Magma Dragon's Heir

46th of Season of Earth, 56th year of the 32nd imperial era

Newt was clean. Clothed. His hair and nails trimmed, his mouth rinsed with mint tea. He almost felt like a human. Almost. He was as hungry as a dreadwalker, but quickly found he couldn't eat all that much, despite how ravenous he felt. His stomach had shrunk throughout the years of starvation, and just half a normal man's meal was enough to sate Newt's hunger.

With the meal out of the way, and sturdy yet comfortable training clothes on, Newt looked at his tutor.

"Teacher, there is something I wish to ask of you." Newt lowered his gaze, his heart beating in his throat.

"What is it, Newstar? How can I help?" Stronggrow offered an encouraging smile, motioning Newt to continue.

"Could you please take over as family head for a while?" Stronggrow's motivational smile died a horrible death as his mouth twisted into a scowl.

"Please!" Newt begged. "I'm too young. I know nothing of the world or finances, and I've spent three years in a hole."

Newt's eyes darted left and right, evaluating Stronggrow. His mentor seemed ready to refuse.

"It is only a temporary solution; until I am fit for the role, or until Father returns and assumes his rightful place." Newt went down to his knees to beg, but Stronggrow caught him. "Please, Teacher, I am begging you."

The old man gritted his teeth and sighed.

Newt got rid of a bothersome duty, offloading it to his elderly teacher's back. With that out of the way, he focused on studying and recuperating. Rather than starting with magical abilities, Newt started with insights and contemplations left behind by several generations of his family, his father's and his uncle's included.

The thick tome ended with dozens of empty pages, which seemed insufficient, but each new generation added less and less. Whether that was due to lacking comprehension, or because most things worth saying were said, Newt didn't know.

Unfortunately, the techniques and realm structures mentioned didn't resonate with him. Newt thought he could sculpt an interesting realm of volcanic trees and lava shaped into runes, but none of his ancestors dabbled in seal scribing, an ancient art of invoking magic using runes written on paper or etched in rock and metal.

After studying ancient wisdom for three days, he shifted his attention to spells. After some consideration, he chose to start with Fireburst. The main reason was that he thought the foot injuries mentioned in the warnings seemed easiest to recover from.

Newt looked around the sacred room and decided not to practice his spells around flammable books and tapestries. Instead, he memorized the instructions and headed to the mine. Perversely, his old prison appeared inviting and even welcoming, letting Newt leave behind the scurrying servants and his uncle's wives and mistresses, with whom he didn't know what to do, as well as the traitorous senior cousins, whose backstabs he feared, even if they showed no hint of revolting again.

Newt descended the dark tunnels, following them into the earth's bowels, until he reached Magmin's realm. He stood transfixed, staring at the almost invisible orbs, wondering whether he should test his luck, but shook his head after several seconds. There was no need to take the risk before he reached the peak of his realm and learned some spells and had better weapon training.

While saurians physically overshadowed awakened, one against one, humans could defeat their reptilian peers, mostly through use of terrain, superior intellect, equipment, and elixirs. Unfortunately, for Newt, he was still eight layers beneath Magmin, and Magmin was no mindless saurian, but an intelligent realm guardian, with terrain working in his favor. Fighting meant suicide.

Newt sighed and closed his eyes, circulating fire mana from his heartcore towards his feet. Earth mana built up and squeezed against the fire, trying to restore balance, and Newt unleashed it through his mindcore, enveloping himself in Granite Crust.

Even with his attention split, Newt found the Salamandra family's ability surprisingly easy to control, incomparably easier than techniques he learned from Magmin. Mana flowed straight down his leg, where it condensed at the ball of his right foot. With a minor exertion of his will, the energy burst outward and sent Newt spinning into the ceiling. He smashed into solid stone, glad he had reinforced his head and torso before crashing face-first back to the floor.

That was embarrassing. He rolled onto his back. I will need a wider area to test this skill, but at least I proved I can circulate mana correctly. Why did the instructions mention strict supervision during the first weeks of using the techniques and warned against mana overload?

Newt found the technique easy to control and extremely gentle on his body. True, he would need time to master the physical consequences of its use and to adjust the technique to fit his body, not just his feet. But he would achieve that within the safety of his realm before applying his findings to his physical form.

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Without considering that he had first mastered a much more intricate ability, one never meant for humans, Newt sat and closed his eyes, reopening them in the red and black world of his realm.

The slight ache from slamming into boulders twice in rapid succession was gone, and Newt tested the technique in the new setting. Mana within his body did not move to fuel Fireburst, but a jet of heated air still exploded under his feet, propelling him upward.

After several attempts, Newt reduced the explosions enough for them to push him forward without blasting him off balance. Within an hour, he was sprinting across his realm, ready to test what he had learned in the real world.

"That's very interesting? Are you trying to learn how to fly?" Magmin glided over. "Because I could use something similar for extra speed."

"What?" Newt blinked at the lazily soaring reptile.

"I wouldn't mind you teaching me that ability — I taught you three, after all."

A plan began to form in Newt's mind. "I don't mind teaching you, but you have to provide something of value. I helped you defeat the sharpbeak. What can you do for me?"

"Newt, my amphibian friend, since when is there a need for trade between us? I gifted you with abilities and knowledge about shaping your realm. You threw a glob of lava at a tiny avian. You can't call it an equal exchange, now can you?"

Magmin had a point in that Newt had benefited greatly from his visit to Magmin's realm, and Newt considered it.

"All right, I'll trust you." Newt knew he was making a mistake, but he technically owed everything to Magmin, or his phantom cores. Getting scammed a little really didn't matter. The fact that the snake was somehow dancing a happy jig didn't help Newt's confidence.

"We have different limbs and bodies, but I'll explain how the ability works for me, and you can see if you can do something with it."

Half an hour went on Newt explaining the basics, after which Magmin went off amongst the pines to practice and contemplate Fireburst.

By the end of the day, Newt learned Fireburst well enough to use it in the real world, propelling himself forward through the tunnels, controlling the strength of the explosions. Meanwhile, Magmin looked like he had wallowed in coals from how singed his scales were. The only thing keeping him from severely burning himself were his natural resilience to flames and Magmin Scales, which activated the instant fire damaged him.

Satisfied with his work, Newt returned to the castle, but instead of going to the main keep, he turned right and headed for Stronggrow's residence.

"Teacher," he said, knocking on his teacher's door. "Do you have some time for me?"

"Enter, Newstar."

The youth entered a humble, dusty abode, catching the old man cleaning it personally. His teacher had a family once, but his wife and son had died of old age, as did his grandchildren. While his more distant descendants lived, Stronggrow was their revered ancestor, not their family.

"Shouldn't we call servants to clean the place up?"

"I prefer maintaining my own residence. Three years are a long time, and things have gotten messy in my absence."

Newt considered the words for a moment. Stronggrow was known to speak one thing while meaning something else entirely. "Do you mean your home or the clan in general, Teacher?"

"My clan is my home," then the old man changed the subject. "What can I do for you, Newstar?"

The youth bit his lip and looked at the old man.

"Teacher, I've been thinking about a way to get rid of the other elders, and I may have come up with a solution. Which lingering heart demons torment you?"

"I have no heart demons. I cleansed my realm a long time ago," Stronggrow said with a relaxed expression, as if discussing a passing cloud. His face was a well-practiced mask, and Newt was too distraught to notice the act.

"Then why didn't you advance, Teacher? If you were at the third realm at the time of the rebellion, it would've failed."

"You're very kind, but no." Stronggrow gave Newt a kind smile, understanding the young man's idea. "Forty years ago, your father made a similar offer. He said his advancement to the tenth layer would cost a thousand times more than me advancing to the third realm, but the thing is during saurian outbreaks only the peak combatant power matters, but even that is an excuse."

The old man sighed, looking older.

"Frankly, the clan lacks resources, and I would be a poor teacher if I fought my students over them. Advancing to the third realm would use more manarium than raising two students from nothing to the peak of the second realm. If I were the patriarch, then so be it — the clan would require my strength. But even your father, who pushed and struggled for so long, was trapped at the peak of the third realm because we lacked resources."

Stronggrow paused and his thoughtful face softened as his distant gaze focused on Newt.

"Immortality is a lonely and difficult path, my dear Newstar. I am merely at the second realm, yet my two hundred and twenty years weigh down on me like mountains. We sit meditating, experimenting with techniques and sculpting our realm and for what? To live a little longer so we could sit some more behind the closed door? So that our regrets, fears, and delusions may manifest and force us to confront them?"

Elder Stronggrow sighed. "Sorry, I started rambling. You are young, you have achieved in three short years what others took thirty or more. But I must warn you, closed meditation and expanding your realm will be a tedious, long endeavor often involving hours or days of solitude."

The subject was raw, and the old man hesitated, but in the end decided to speak his mind. "Victor acted like a self-indulgent, spoiled brat because he was. For all his eighty-odd years of age, he had spent most of it behind closed doors, yearning for freedom and normal life until it twisted him.

"I warned your grandfather that Victor was not meant for awakening, but he wouldn't listen. Tradition bound the main branch to have all their descendants awakened, men and women alike. One day, you will become the patriarch of the family in the true sense of the word. You will have children and you will see. Hopefully, they will all be like you, but if they are not, remember Victor. He could have lived a happy life as a merchant or an innkeeper, rather than spend a century of misery, forced to do what he hated, and eventually pull the family down along with him."