***
My pointy ears disappeared, reshaping themselves into human ones. The glint in my hair and eyes faded, my mana softening as it concealed itself.
The Red Dragon, on the other hand, underwent a far more dramatic transformation.
His true body emerged. tall, muscular, and strikingly handsome.
A silky, woven high collar wreath wrapped around his neck, ending midway down his arms. White embroidery of a dragon rested at the back of his nape against the pristine red fabric. The garment hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, leaving not an inch of space for air to brush against his skin.
Below, he wore finely tailored black trousers, fitted tightly around his calves before loosening toward his lower legs, allowing freedom with movement. The fabric swayed with the wind, matching the cold sharpness of his stare.
Even so, the gleaming red hair transformed into a deep ebony, shaded subtly with onyx tones. His pupils darkened as well, painted in hues of grey and black.
To think this was considered a human disguise was laughable.
"You're making that face again,"
he said, his stoic expression remaining utterly unshatterable.
"Oh- what face?"
I replied, snapping back to my senses.
He smirked and began to walk away. I followed close behind, lifting a hand to hide the pink tint creeping across my cheeks.
I shook my head and gulped down before taking the time to gaze above me. The flimsy, almost invisible barrier covered the kingdom's sky. It was too fragile to the point where Tremious's aura was more than enough to shatter it. The town - nothing out of the ordinary, besides the fact that no other creatures walked the streets, leaving humans for exception. While some people gazed at Tremious for his looks and masculinity, he paid them no mind with his usual aloof nature. Ororon stuck close to Tremious and refused to take a step without holding his hand and kept rubbing his eyes.
The poor boy must be startled to be around so many humans at a time since he has only been around us. The fault was on us - never his. He just did what he was told, like the good boy he is.
My eyes next fell on the neatly kept shopfront beside the footpath. The large white marbled sign spelling out the words Alchemy.
"Oh, Alchemy?"
Both boys halted at my comment and searched for the place I was staring at.
"We must visit here later. The hard earned potions that we had are all gone."
The unresponsive man just grunted as a reply. To continue the conversation, I blurted out more nonsense just to carry on.
"Shouldn't we wait for the others?"
"No, they were probably teleported to some other part in the town. It will be a waste of time, just to find them."
I murmured in response to agree and resumed walking.
"Does your eye hurt?"
His sharp tone questioned next, grabbing my attention towards Ororon.
He responded with a slight nod - still rubning his eyes, and a frown appeared in both me and Tremious's face.
"You've been itching them a lot. How does it hurt?"
I spoke, kneeling to his level, taking a better look at his eyes.
"They itch..." He groned out.
My concerned gaze met with Tremious's, and he sighed before voicing.
"There should be healers around here. A small stop can be done."
I smiled at him and signalled Ororon to get moving.
Healers, huh? This might be the first time I'll ever see one of them. After all, only humans can be blessed with the power to heal. A gift so rare, one in a hundred thousand, that it renders them sacred, even arcane. The relic within them is blessed with ancient arts of purity and grace. However, only a few healers can be classified as superior to the longest livers. Experience still beats over talent.
Those with minimal mana endurance are sent to become guardians over humankind, doing their utmost to pass the sacred relic down their bloodline. The chance is rare, so even through the wildest means, they attempt to pass on the blessing. More often than not, however, they are not so lucky. After all, a blessing can not be forced....
*An absolute judgement amongst the ones who failed*
Those lines rested on the last pages of the ancient book of legends. I got a hold of it once, during when I visited the elf village. The body of the long-lived tree, inside hollow, filled with books longer than I have even lived. The imprints of history were remembered by some ink on pieces of paper. The tree soon fell into slumber, yet the place it once stood so tall still lingered with the essence of the prehistoric mana. The primordial form of mana, the one which is almost lost with time.
"Is this it?"
His distant tone snapped me back again, and I observed the wooden hall house with another sign hanging on it.
"Taroukasin?"