HeTrOS Daily Transformation Report, August 28th, 2042:
Subject: 5cb531d4-3d90-48e7-9d63-72d8e29d78a7 (herein after “78a7”), aka Jason Davis.
Target Identity: Vaelith Dawnscale
Physical Adjustments:
Height: Decreased by seven inches.
Weight: Reduced by forty pounds.
Hair: Length increased by nine inches. Curliness decreased. Colour of already present hair transitioned to intermediate shade #7c6249. Recent growth showing target colour of #c0c0c0.
Muscle Mass: Significantly reduced, reshaping from stocky and broad to leaner proportions. Muscle fibres are realigning for agility and dexterity instead of strength. Upper body muscle mass is decreasing faster than lower body to support an upcoming balance shift.
Skin Colour: Reduced melatonin count, pigmentation changing to target pale hues of the target. Current shade: #e5be86.
Eye Colour: Adjusted slightly to a deep mulberry, intermediate between baseline and target. Current shade: #692e3c.
Eye Shape: Minor shift in eye shape. Increasing limbal ring contrast.
Partial Reduction of Secondary Sexual Characteristics: 78a7’s body hair and facial hair undergoing eradication. Larynx and vocal cords adjusting, shifting towards a higher register, though still androgynous.
Distinctive Features:
Vestibular System: Early changes are being implemented to correct balance, to prepare for the later growth of dracan tail and fins as hearing organs.
Scales: A few faint scales are emerging under the skin, their golden hue invisible under the layer of skin tissue.
Recommended measure:
- Continue transformation at the current rate.
- Further monitoring of balance and hearing changes recommended, especially as the tail and fins develop.
- 78a7’s mental compatibility between registered and target identity is precarious. Conscious and subconscious minds are in disagreement over which identity is their true self. Continued dissonance may lead to heightened emotional distress, impacting overall transformation stability. NOTE || Courage, you’ll feel like your true self soon enough, my precious hatching! — #SysAdminLuxoria
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Thursday, August 28th, 2042, Newport, Bellevue, Washington.
Jason groaned as his phone buzzed on the nightstand, dragging him from a restless sleep. His head pounded. Groggy and disoriented, as if drugged, he rolled over, reaching instinctively for his wife. But the bed was empty.
Of course it was; Lisa had left late last night for her graveyard shift at the hospital.
Jason cursed under his breath and rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the fog that clung to his brain.
His body felt different—not just the stiffness from sleep or sitting too long at his desk. He stretched, his hand brushing the sheets lightly. Too lightly. His limbs felt unsteady. He blinked and sat up, but something was off. The duvet slipped from his body, and his gaze dropped to his legs—
Something looks wrong with my legs?
They were not his—at least, not the legs he remembered.
Jason’s heart thudded in his chest as he stared down at them. He flexed his toes, and the unfamiliar feet in front of him responded. They were his. In the sense that he could control them.
What the hell?
The t-shirt he wore to bed, once-loose, now hung off him like a dress, sliding down one shoulder to expose pale skin dotted with scales. He yanked the shirt back up, eyes wide, panic crawling up his throat like bile.
No. No, no, no, this isn’t real!
Maybe it was some VR hangover—a glitch in the system? Or something he ate. Maybe food poisoning?
He clenched his fists, trying to shake off the dizziness. He glanced down again, but the slender thighs, the too-thin calves—they were still there.
But the way they felt? They reminded him of how it felt to be in Vaelith’s body. Especially when he was still calibrating to it.
No. That’s impossible.
His mind was just foggy, confused. He rubbed his eyes, forcing the thought away.
He reached for his phone, hands trembling as he checked the time: 6:32 AM.
No messages from Lisa. No messages from anyone.
Reality hit him like a truck—if he did not start preparing, he would be late for work. He usually woke up an hour earlier to prepare for the day.
He groaned, pushing himself out of bed, the action sending a wave of nausea rolling through him. He paused, gripping the mattress tightly.
The floor seemed both too close and too far at the same time. How was that even possible?
The room spun for a second before steadying, but the feeling in his gut lingered—like something heavy in his stomach, ready to make him throw up.
Hold it in, Jason…
He stood up and uneasily stumbled into the bathroom. Flicking the light on, he froze at the sight of his reflection, stopped dead in his tracks.
Staring back at him was... someone else.
It looked like his face, but sharper, more angular. Higher cheekbones.
Long, wavy silvery hair falling, reaching past the shoulders. The ends were light brown. He moved his hand to the strands, pulling them in disbelief.
The reflection in the mirror imitated his movement.
That was him, and this was his hair?
When…? And how the hell does hair grow so fast?
It was silver, the same unmistakable shade as Vaelith’s, though shorter and wavier than hers.
He leaned closer, eyes widening as he caught the hint of scales along his cheeks, growing beneath the skin. They were barely visible, but they were there. They did not appear golden, just skin-coloured. But they were scales.
And the scales were on his face.
This isn’t happening!
Jason squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe.
In, out… In, out…
He just had to survive today.
I don’t have time for a panic attack. Not right now.
He could not just call sick—he had already used up most of his sick days this year, and there was no way the school director would let him take a last-minute day off for something minor like this.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t quite feel like myself today. Literally.”
He splashed cold water on his face, ignoring how strange his hands felt.
Slimmer fingers, no calluses. They felt like someone else’s.
Because they are.
The cold water did not help with the nausea lingering just below his throat.
If anything, it made it worse.
His eyes were not the dark brown they had been all his life. They looked some shade of chestnut red now.
Focus. You’re a teacher. You have responsibilities.
He had to get ready for work. He still had time to do so if he hurried up. But he did not have time to waste.
He staggered back into the bedroom, rummaging through his dresser. The drawers did not line up with his arms the way he expected. The dresser was taller than it should be.
No, not taller; dressers don’t change size overnight. I’m the one who’s shorter now.
You know, people don’t shrink overnight either.
He mechanically picked out clean clothes. Every movement felt foreign, but he powered through the feelings, and tried not to dwell on them.
He laid his selection out on the bed before getting dressed.
It was the usual; black socks, black slacks, white button-up shirt, matching tie.
He tried the pair of slacks, but the waistband sagged, and when he tightened his belt, the fabric bunched awkwardly around his waist.
The shirt was even worse, hanging off his shoulders like a tent. He swore under his breath, fumbling to find a belt that fit, only to realise that nothing in his closet seemed to work.
Damn it. I can’t go to work like this. They’ll turn me around immediately, looking unkept like that.
None of his clothes fit anymore, the fabric hanging off him like a kid in oversized hand-me-downs. He swore under his breath, eyeing Lisa’s closet.
He had an idea, but dreaded it.
It’s an emergency. She’ll understand.
There was no way around it. He hoped her clothes would fit. They would have to do.
She was smaller than him—well, smaller than he used to be.
He could not tell how she compared to him now, but hoped it would work out.
The thought made his gut twist, but he had little choice. If he showed up dressed as he looked right now, he would get chewed by the school’s director.
He had to look presentable for a bunch of spoiled, rich middle-schoolers, and showing up looking like his own clothes had swallowed him was not an option.
The students would not take him seriously—and teaching them was hard enough as it was.
Size and appearance were surprisingly important components of authority, he knew—that was a topic he often discussed with the women at work.
With a sigh, he crossed the room to the walk-in closet.
The scent of Lisa’s perfume lingered faintly in the air, a sharp contrast to the disorientation he felt. He fumbled through her wardrobe, pulling out a pair of black pants and a fitted blouse.
The blouse had a high collar—at least it looked somewhat professional.
He grimaced as he held it up to his chest. Would this even work?
The pants fit—snug, but they stayed up. The blouse pulled slightly across his shoulders, feeling strange, but not unbearable. It was undeniably feminine.
He threw one of his smaller blazers on top, hoping it would cover the difference.
It did not, not really, but he had no time to dwell on it. Not with work waiting.
I can barely imagine what will go through my students’ head when they see me like this, especially if they knew whose clothes I was wearing.
But it was better than the alternative.
Besides, Lisa’s clothes were plain enough—nothing too obviously hers.
He could pass it off as some new wardrobe choice, or maybe they would not even notice.
Rich kids only noticed teachers when they had something to complain about.
He glanced at his reflection in the mirror; the heart stropped beating for an instant.
The woman’s clothes, the smaller, leaner body—it looked wrong, all wrong. He frowned at his new, longer hair.
How am I going to deal with this?
He rushed to Lisa’s side of the bed, opened the nightstand drawer, and rummaged for an elastic band.
He did not have time to cut his hair, but he could tie it all back.
Nobody notices or comments on it when guys get haircuts, right?
Well, they might notice the whole silver hair part, but there was nothing he could do quickly about that.
Did he even have a cap or hat he could use? It would not help, they would not let him wear it indoors, anyway.
Jason shook his head, his temples throbbing.
No time for this!
He shoved his feet into the only shoes that still seemed to fit—Lisa’s flats, because his sneakers were comically large now.
Her shoes pinched his toes, but at least he could walk without tripping himself.
He grabbed his wallet and phone, stuffing them into the pockets of Lisa’s pants, then headed downstairs.
Each step made him feel like throwing up.
Every step was a reminder that his body was not his anymore. A reminder of how little control he had over his life right now.
He grabbed a can of sparkling water from the fridge, opened the pantry and took out some fruit-flavoured anti-acids. Before closing the cupboard, he scanned its contents one last time. He popped loose a few chewable dimenhydrinate lozenges from their protective foil.
He prayed the over-the-counter remedies would help. Lisa unfortunately did not keep a stock of specialised medication to relax your upset stomach during sudden body transformations.
I don’t think anyone thought to market such a niche product yet.
Shoving the anti-acids in his mouth first, Jason started chewing slowly. The foamy texture calmed his nerves, but only barely. He hoped it would appease his upset stomach.
His breathing steadied.
Cautiously, he made his way to the garage, nausea creeping back, settling in his stomach like lead, before he even got to the door.
He paused, taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
I can do this. Just get to the car. Get to the school.
He turned the knob and pushed the door open, the refreshingly cool air of the garage calming him as it blew past his face.
The sleek black Solterra sat inside, waiting. On the way to the driver’s side door, he grabbing his keys.
The sudden buzz of his phone made him fumble, nearly dropping his fob.
He paused, balancing himself against the hood of the car, his body still feeling slightly off-kilter. He pulled the phone out of his pockets, already picturing an angry text from the school.
Thankfully, it was a message from Lisa. The preview of the message filled him with conflicting emotions.
“Just finished my shift. Figured I’d check in...”
Was this good or bad? Lisa would be here soon. Maybe he could wait for her to arrive. She knew how to handle emergencies—maybe she would know what to do.
Who am I kidding? No one’s trained for something like this. This isn’t something that happens to anyone.
Jason felt a knot in his throat. He swiped open the message, leaning his back against the SUV.
“Just driving home now. I know you’ll probably see this when you get a minute between classes, so no rush replying. I’ve been thinking about our conversation yesterday in the office.”
Jason sighed, remembering the way he’d gasped for air after pulling out of the VR rig. It had felt like his lungs had forgotten how to breathe for a second.
Lisa had heard and come to check on him, sitting beside him while he caught his breath. Her face had been tight with genuine worry. She was not the type to overreact, which made her concern even harder to shake.
He scrolled down to read the rest of the message.
“I kept my ears peeled for anything about other players getting vertigo or symptoms like yours, but nothing came up. No reports, no complaints. So I’m thinking maybe it wasn’t the game, you know? Maybe it’s something on your end.”
Jason clenched his jaw. She had a point, but that was not something he wanted to think about.
What if it’s just me?
Surely nobody else was going through hell like he was this morning.
He shoved the thought aside and kept reading.
“I’ll check in on you when I get home later today. Try not to push yourself too hard, okay? Love you ❤️.”
The heart emoji at the end made him feel guilty for lying to her last night. But right now, it was a little late for regret. Water under the bridge. And now, he had much bigger concerns than a lie.
Jason pocketed the phone again, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.
Lisa had every reason to be concerned—something was seriously wrong.
The vertigo yesterday had felt like the start of whatever the hell was happening to him today. He wanted to reply, to tell her he was okay, but that would just be digging himself deeper into trouble.
But something really crushed him with guilt.
He was no longer certain if he had even lied to her yesterday.
When he had logged out, his body had felt terrible—so different from Vaelith’s; her body had felt right, while his body had felt alien and wrong.
Today, he felt like his body—this body—was no longer simply alien and wrong; it was trying to right itself, with all the implications that this meant.
How could this even be possible? Vaelith was the character he played in a game.
He let out a long sigh. It did not even sound like him exhaling.
He had not chosen to play Vaelith. The game had forced Luxoria’s form on him. The goddess had made him into her image.
What exactly is going on with my life?
What kind of sick joke were those game developers pulling on him?
Nobody else seemed to be affected, Lisa would know, if others had suddenly lost several inches of height.
So. Why just him?
I can’t stay here and think about this. I will deal with it after the day of work. With Lisa’s help.
He steadied himself, popping one of the dimenhydrinate lozenges in his mouth. The smell and taste of the ginger calmed him.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
He unlocked and opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. It took more effort than he had expected. He dropped his bag on the passenger seat and cracked open the can of sparkling water, taking many mouthfuls.
The car felt wrong, too big, too confined. Even sitting felt different—his legs did not stretch as far as they used to, and the seatbelt nearly slipped off his shoulder.
And yet.. It was the absence of Vaelith’s tail that made sitting feel even more awkward.
He adjusted the steering wheel, the seat height, the mirrors. None of them were right anymore.
Shit, I don’t have time for all this.
His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. For a moment, he thought he might be sick right there, in the garage. He closed his eyes, willing the nausea down.
Just drive. Don’t lose it. Just drive.
He started the car, the electric engine silently waking up, and pressed the remote button on the sunshade to open the garage door. He waited as it slowly grumbled and lifted itself.
It felt agonisingly slow.
Or maybe he was just experiencing reality in this slow-motion time that exists when you’re in a crisis.
Subjective time dilation.
Well, this definitely qualified as a crisis.
Finally, he backed out of the driveway. He closed the garage door and waited for it to finish. He closed his eyes. The sunlight was too harsh. The world spun too fast.
When he opened his eyes again, his vision was blurry.
He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision and focus on the road in the rearview camera.
I can make it.
But the feeling in his gut told him otherwise.
Why am I putting myself through this? It’s not like those kids have done anything to deserve it.