Well, we’re home. Drenar pulls up to Julia's house with a moment of quiet contemplation. Her house is a rustic, two-story, red and gold farmhouse with a decorative fence all around the perimeter and a vast swath of forest in the backyard. Her mother's car is absent, she was likely on the second shift, caring for veterans in the center of town. Drenar feels a cool but refreshing breeze on his face when he gets out. There's a faint hum of music coming from inside. He bounds up the short flight of patio steps and raps on the door gently.

"Hey, it's me," he announces. He waits for a spell and his gaze wanders to the side yard. Just down the road by a small creek passing between the properties is his old house, another farm-style house, colored white and adorned with faded blue trim. Julia must have been as heartbroken as him when the house was sold and he moved into Dave and Diane's house a few miles away. He had a lot of memories of that house. Ones that time couldn’t replace.

I used to live next door to my best friend. Fates, I never thought I would miss it this much. He sees the lights on, the curtains drawn down, and he looks at the second-floor window that used to be his bedroom, and then he turns back to Julia's house, just across the way. They had sometimes passed Morse code messages with their flashlights, usually to get his attention to come over for a late-night hangout. C’mon Drenar. This trip down nostalgia lane is self-indulgent. Those days are gone and aren’t coming back. I've got way more important things to figure out.

Julia finally answers the door. "Just a second.” He could make out the music inside. Oh man, the Goo Goo Dolls. Old school mode, he thinks with a smirk. The door creaks on greased hinges and he's greeted by Julia with her trademark dark nerdy shirt and jeans, the fabric torn at the knees. Far less traditional though, is the fact that her sleeve is torn and looks scorched on her right arm. "So uh, hi, come on in," she said with a cheerful expression. "If you'll excuse the mess, I made a disaster out of dinner."

"Holy Fates, what did you do?" He asks in dismay and temporarily forgets his potential crisis. There’s a scent of something acrid and burnt, and a metallic scent in the air so prevalent, he can almost taste it. The scent reminds him of ozone, that tang in the air before a heavy storm. The microwave is scorched, with a hint of smoke still in the air that causes his eyes to water.

"Oh, I uh...I may have left a spoon in the microwave. So that clearly does not react well with magnetrons," she laughs nervously.

"You also scorched your sleeve," he points out detachedly, and reaches out to inspect. She withdraws her hand hastily.

"Nope, perfectly fine, just a little freaked out that I fried the microwave," she uttered nervously. “First time for everything, I guess."

"Was anything else damaged?" Drenar grabs the extinguisher and opens the microwave slowly. The acrid metal scent is much stronger here. Other than an undercooked meal, nothing extraordinary is inside. "Yeah, thought you should know, this is not how we cook pizza pockets."

"Nah, you think?" she huffs. He moves to start cleaning, but she stops him. “Hey, it’s my mess. I can handle myself.”

"Julia, I think it would be more accurate to state that you can handle pretty much anything. Except cooking.” She looked nonplussed at this. "Hey, you're a crack shot with a rifle, a breaker of bones in the arena, and you have a crazy Tsundere mode, always a hair's width from being activated…"

"A big red button which you continue to spam like you enjoy putting your life on the edge of doom," she replies angrily with a pointed finger to his nose. Her face melts to disappointment when she examines the burnt sleeve. "Okay, I'll be back in a second, once I'm done with this crime against fashion." She heads towards the stairs at speed. Drenar examines the ruined microwave closer while he has a moment. The cord is shot, and there are faint scorch marks on the exterior, almost as if the microwave had been hit by a surge of electricity. It’s even partially melted. How the hell did that thing melt?

He has absolutely no idea. Leave it to Julia to figure out how to destroy a kitchen in unique ways. Now, what do we have to work with? An idea comes to mind, and he grabs the oil and seasonings and peers into the fridge. Chicken, fresh cilantro and chives. My cooking wizard sense is tingling!

"So, what do you have in mind for dinner?" Julia shouts from upstairs.

"Ramen! I’ll have to take a few liberties, can’t simmer it all day," he says with a smirk.

"Stop liking what I like!" Drenar grabs the ingredients, gets to work on making a ramen bowl along with some noodles. "Seriously, of all your skills, making food is possibly the most sublime one.” It’s enough to make him forget the situation with his arm, at least for a while.

He hears her footsteps coming back down the stairs, and when he turns to look she had just descended onto the landing. She is still pulling her shirt over her shoulders, covering her bra and solid body of stone and muscles. She’s not as–endowed as Angela, but by any measure, Julia is a complete knockout with her appearance and demeanor. Not that he views her in that way. Wait. Do I view her as girlfriend material? She points a finger at him teasingly. "Hey, don't ogle! You're not getting dinner and a show!" She accuses him with a playful tone.

"She says, after walking downstairs only half dressed. Really Julia, I'm far more classy than that."

“I know. Your mother raised you too well,” she adds with a laugh. “Alright, what do you need?”

"I need this finely diced, chicken broth if you have it?” He’s already dicing the other ingredients and setting up a pot of water.

“Better be done with dinner before mom gets home, or I’ll be the least of your problems. That's gonna be...oh say, one in the morning. For the record." Oh my Julia, what are you suggesting, and do I dare let my brain try to figure that out? he thinks with surprise.

“Oh, plenty of time then," he replies smugly. "As I recall, she once made a specific statement saying I was always welcome over here--but only if I acted like a gentleman.”

“A rule that you would never, in your wildest dreams, ever break. Shocking,” she replies dryly, all the while making fine mince of the ingredients she’d gotten out. “Though I hear from someone we know, that professional veneer extends to other activities.”

“Er…uh...” he stammers at the veiled accusation, playful as it were. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Uh-huh. You know Angela tells me almost anything, right?” she replied back with a crease of a smile at the corners of her lips. Of course she does, he thinks with a sigh.

“I know nothing of what you mean.” She shakes her head and smiles. “I mean, we uh…alright, what has she told you?” He figures that Angie has indeed told Julia anything she wanted to know by now. Julia has a very distinct power of persuasion at times–either with the sweet talk, or threatening to rip someone's arm off after they cross a line. Both approaches are equally effective for her.

“Oh, she was very vague. But with me practically knowing every corner of your mind, I can imagine she was turned on by your sardonic wit, quiet charm, slight awkwardness when cozying up to the female form, dexterous hands–"

“H-hey, that is all speculation and no substance!” he protests, and could feel his cheeks alight. She threw back her head and giggled in that high pitched rhythm that usually follows her putting him in an awkward spot. "Alright, fine. It was one time," he uttered more firmly, "and that was after she made a less than subtle suggestion."

"How subtle was it?" Julia grins and tilts her head towards him at a canted angle that reminds him of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.

"Really not subtle. Girls have needs," he replies flatly, and his stern face does nothing to dissuade her interest. “I…alright, I read the situation and took a gamble," he finally caves. Julia leans in attentively. “We...held hands."

"Liar. You did way more than that. I bet you felt her up!" Julia cackles like a mad fiend. "And I bet she returned the favor." Suddenly, giving her one subtle hint in the hopes she’d drop the subject now seemed like it had been a bad idea, and he finds himself fiddling with his watch. "Oh, you shy boy you.” He figures his only way out is to just give her the short version. “She does have quite the accessories. By my count, 34D–”

"Alright, fine. We kissed. The mood was there for more but, well, her parents got home for the first time in an eternity. That’s the whole scoop. And when you inevitably tell her that you know, you also tell her that I am a teen of professional standards. Life is filled with experiences. Not bragging rights.” She responds by continuing to laugh heartily.

"Ohmigod, stop, stop trying to be all professional, we’re teenagers, it’s supposed to be intense, messy, and there totally needs to be bragging!" She practically sings.

"Hey, keep pestering me, and I might take this meal to go.” She looks mortified at this suggestion.

“Okay, ya got me. Good food wins a way to my heart.” She grabs the utensils after the meal is done and a few rounds of chatter ensue–mostly smack talk about the latest games they’d played together, and they enjoy the meal in the living room. It's nice to have a slow evening like this, he realizes. An evening with a close friend.

Sadly he knows the moment isn’t going to last. Not with what he’s about to reveal. But he needs to see this book in person, first. “You guys keep the fridge stocked better than Diane. I’m surprised your mom hasn’t invited me over more to cook for you guys.” Julia is busily eating and just lets out a grunt. “Sorry, I don’t speak in throaty snarls.”

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“Do not get between me and food, or it’ll be your doom,” she said after a minute, then examined her empty bowl with a satisfied smile. “Ah, man, that was fantastic. What do I gotta do to convince you to do this for me forever?!"

“Usually, it’s called getting married,” he replies deadpan with an evil grin. She blushes almost instantly. “Two can sass at this game, Julia.” And I know you have a thing for me. I’m like eighty percent sure.

“You know something, I do love it when you catch me flat-footed like that. Now, you were asking about that book earlier? C’mon, I’ll show you." He grabs the dishware and gently puts it into the sink, then follows her upstairs to her mother's room, past the stairwell landing and down a short hallway. Inside, he sees the intricately winding metal frame and wooden headrest of her mother's bed–a bed for two, but only occupied by one now.

It’s a subtle reminder of how much emptier the house feels now. His eyes wander while Julia grabs the book off the desk, and he notes a few picture frames on the end table. One of them shows both their mothers posing together, wearing armor reminiscent of high fantasy plate mail of silver and brass coloring with wingtip helmets, presumably for some kind of pop culture convention. His mom did seem to be graced with an eternal smile in most of her photos.

Another picture shows her husband, a titan of a man with a warm smile, a closely trimmed beard, and a tanned face distinct from a Japanese islander--he’d come from Okinawa originally, the son of a marine, and Julia’s grandma, born and raised there. Drenar still sees traces of the decor and heritage through the house, even the Shi-sha statues out front. But, decor can't mask the subtle void he could feel in the house.

Objects can’t fill an emptiness of this kind.

He misses Julia's dad. He'd always been a physically active guy, funny as all hell, even probably a touch too liberal with the jokes when company and kids were over. It was hard not to think about it. Six months apart from his own parents. An unparalleled double tragedy. Julia had recovered from it…but sometimes, he thinks she just smiles at others while fighting back the pain of losing a parent. He'd taught her to shoot, fight, run, and embrace the outdoors. All of that, in such a precious short span of time. Drenar had learned much of the same–even his first lessons with handguns, with close supervision when he was ten. It was certainly memorable.

"Hey, are you alive over there?" Julia asks softly, and follows his gaze to the picture. She sighs and crosses her arms while looking at the picture too. "Case of the feels?"

"Yeah. You could say that." His reply comes softly now. "Your mom never changed the room. I don’t think I’ve been up here in a while.”

"Nah. She loved it the way it was." She bites her lip lightly. "She still has his military gear stashed in the closet. All pressed and ready to go. For some people, it's hard to let go. And even harder to move forward." She relaxes her arms and lets out a soft growl of frustration. "Fates, I miss his stupid jokes and the way he crap talked with his buddies on the weekends. Dad was this loveable goof, and I can see why mom took to him."

“Love doesn’t fade, even when someone’s gone,” Drenar offers softly. She glances at him, the anger in her expression turning cool and calm again.

"Yeah. I guess you’re right. Now, where was I?” She gestures to the book. “Amaranth Vertimer’s bestiary of monsters and mana based organisms, Volume I." She placed the book on the soft quilted bed cover and opened the soft leather cover. The book contained hundreds of pages, most of it slightly yellowed, and the occasional dog ear creased the corners. The pages made a crisp rustling sound when flipped through. “Not sure where mom got this, but I started reading it a month ago. I can’t find any mention of the author anywhere.”

“Do you think someone made this for your mom?” Drenar proposes.

“Hardly. This is way too much work for a gift.” Julia traces her paint chipped nails over the lines of text. “It reads like a bestiary on identifying monsters, their abilities, something they call alchemical reagents, and social interactions, if applicable."

She continues flipping through the pages. Most of the illustrations are hand drawn, by a skilled hand. There are creatures of all shapes and sizes--some that seem similar to myths of varying cultures, others foreign and completely alien. One shows wolves the size of a horse with spines extruding through their thick, matted fur. Another displays a giant, gelatinous blob that looks like jello filled with bones, armor, and corroded weapons that did their former wielders little good. Drenar notes one that looks like a woman in the nude with green skin, pointed ears, and a plumage of leaves forming her hair and color accents. "Here. This is where I read it.” She points animatedly to the page.

The page contains a large illustration of a silver scaled dragon–and not in the traditional sense of a fire breathing monster. This is anything but that. This specimen is only three meters tall and roughly double that in total length, with feathery wings in seafoam and silver tones coming from its back. It stands staunchly on its digitigrade legs with wide-spread clawed toes, and its arms extend lightly. Its slender tail curves down and grazes the ground, and ends in a thin, feathery tuft of soft blue feathers. He finds it fascinating–most books and illustrations he’d seen had dragons walk on all four legs, or had two legs plus wings, with small claw-like extensions. He could almost feel the cunning intelligence by looking at its tapered head, eyes filled with light, and a narrow jaw slightly lowered with a hint of razor sharp teeth just visible.

More worryingly, is the uncanny notion that the silver dragon looks like him in that strange dreamscape.

True to Julia's word, there is an extensive description of the physiology, including the development of a dragon from a tiny hatchling, all the way to full adult, based on a surprising diet of meats, proteins, and occasionally a harvest of vegetables and plant matter. And the ingestion of iron bearing ore, or absorbed by their normal diet makes their scales tougher than any super alloy steel on the planet.

All of this syncs up with the dream. The body shape, size, coloring, the details of the wings and the scales, even the iron absorption. Julia notices him holding his breath. “Hey, what’s up with you right now?”

“Uh…just the uncanny valley. Like it’s too real to be real,” he says in his best attempt to deflect. It works.

Smaller illustrations show a copper scaled dragon with verdant green feathers almost twice as tall as a normal human, except this one is clad in loose, human-like clothing meant to mold around the wing joints and tail–almost like a sophisticated tunic. They also wear flexible trousers and white bindings around their clawed toes. The dragon even has glasses propped up on the horns swept back along its head, and only adds to the aura of intelligence.

"Man. Someone made this a passion project." Drenar feels that this looks familiar, and he examines the images closely. He takes notice of the wings, each with two finger-like claws at the joint, and a plumage of long feathers in a banding pattern of silver and green.

Feathers that look mightily similar in composition to the one sitting in his bag.

"Look at how much detail they put in. Most of it is specific to dragons--they're warm blooded they have extensive redundancy of a central nervous system, their flight patterns, the works. It makes for an engaging read," Julia notes in a softer tone. "But this part, here. 'Dragon physiology varies greatly between species, but documentation of sapient species is as much a study of culture as it is biology. Dragons of the modern day are more limited in number after the Ascension event of 1303 AD, and due to limited unique members of a species, half-dragon hybrids and interbreeding of subspecies has led to an increasingly wide range of variety between individuals.'" Julia still looks like something is bothering her, judging by her distant gaze.

"There's something you're not telling me," Drenar says quietly, and she dips her chin slightly.

"I did a little more reading ahead. There's something In here called ‘Awakening’." She thumbs ahead a few pages to more illustrations, this time of a woman in the nude, but with some draconic scales emerging on her body, along with a tail. "'Awakening occurs at the late stages of puberty and early adolescence, and is unique to the offspring of a human and a dragon in a shapeshifted form. Extensive detail is available in Brent's compendium on the nuances, but here a brief description shall be detailed.

"'Awakening is the process by which genes of the genetic structure of a half-dragon are triggered and expressed during puberty, resulting in permanent physiological transformation. The first transformation is typically preceded by numerous and readily identifiable symptoms. Subjects may experience moodiness, lack of sleep, and extreme hunger. There are also documented cases of premature emergence of scales, claws, and feather-like features appearing intermittently, depending on draconic lineage. Other common side effects may include sudden accelerated heart rate, and feelings of disorientation and fatigue, but these symptoms are brief and non-threatening.'"

She continues reading, and Drenar's heart is hammering in his chest. Hearing this only adds validity to his grave concerns.

"'The process has been demonstrated to occur in bursts, as mana is generated by the body at an accelerated rate. Less common signs may include the emergence of dragon-like eyes, increased intensity of eye color, or improved physical capabilities as muscle density and bone strength increase exponentially. At its peak, these converge to an involuntary transformation to the dragon form, typically of a juvenile or young adult dragon. After this first transformation, the shift between forms works both ways. Subjects note a marked decrease in physical distress in subsequent transformations.'"

Julia pauses for a minute, while Drenar is trying to not have a panic attack. “Alright, this is c-cool.” Damn it. Focus, you teenage half-dragon nerd, don't freak out! She's holding the book open, and she's got that calm, quiet look that he hasn't seen in a very time from her.

"Drenar...what if this book is the real thing? Like a real bestiary, for real monsters in the world?" Her words are as soft as tranquil breeze.

Ah crap, she knows something is up. And I’m guessing that the fried microwave downstairs is tied to it. He takes a measured breath.

“Okay, first, promise me that what I tell you next, can’t leave this room–for the moment. The second thing is, don’t freak out.” He sees her putting the pieces together.

“Okay, honestly, Drenar, I know this looks cool but–this is fantasy stuff. It’s not real. It can’t be. Can it?” He could hear it in her tone, something had happened that had her on edge, that even she couldn’t figure out. Something beyond normal.

“Before I continue further, I need to know one thing. How’d the microwave get slagged?”

He’s seen it. There are two dragons in this book that can wield an elemental plasma, similar to electricity, but driven by mana–whatever that is. An ability that could slag objects just like what he’d seen downstairs, and that distinct ozone smell. She shakes her head, closes the book, and holds it gently.

“Something happened that I can’t explain. Something impossible.”

“Same. We agree this doesn’t leave the room?” She nods without hesitation.

“Alright. What happened to you?”

He slides up his sleeve, and she raises an eyebrow at the gauze wrap. He slowly removes it, and her eyes widen when she sees the patch of scales on his arm.

“Holy shit.” She completely forgets that she’s holding the book, and it drops unceremoniously on the floor with a loud thud. “Is that–are those scales?” She approaches him, rather than back away. She taps one just for emphasis. He nods after a second.

“You think that's nuts, here's a demonstration,” he says as he pulls out a fridge magnet, and it adheres to the scales. She blinks and is standing there, arms slackly at her side.

“Maridian silver. Holy shit, they’re real.”

“Uh, I am too, and I didn’t wake up in life as a feathery dragon. I’m pretty sure of that. You uh, okay?” he asks. She's gently rubbing her right hand–the one that had been scorched.

“No. Not really. I busted my mom’s microwave with a blast of elemental plasma, and she’s gonna kill me when she finds out I'm Awakening.”

This time, it’s Drenar’s turn to go slack as reality comes to a screeching halt, and the entire universe collides in one massive derailment.

“Start at the beginning,” they both say to each other simultaneously.