Magma Dragon's Heir

48th of Season of Earth, 56th year of the 32nd imperial era

Newt said nothing, because he didn't know what to say. Stronggrow had dedicated his life to the clan, sacrificing his own growth and longevity to teach new generations. The notion moved him deeply. He wanted to help his respected senior, to provide the resources he needed to advance, to extend his life, and seek new heights. He wanted to, but didn't know how.

The sorrow with which the wise old man discussed Newt's uncle was just as chilling. He painted the traitor as a man forced by his family to do what they wanted him while disregarding his wishes. Eventually, he fought back by forcing the family to do things he wanted while disregarding the consequences.

After considering those matters, Newt understood his uncle, but still couldn't find it in his heart to forgive the man. There were certainly other ways. He could have stolen a fistful of manarium and fled, he could have—Newt had no other idea what his uncle could have done, but there were certainly paths open to him which did not include selling his own brother and sister-in-law as slaves.

No, Newt would not forgive Victor. Never. But what puzzled him the most were those who followed his uncle's lead. Why did they do it?

He avoided the nasty question and focused on his routine. He ate, he slept and learned the five techniques. Mastering them took merely a week, and even Magmin was more successful and less charcoal by the end of the week.

Newt did not improve his realm during those days. He could feel what his teacher had warned him of. The ambient energy was thin, it would take moons or years of quiet absorption before he advanced a single layer, and advancing through manarium was too expensive to justify it.

Each new layer took as much energy as all the previous ones put together, and Newt could see the result not being worth the price he had to pay with his clan's finances in dire straits. He even regretted reaching the second layer rather than investing that wealth back into the clan. But it was too late for regret.

He had harvested obvious manarium leftovers and digging further meant to blind fumbling. After mastering the spells and resolving himself that exploring Magmin's realm equaled suicide, Newt reached a decision and left the mine.

He knocked on his teacher's door.

"Teacher?"

"Come in, Newstar."

"I won't bother you for long. I have decided to leave," Newt said without opening the door. "I leave the clan in your capable hands while I will go see the world. I will come back when I reach the peak of the second realm."

Stronggrow reached the door in five strides. He pulled the knob so hard the gust buffeted his wizened face and long beard.

"What are you talking about, Newstar?"

Newt resisted the urge to shift under his teacher's stern gaze.

"Teacher, your words from the other day got me thinking. Maybe the problem is that the family keeps its children close to home." Newt's insecure tone grew bolder, argumentative. "If the clan's youths were forced to toughen up in the outside world, they wouldn't have strained the clan's resources. Some of those youths might have found secret realms or treasures to bring back home, instead of leeching what the honorable ancestor had left for us."

Newt drew a breath. "I will set an example. If the patriarch can leave and test his luck, so can the others. If anyone is willing and has potential, we can provide them with saurian cores to awaken. It's a better way to use our limited finances than to keep funding the main branch."

Stronggrow looked at his student, obviously thinking him a naive, idealistic boy. "And what happens if a branch family's scions grow stronger than the main branch?"

Newt was silent for a moment, before voicing something he never dared to before. "Teacher, why do we have a main lineage? Does it matter who was the oldest seven or twelve hundred years ago if we are all Honorable Ancestor's descendants? Is that relevant to decide who gets the chance to awaken? Who gets to be rich and who gets to be a servant?"

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Stronggrow's face grew red. "Newstar, that is heresy—"

"I don't think it is. I would want to have chances if I were a branch family member, and I don't think healthy competition for those who want it is bad. That way, those who don't want to awaken can pursue other goals, despite their birth."

Stronggrow opened his mouth to dissuade Newt, then closed them. "Newstar, I believe you are correct regarding one thing. You should see the world. It will open your eyes to some truths, and you will understand why you cannot let others usurp power. Not all have the kind heart and pure visions like you do. In fact, those who get the opportunities rarely allow their children to squander them. Those who seize power rarely let go."

The old man sighed, admitting defeat without saying the words.

"Where do you intend to go?"

"I will search for clues about my parents. That means traveling two hundred and fifty miles to Hailstown and talking to the townlord or someone from his administration. I'll see what comes after."

"You will need money."

Newt shrugged. "I was thinking about selling those enchanted manacles you and Captain Marrow wore for several years. It will help me pay for information, and purchase some saurian cores, if they have any."

Stronggrow shook his head. "Towns rarely have such goods, but you might get lucky."

"I'll try, you see if there are any children of age worth teaching and awakening. Don't just look close to the main branch. Servants with our bloodline should get a chance as well."

Stronggrow gave Newt a flat stare. He was a year older than those children. Still, the old man didn't point out the obvious, instead broaching a more important subject.

"Do you know that Blackfist is a former bandit?"

"No?"

"Two decades ago, before you were born, they got a pardon in exchange for serving the town as its protectors. They agreed because otherwise the royals threatened to hound them to death, meaning they didn't turn righteous overnight. Whether they follow the word of law and to what extent is unknown."

Hearing those words, Newt recalled the group supposedly kidnapped his childhood friend.

"I will see for myself, but I promise to be careful."

Stronggrow sighed once more. "You better. Blackfist is a third realm knight. I'm not sure about his actual layer. He was weaker than your father before all this happened, but he's certainly stronger than you are."

Newt took the warning to heart. He dressed in common, inconspicuous clothes, traveling five days to cross monotonous farmland and forests before he reached Hailstown, spending four nights in decent roadside inns.

The town itself was fortified by tall, incredibly solid walls, fifty or sixty feet tall. Just like the Salamandra castle, Hailstown was built to resist saurian outbreaks.

Newt passed the lazy guards, who weren't really paying attention to awakened entering the town, instead inspecting merchants and their cargo. If Newt had to describe the town in one word, it would be stinks. The town reeked. The infrastructure was worse than in their castle complex, probably without public baths and toilets and plumbing.

Then again, Hailstown was in the plains, its wall surrounding a smaller fort built on a hill. It didn't even have a river, so waste disposal was obviously a problem. Fortunately, the town had methods to mask the smell. Like aromas of grilled meats, various spices, and not as pleasant aroma coming from the local tannery.

Newt found an inn close to the center, but, unfortunately, no merchants willing to offer a decent price for his manacles. He wasted over a week inquiring about his parents and Jasmine, before, finally, the townlord's half-brother paid him a visit.

In the inn's private booth, the man demanded one of the manacles as payment, but he told Newt everything he wished to know, and Newt regretted hearing every last word of it. Blackfist had humiliated his mother. He had kidnapped his childhood friend as a plaything for himself and his eldest son.

Newt took a sip of wine the man had ordered for the both of them while the other Blackfist kept talking.

"I really tried to stop him, but he is stronger than me, and doesn't take no for an answer, if you know what I mean."

The man was happy as he spoke, and Newt failed to understand him as his head grew muddled and rage made his heart beat wildly.

"Where is he? I'll kill him?"

"He's in his study. Come, I'll take you."

Newt followed the former bandit into the night and through the streets until they entered the keep.

"That's his room." The man pointed, and Newt stormed in, breaking down the door.

Inside stood a man wearing a black beard, his glossy hair matching the color. He held a glass vial filled with something orange and stared at Newt, stunned. Newt seized the chance, he drew his salamandra's fang and stabbed it into the man's chest.

"That's for my mother!"

The man's eyes regained focus. He looked at Newt with horror, and in a weak voice managed to wheeze, "Please don't," before Newt awoke drenched in sweat. His heart was beating like mad, and he felt his body, finding he was wearing his traveling clothes.

He rose from the unfamiliar bed, left the unfamiliar room, and entered the mildly familiar corridor leading to a more familiar common room. It was dark, and the place was empty, but he knew where he was. He had just left his family's castle yesterday.

"It was just a nightmare." He wiped the sweat off his brow and went back to the room. "Just a nightmare."

He closed the door and went back to sleep.