Aelius Wyndhelm spent what felt like weeks in the hollow silence of the cave. The grief was a physical ache in his new, scaly body, a constant reminder of the mother he had known for only a few fleeting moments. He was a dragon, the last of his kind, but more specifically, the last of the Wind Dragons. The once vibrant Mana Stones on the walls seemed to have dimmed, their glow a reflection of his own desolation.
He soon realized that his newfound existence was far more complex than just having a new body. The immense power and knowledge his mother had transferred were not just a gift; they were a heavy burden. Her memories, her emotions, and her deep-seated understanding of this world were now his. He saw the world through her eyes—a place of unparalleled beauty and great danger, of ancient magics and mortal ambition.
He knew he was powerful. He could feel the raw, immense energy coursing through his veins, an unending ocean of mana. It was a terrifying, uncontrollable force. Driven by a desperate need to understand it, he attempted to unleash a simple gust of wind. The result was catastrophic. A miniature hurricane, a vortex of pure wind, erupted from his form, tearing at the cave walls and scattering loose stones. He immediately cut it off, terrified of destroying his home. He realized he could not learn on his own; his power was simply too great, too volatile. Any attempt to practice would result in the cave's destruction.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. He learned to control his physical form, growing from a helpless hatchling into a powerful young dragon. His scales, once dull and silver, took on a polished, almost ethereal sheen. He grew in size and might, his wings strong enough to carry him through the winding tunnels of the cavern.
Aelius eventually found himself exploring the cave, a vast labyrinth he now understood was a sanctuary carved by generations of his kind. His exploration led him to a small, hidden passage he hadn't noticed before, and he squeezed his way through it. The air changed, becoming unnaturally still and warm. As he emerged into a small chamber, he was greeted by the flickering light of a torch, its magical flame clinging to the wall. He had seen these torches in-game, enchanted with a spell that kept them eternally burning.
His eyes were drawn to a collection of books stacked neatly on a stone shelf. The books themselves looked ancient, their pages yellowed and their covers worn. He moved closer, his heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and hope. As his vision focused on the books, their contents seemed to jump from the pages, their language automatically translating into his mind. This was not a test of his gaming knowledge, but a true inheritance. He had found a guide, a way to navigate the terrifying power within him. He was no longer just a player in a game; he was about to begin the most important quest of his life: to master his own strength.