guess, but it could be something to do with plants with the ‘bloom’ part. I’ll need to ask about that when I have a chance, he thought.
And he had no real talent or capacity for essence-weaving, he never asked his mother what his Elven sides’ spell-type restrictions were. Something I should ask sooner rather than later since I have access to magic, now, he thought.
That thought filled him with a giddy sense of anticipation that far overshadowed any type of anxiety or uncertainty from his current predicament. The idea that he could be a user of essence-weaving, use spells, and the revelation of this new bloodline were all filling him up with a profound sense of wonder that eclipsed any worry.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, he saw he had fallen a little behind and The Matriarch had turned to wait patiently. Tristan followed, his mind stilling as he marveled at the architecture. The environment spoke to him, called to him, making him feel right at home. Something about the walls, the very roots of the trees, resonated in him. Called out to him.
He stopped once more, and The Matriarch waited patiently, as he took in a mural that was carved into the earthworks. It depicted what he assumed was the Great Exodus, as he saw an enormous group of people venturing through a portal on a hill. There were intricate details seemingly molded into the wood, and he found his fingers tracing the outline of a heavily armored individual holding some type of artifact as she led the group into the portal.
Once he had taken in his fill of staring at the mural, he looked at The Matriarch and gestured for her to proceed. As they continued down the long corridors, Tristan asked a question. “Felicity mentioned something about being able to use magic, essence, and essence crucibles. Can you fill me in a bit more on that? I never learned essence-weaving back home since I didn’t show any aptitude. I know the basics about spell types and bloodlines, and how spells are grouped into Orders.”
“Learning magic is something that you will have to do on your own, developing your abilities and your own repertoire,” The Matriarch replied. “However, there are tomes and books locked behind seals here that you may access once your essence is plentiful enough. And that is where essence crucibles and essence capacity come into play. Tell me, have you ever killed something?”
“…No.”
“When a creature dies you harvest some of their essence capacity and add it to your own. Generally, the larger the body, the more essence capacity you obtain from the kill. It is not the only way, though.”
She swished her long, serpentine tail and let it tap him on the center of the chest, “That is where your essence crucible is, partially real, partially ethereal, next to your heart. It is strong, and that is because you are the first Elf here in a long, long time. Think of yourself as a magnet for essence, and this entire world was iron filings. In fact, there was so much, that your essence crucible coalesced just by nature of being on this Realm – especially if you could not use magic before arriving.”
“So not everyone has one of these essence crucibles?”
The Matriarch shook her head, “You are either born with one, or must receive an infusion of essence from some other source – a potion to speed up essence regeneration, for instance. Again, you were a magnet once you stepped foot here. Your essence crucible formed almost instantly, and it has sucked up as much essence as possible. The excess has been put towards changing your body. Now, it is full up.”
She frowned before continuing, “Which is a problem – you cannot stay here for too long. I’d wager a day at the most before you begin to experience essence sickness. That is when you have your capacity overfilled. You could stay longer with a larger capacity essence crucible, or if you were constantly exerting it.”
“Why is my essence capacity so small?”
She scoffed, “Young Lord Tristan, you have much to learn. Your essence crucible may be small for now, but it is the rarest of the rare. As it is small, we should start you out at First Order and work our way up, letting your essence channels adjust to the increased flow.”
“How do I use it?” Tristan asked, feeling excitement well up in him.
“Again, you must practice, train, and learn from others,” The Matriarch replied. “Now, when you first use magic, your essence channels are carved into your body. Again, not really there, but not really gone - in the ethereal. The size of the essence channel increases as you use higher and higher Order spells. Only the initial opening causes pain. Tell me, did you experience pain when you spun your essence crucible?”
“No,” Tristan replied.
“Then you have yet to establish any essence channel. Which means the first time you surge your essence through your body, you will feel agony. But once that is done, you can slowly ramp up the Order of spells you use, and increase their width to accommodate those higher Order spells.”
“Felicity had me do something weird earlier. She said visualize a ball in my chest, and try to spin it. That made some silver light flow out. That wasn’t magic?”
The Matriarch chuckled, “No. That was spinning your crucible.”
“But what does that do?”
“Spinning your essence crucible is similar to exercise. It is a slow, gradual way to improve your essence capacity. A more passive way of cultivating the crucible’s potential; since not everyone is suited to slaying creatures.”
Felicity flew up from behind Tristan and landed on his shoulder, and he jumped slightly. “I just wanted to see you fail,” Felicity whispered, tauntingly. “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you don’t open up the vault.”
Tristan ignored her and just brushed her off her shoulder perch. The Matriarch led him to an enormous door made of stone; with swirls of a language he did not recognize. But as he focused, he saw the shapes reorganize themselves into letters he could read.
Kuningattaren holvi. (The Queen’s Vault).
“How come I can read that weird, squiggly language? I only know how to read the Standard Tongue.”
“You’re an Elf,” Felicity replied. “Elves know their language as well as they know their own body. You can read it because it is part of you. Duh. You’re lucky that we’re talking to you in Standard Tongue.”
Tristan smirked. “Tiedän muutakin kuin tavallisen kielen. Ja koska olen kuninkaallinen, teidän pitäisi osoittaa minulle enemmän kunnioitusta.” (I know more than just the standard tongue. And since I'm royalty, you should show me more respect).
He knew a few languages; more than most, due to his odd upbringing. Standard Tongue which is what most people on the Mortal Realm spoke, Dragon’s Tongue so he could determine what dragons were saying, Demon’s Tongue as that was the language of the court of Bhant due to the ruler’s lineage, and Elvish. He could read and write all of the languages save for Elvish – as his mother did not know how to read or write in the language; only speak it.
Felicity’s coloration went beet-red, and The Matriarch looked quite surprised, but still spoke in Standard Tongue. “You mentioned your mother. She taught you, I suppose? How to speak, but not to read?”
“Yeah,” Tristan said with a smirk, as he looked over at Felicity and projected his smugness as best as he could. “She wanted me to preserve her culture. She couldn’t write.”
“You will be able to write your heritage’s native tongue just as well as you can read it.” The Matriarch gestured to the door, “For now, place your hands upon the spiral and focus on pouring your essence into the structure. Envision a stream of water, or a current of air, flowing from your torso, down your arms, and into your hands.”
The Matriarch stood aside. “This must be done in one surge. You either have enough essence capacity to unlock the vault door or will need to wait until you develop further. And…you will experience pain throughout your body. The essence suffusing this realm will heal you rapidly; but you will notice some agony since this is your first time doing something equivalent to a spell – infusing essence into an artificed item.”
Tristan put his hands on the object and did as he was instructed. He felt a swirling tornado of energy in his chest. It surged through his whole body, and he gasped in pain, as if someone had just stuck tiny pins and needles into every part of him. But that was only the start of his agony.
He was rooted in place and he let out a scream as his arms felt like they were being ripped apart. Limb from limb. It was worse than when he had broken his leg and the bone had protruded. Worse than when his sister pushed him into an anthill on a visit to their countryside estate. It was not just piercing, cutting, or breaking – but every type of pain imaginable was inflicted upon him in a brief moment.
He saw a surge of silvery light flow from his hands and into the spiral, filling it up slowly, and the pain receded.