Kai Nakamura's new life began with a scream—a guttural, reptilian cry of despair that echoed through the cavern. His mother, the great dragon he had mortally wounded, was dying. He scrambled instinctively toward her, his tiny, scaly body feeling impossibly heavy and clumsy. The stench of her blood, a coppery, magical scent, filled his senses. As he reached her side, he noticed the scales around her wound were withered and gray, as if the magic from the attack had drained her very life force. He had seen this effect in-game, a debuff called "Mana Blight." It was a high-level rogue skill he had perfected, one designed to deal a slow, agonizing death. The guilt was a physical weight, heavier than his newfound scales.
The massive dragon lowered her head again, her stormy eyes soft with a profound sorrow that transcended worlds. A deep, resonant sound, more of a feeling than a roar, vibrated through the cave. "I am sorry," she transmitted directly into his mind, the words not spoken but felt. "I did not know the rogue would be so swift, so… lethal." She had no idea the rogue was him. She simply saw her slayer as an unknown, fearsome power.
A warm, golden light began to emanate from her body, pulsing with a gentle, rhythmic beat. It flowed from her, not like blood or mana, but like pure, untainted light. It began to pour into him, overwhelming his senses with a torrent of information. He felt her knowledge, her power, all flooding into his mind. He saw glimpses of ancient battles, of flying through a sky he could only dream of, of a quiet, peaceful life in this very cave. He felt her grief, her joy, and her profound love for him, her last hope.
A new sensation washed over him. He felt his mana pool, which he now knew to be a vast, limitless ocean within him, surge with an even greater power. The golden light intensified, and the mana stones of the cave walls pulsed in response, their glow reflecting the fading life of the great dragon. Her voice, now weaker and filled with a fragile, beautiful sadness, came to him one last time. "My beloved child, my Aelius Wyndhelm," she said, her tone a mix of love and farewell. "You are the Last Wind Dragon. Remember our kind, remember our sky... live."
The golden light faded. Her eyes, so full of life just moments before, glazed over, the light of a stormy sky replaced with the stillness of a cloudy one. Her mana, the very essence of her being, began to dissipate. As Kai watched, her immense body, composed entirely of mana, began to lose its structure. It shimmered, pixelating like a video game character that had just been defeated, then dissolved into countless motes of light that scattered and vanished into the air, blending into the surrounding mana. The sight was hauntingly familiar. This was how characters and monsters in "Aerthos Ascendant" had died, their magical bodies returning to the world's core.
Kai, now Aelius Wyndhelm, was alone. He let out another mournful cry, this one filled with a profound sense of loss he had never known. For all his years of virtual conquests, he had never truly cared for another being. Now, in the span of a few moments, a being of immense power and grace had sacrificed her life for him, and bestowing upon him a legacy he wasn't sure he could carry.
He remained there for what felt like an eternity, a small, scaly figure curled up in the spot where a mountain of silver scales had once been. The cave was silent, save for the soft drip of water and the occasional rustle of a passing breeze. The air, once filled with the warmth of his mother's presence, was now cold and hollow.
Aelius eventually stirred, his mind now a whirlwind of new information and old memories. He looked at the vast cavern, the countless mana stones lining the walls, and the empty space where his mother had been. He had spent his life playing games, seeking power and glory. Now, he had both, but at a cost he could not have imagined. He had been given a new name, a new identity, and a profound, terrifying destiny. He was no longer just a player in a game; he was a character in a story, one he had to write for himself. And the first line had just been etched in the spot where his mother's scales had last touched the stone.