Sleep was a forgotten luxury. Hours after the unsettling meditation session revealed the impossible truth residing within him, Endralian lay taut on his cot, the familiar dust motes dancing unseen in the storeroom darkness. Outside, the guild hall slumbered, but inside him, chaos reigned. The constant, silent thrum of the Ender Dragon Egg, his bizarre, interdimensional power source, was a maddening counterpoint to the quiet.
His mind wouldn't rest, endlessly replaying the internal vision: the smooth, ovoid presence where his magic container should be. An egg. The sheer, cosmic absurdity of it warred with a chilling unease. What are the rules for a power source like this? Was it stable? Could it... hatch? The questions multiplied, unanswered, feeding a rising tide of internalized panic he fought to suppress.
Focus, he commanded the racing thoughts, pressing his palms against his eyes. Understanding. Controling. The memory of Ivan Dreyar's silken voice offering the very technique that unlocked this Pandora's Box added another layer of complexity. He couldn't simply lie here, paralyzed by the unknown.
The suffocating stillness became unbearable. He needed to act, to test this power, to map its boundaries, even if the process proved humiliating or dangerous. The sheer potential humming within him, intertwined with the Egg's ancient resonance, was a siren call he couldn't ignore.
Quietly, he rose. Privacy was essential; the guild hall or training yard were out of the question. He needed seclusion. The woods nearby, silent and vast under the moonless, star dusted sky, offered the only viable option.
He moved into the forest, eventually finding a secluded clearing encircled by ancient, gnarled oaks. The air hung cool and still, amplifying the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of night insects. It felt remote enough, safe enough for what he needed to do.
Taking a centering breath, he reached inward, seeking the Egg's resonant hum, trying to consciously draw upon its alien energy. He visualized the Ender Dragon, a creature of void and shadow from a world away.
First, he remembered the most used skill of dragon slayer, like Natsu, claws. "Ender Dragon Claw!" The silent thought felt faintly ridiculous, but he mimicked the motions, thrusting his hands forward. Crackling, purple-black energy sputtered into existence, coalescing into unstable, static-wreathed gauntlets that resembled angry space eels more than draconic weapons. A tentative punch against the nearest oak produced a faint scorch mark and a fizzle of violet sparks. Underwhelming. Needs refinement. Less dramatic flair, more control.
Next, the breath weapon. A far more ambitious, potentially idiotic, endeavor. "Ender Dragon Breath!" He inhaled, gathered the volatile energy, and expelled it with a grunt. Instead of a destructive beam, an uncontrolled cough of swirling purple particles erupted, dissipating harmlessly and leaving behind the faint scent of ozone and... burnt toast? Right. Ender Dragon Indigestion, perhaps? Utterly ridiculous. A choked chuckle escaped him, humor warring with frustration.
Unseen in the shadows, Luxia watched. This clearing was her sanctuary, a place to recover from magical exertion without witness, a place to let the tremors subside. Seeing Endralian here, flailing with his bizarre, potent magic, sparked immediate annoyance.
That idiot! Invading my spot! Her internal monologue simmered. And look at him... throwing that power around like an idiot! A sharp, bitter envy twisted within her. Her own lightning was immense, but her body sometimes struggled, a secret frailty she despised. Seeing him wield his chaotic energy, seemingly without cost (at first), felt like a cruel joke. It's not fair...
Back to Endralian, driven by a reckless mix of curiosity and stubbornness, he decided to push harder. He focused again on the "Breath," pouring more energy into it, forcing it.
The Egg protested violently. The void energy surged, ripping through his control. Intense dizziness washed over him; the clearing tilted like a storm-tossed ship. He staggered, agony lancing through his skull as the connection overloaded his senses.
He collapsed heavily to his knees, the world dissolving into a sickening swirl of purple static.
The inevitable, humiliating backlash followed. His stomach revolted. He doubled over, retching onto the forest floor, the world spinning, ears roaring. The magic felt less like a tool and more like a hostile parasite.
Okay... he thought dimly, spitting bile, a weak, miserable grin flickering on his face. Definitely overdid it. Stupid... Egg has opinions... Limits exist. Painfully obvious limits. He felt like a child who'd poked a sleeping beast, now paying the price. The sheer absurdity of being felled by his own internal dragon egg was almost darkly funny.
As he knelt, gasping, waiting for the world to stabilize, a soft footstep rustled nearby. He tensed. Luxia emerged hesitantly from the shadows.
Her expression was unreadable in the dim starlight, annoyance warring with surprise, and something softer, uncertain. She watched him for a long moment, taking in his miserable state.
Then, she stepped forward and knelt beside him. Her movements were slightly awkward, hesitant. As he coughed again, she reached out a tentative hand and gently patted him on the back. Once. Twice. A simple, uncomplicated touch.
It was entirely unexpected, devoid of her usual mockery. Not pity, but... comfort. Simple empathy. The silence stretched between them, thick and profound, broken only by his ragged breathing and the night sounds. The warmth of her small hand felt strangely grounding, a tiny anchor in the swirling chaos.
He finally managed to catch his breath, the nausea receding slightly, though his head still throbbed with a dull ache. He looked up at Luxia, still kneeling beside him, her expression now less unreadable, tinged with a faint, unfamiliar vulnerability.
"You... alright?" Her voice was quieter than usual, lacking its customary sharp edge. "That looked... bad."
He managed a weak, shaky nod, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah. Just... pushed too hard. Stupid mistake." He offered a self-deprecating grimace. "Guess my ambition is bigger than my... magic container?"
Luxia didn't laugh or mock. Instead, she looked away, her gaze fixed on the dark trees surrounding the clearing. Her hand remained lightly on his back. "It's not fair," she murmured, so softly he almost didn't catch it.
"What's not fair?" he asked, genuinely confused.
She turned back to him, her eyes narrowed, but the usual fire was banked, replaced by a simmering frustration that seemed directed inward as much as outward. "You! Your magic! It's... weird.grandpa said it's Chaotic. Father said it's strong. And you just... use it. Like it's nothing. Like it doesn't... hurt."
He blinked, taken aback. Doesn't hurt? Did she not just see me projectile vomit my guts out? But looking closer, he saw the faint tremor in her hands, the tightness around her mouth. This wasn't just about him.
"It hurts," he admitted quietly. "Right now? Feels like my head is turned upside down and trying to scramble my insides. I definitely hit a limit."
Luxia seemed surprised by his admission. She pulled her hand back, hugging her knees to her chest. "Limits," she echoed bitterly. "Yeah. I know about limits." She fell silent for a moment, chewing on her lower lip. Then, the words tumbled out, hesitant at first, then gaining a frustrated momentum. "My magic... the lightning... it's strong. My magic is strong. Grandpa says I have potential. Father says..." She trailed off, her expression darkening at the mention of Ivan. "He says I need more discipline. More control. But sometimes... sometimes it feels like too much. Like my body... can't keep up." She clenched her fists, her knuckles white in the dim light. "Sometimes, after I really let loose, my hands shake. Sometimes I get dizzy. Sometimes... it just hurts to hold it all in, but letting it out is worse." Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.
She looked at him defiantly, as if expecting ridicule. "Father says it's weakness. That as his daughter , i shouldn't falter. He gave me that stupid pendant... said it would help 'channel' it better. Like I'm just faulty wiring!" The bitterness was raw, painful. "He doesn't understand. Nobody does. They just see the lightning, the power. They don't see... this." She gestured vaguely at herself, a gesture encompassing the hidden exhaustion, the secret fear.
He listened, stunned into silence. This was a side of the proud, arrogant Luxia Dreyar he'd never imagined. The spoiled prodigy was also just a kid struggling with power too big for her body, pressured by a manipulative father and the weight of a legacy. Remembering things in the story about Ivan implanting the Lacrima later suddenly clicked into place with chilling clarity – not just for power, but perhaps, twistedly, as a fix for this perceived frailty. He felt a surge of unexpected empathy, a connection forged in shared struggle, however different their circumstances.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked softly, genuinely curious.
Luxia shrugged, looking away again. "I don't know. Maybe because you looked almost as pathetic as I feel sometimes." A ghost of her usual smirk flickered, but it lacked heat. "Or maybe because your magic is just as messed up as mine feels. Why were you out here, anyway? Trying to blow up trees with... whatever that purple stuff is?"
He considered deflecting, but her honesty deserved the same in return. At least, a measure of it. "Trying to understand it," he admitted. "Found out something... unsettling about where it comes from. Needed to see what it could actually do. Pushed too hard, found out the limits are real, and apparently involve vomiting." He managed a weak smile.
She studied him for a long moment, her gaze searching. The shared vulnerability hung in the air between them, fragile but real. The earlier envy and annoyance seemed to have dissipated, replaced by a grudging, mutual understanding.
"So," she said finally, her tone regaining a sliver of its usual command, though softened around the edges. "What is that weird magic, anyway? Grandfather called it... Void something?"
He hesitated. Explaining the Ender Dragon Egg felt impossible, dangerous. But her confession, her unexpected moment of trust... it demanded something in return. Not the whole truth, not yet. But something real. Maybe changing the subject work.
"It's... complicated," he said slowly. "But you can... you can call me Leo." He met her gaze directly. "My real name. It's Leo."
Luxia blinked, surprised. The revelation hung in the air. He hadn't shared that name with anyone, not even Makarov. Offering it to her felt significant, a deliberate step across the divide between them.
"Leo," she repeated, testing the name. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. "Huh. Doesn't sound as stupid as Endralian." The familiar spark of mockery was back, but this time, somehow, it felt different. Less like an insult, more like... acceptance.
The silence returned, but it was different now. Less awkward, more companionable. Two kids, burdened with powers they didn't fully understand, sharing a secret moment of vulnerability under the vast, indifferent expanse of the night sky.