The next time I woke up, I was kneeling in front of the Goddess statue in the temple, and I knew who I was. Who I had been.

It immediately became obvious to me that everything I’d ever learned in my previous life was stupid, pointless, and irrelevant. The people were different, their lifestyles were different, the world was different, nothing applied, nothing was relevant. There was nothing useful in anything I’d remembered... except for music.

Oh, the music. My head was crammed with songs, and I craved the guitar that was promised to me.

I wanted to call the guitar to my hands, but-

“Human.” Her sharp, peremptory voice cut through my thoughts like a razor. “How long are you going to kneel there?” She demanded.

“For as long as I need to, Halleza.” I replied, rising to my feet.

Somewhere between the last time I’d seen her- three years? Four? She’d grown up. She’d matured from the baby-faced girl into a young woman. Her hair was like her mother’s, long and glossy black, streaked with a deep, shimmery blue. She was still arrogant, imperious, sometimes cranky, but always haughty.

“There are no gods in this world.” She stated coolly. “Only the Dragonflight.”

“Are you sure?” I asked curiously. She tilted her head to the side.

“There has never been any proof of any Gods in this world.” She replied. “Therefore there aren’t any.”

I rubbed my chin in thought. Sometimes she was crafty, intelligent beyond her years, sometimes she was as innocently naive as the five-year-old that I had met ten years ago.

“Maybe they haven’t shown themselves because no one knows how to advent or appeal to them correctly.” I mused.

She gave me a confused look. I held out my hand to her, and surprisingly, she took it, her grip sure and strong.

She allowed me to take her hand like this if I was escorting her.

“You know, my family and I have passed through cities that don’t believe magic exists.” I suggested. “Magic isn’t real. It’s the stuff of fairy tails and dreamers.”

She frowned and snatched her hand back. “Magic is real!” She stated dangerously. “Show me these people, that I can prove it by flinging it in their face!”

I let out a long sigh and stopped walking. She turned and faced me curiously. “What?” She demanded, brows already down.

“You jump too quickly.” I replied. She folded her hands at her waist and tapped her foot impatiently.

“They don’t believe in magic because they’ve never seen it. They don’t know how it works. They don’t know how to invoke it.” I held out my hand to her, but she kept her arms folded. “Just the same way that some people don’t believe that there’s a goddess.”

Her hand blurred, and stars exploded across my vision. He head rang as if I’d just been hit with a hammer.

She hit me.

My vision cleared, I was somehow down on one knee, spitting blood while she loomed over me.

“Do not insult me.” She spat coldly. “And one more thing: I refuse to allow a human to condescend to me.”

I pushed myself to my feet-and then I slapped her back. Her eyes widened in shock as she brought her hand to her face.

“You hit me? You hit me!” She shouted, and her eyes flickered with brilliant blue light. She was coming into her Dragonflight powers, and what an adult did with control, she did without thinking.

“I thought we’d agreed not to hit each other.” I warned, and I could see her clench her jaw. Unless I missed my guess, her next move would be to look down her nose at me. “I was going to give you a present for your birthday, but if we’re just going to spend the day slapping each other in the street, you can kiss it goodbye- I’ll sell it to some merchant!”

She balled up her fists, and then took her time adjusting her robes. Clothes for the Dragonflight were complicated things, since they had to make accommodation for wings and tails and horns.

Everyone that had been walking around in the bazaar had disappeared, not willing to be caught in the zone of a Dragonflight’s wrath.

“You called me stupid!” She accused.

“No, no I didn’t.” I replied calmly, spitting blood again. “I suggested that there are things you don’t know, because you haven’t experienced them, yet.” I wiped the blood off my lips and forced myself to make eye contact with her. “Which is easy to do, since you’ve only visited six cities in your life.”

She glared at me, her eyes glowing, her wings spread wide, and I could feel the pressure of her magical intimidation crushing down on me.

“I am tired of your condescension. I am tired of your insults and insinuations. You need to remember your place, human!” She barked.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Ahhh, shit. Fadeout.

The Dragonflight could use magic as easily as breathing. Not only did they use magic easily, they had their own dragon-based powers that were (as the story goes) derived from their draconic ancestors.

Magical intimidation was easy. They just sort of... pushed their magic out like ... say, telekinesis, I guess, and suddenly you couldn’t breathe, your heart locked up in your chest.

“I came as soon as I felt your magic. I’ve told you before, you’re unskilled. Look, you’ve killed your pet human.” Ceriza’s voice.

“He can’t be dead. He’s my human. He can’t be so weak as to die from something so little.”

I found myself hoisted up into the air. Still couldn’t see, though. Hearing was a struggle, too.

“He won’t survive another hour, Halleza. You’ve killed him. Well, I can find you another pet. Let’s go.”

“No!” Halleza yelled. What was that? Genuine concern? For me? This was clearly a dream. Or maybe I was dying.

“Humans die, Halleza. They’re weak, fragile things. I told you to be gentle with him.”

“He can’t die! You can fix it, right? Make him better?” She pleaded.

“Why?” A baffled response. “He wasn’t anything of any particular note. I’ll find you a better human.”

Everything was getting cold, but that was okay, because I was also getting numb at the same time. I’d just hit fifteen, the same as Halleza, a year away from adulthood. I did my best.

You know, I made some really good-looking jewelry. Rings, brooches, necklaces, bracelets, earrings, the works. I even made this little statuary where a silver dragon with lapis scales and wings perched on a little tower I’d made from some golden marble, head turned downward, breathing flames of gold downward. Halleza loved it and claimed it for herself. She wanted everything I made, she claimed everything for herself.

Her mother secretly, reluctantly, angrily paid for everything, because Halleza refused to believe everything I made wasn’t a gift for her.

Except, you know, it wasn’t. I was trying to get my name out there, but she just... took everything. What’s a jeweler without any works to show?

Oh well. I’d do better in my next life.

I woke up in some place that was lush. Rich, opulent. There was piles of gold, silver, mythril, adamantine, strange ingots of some material I’d never seen before, with a rainbow-like shimmer. Spools of silk, brocaded and plain, spools of fine gold and silver threading, jewels of every kind imaginable, and a lot that I have never seen before in my life. Cups, bowls, chains, jewelry, the floor was practically awash in money.

What was I laying in? On?

I looked around; it wasn’t the piled carpets with the blankets I was used to. I was in some sort of ... hammock, if you wanted maybe fit twenty people in a hammock, that is. I reached out and touched the fabric. It felt... a lot like silk. It was piled in cushions. I was buried in silks and cushions.

Where the fuck was I?

Oh, right.

I was dead, right?

So.. where was the administrator lady?

I woke up again, and that strange place with the mounded silks and piles of riches was gone. I was in my bedroom once again.

My mother, tired and careworn, her hair wrapped up in a dyed silk scarf, came in and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing me awake.

“I ... wasn’t certain I’d see you awake again, son.” she worried.

“I’m so tired.” I groaned. Everything felt weak and all my muscles felt heavy.

“Can you walk?” She asked, coming over with a bowl of water. She wrung out a cloth and mopped my forehead.

“Walk?” I asked. “I don’t even know if I can stand, and you want to know if I can walk?”

“I-” my mother started, but she caught herself. “We think it’s best if you leave. Before Halleza comes back.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. “Leave?” I asked, and I couldn’t help it, it sounded stupid.

She nodded. “Yes, leave.” She agreed. “Lady Ceriza suggested it, and your father and I agree: It’s best if you... leave.”

I struggled to sit up. “Leave?” I repeated. “Why?”

My mother sighed and sat back and folded her hands in her lap and looked to the side. “There’s... there’s a rumor. It’s going through the whole camp that you hit Lady Halleza.”

Suddenly I understood everything without my mother needing to explain any further.

“You don’t defy the Dragonflights.” I stated numbly.

“Well, you can defy the Azure in certain ways, otherwise you’ll never get paid for your work...” My father rebutted with a smile, “But openly striking one in the street?”

He looked down at his hands. “Son... you might have just stripped away any goodwill the Azure has held for this camp.” He gave me a bleak look. “We might go back to being slaves again.”

The weight of what I’d done weighed on me.

It wasn’t just an argument between Halleza and I. It was a defiance between our whole camp against the Dragonflight that did business with us, that occasionally and indifferently provided protection against other villages, other cities. That went out of their way to try and offer shelter against the Nero, the Vermillion, and Veridian.

Halleza was the daughter of Ceriza, the- she might have been the Queen of the Azure, or she might have been just an important person... or even a nobody amongst the Azure, but here, in this village, in this camp of wandering nomads, Ceriza was a queen and nobody defied her.

Defying her daughter was defying her. Defying her was defying the Azure.

“I’ll pack my things.” I decided.

My mother lowered her head; my father looked to the side. “We’ve already bundled your clothes and some food together.” He explained. “We’ve found you... a good, stout walking stick. If you can stand, you can walk. If you can walk... leave. Leave, and never return.”

Everything weighed on me like a ton of bricks, but I struggled to my feet. Exiled.

“My- my tools?” I asked, hoping against hope..

They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to.

Adulthood started when you turned sixteen. I was fifteen, so I didn’t get to claim any sort of inheritance. The tools I was using in my apprenticeship were theirs.

There was a heavy, painful, and awkward silence between us.

It was time for me to go.