I Received System to Become Dragonborn

Erend and Eccar arrived back at the Elf Palace, stepping through the swirling light of the portal and into the courtyard where the aftermath of the battle was still being felt.

The scent of scorched air and blood lingered faintly in the breeze. Around them, Elves moved with urgency and quiet determination tending to the wounded and mending the daMage as best as they can.

Healers knelt in the open yards, their hands glowing with pale Magic as they soothed pain and sealed wounds. Others had climbed atop the once-pristine white walls, ministering to those who could not be moved.

The daMage to the walls was minor in scale, but not in meaning. The wall that once thought to be unbreakable as their ancient barriers had been cracked and broken through in places. Centuries of pride now marred with jagged wounds, and the sight weighed heavily on the Elves' hearts.

A few Mages with robes singed and their faces pale from exhaustion, used the last of their strength to shift rubble aside, clearing paths and unearthing trapped survivors.

Even in the chaos, they worked with grace and quiet resolve. The bodies of the enemy still lay beyond the perimeter, left untouched for now. No one had the strength or the heart to deal with them yet.

Erend and Eccar moved quietly, not wishing to disturb the recovery. With a simple glance and nod between them, they summoned their wings. The wings flared behind Erend and Eccar's back.

In one smooth motion, they soared to the sky, bypassing the main halls and soaring directly to Saeldir's chamber, a room that had served as their temporary base these last few days.

Updat𝒆d fr𝒐m freewebnσvel.cøm.

They entered the chamber through the open window, wings folding away as they touched down softly on the polished floor.

The room was dim, lit only by the sunlight that started to emerged.

Tomes and scrolls were scattered across the long wooden table. Erend approached the table and set the high-tech laptop down among the ancient texts, the device's glow oddly amidst the relics of Magic and history of this world.

Eccar stood behind him, arms folded, gaze drifting from the laptop to the window and the wounded world beyond. The contrast between the two realms — Magic and machine — looks stark.

"They'll need time," Eccar said quietly, nodding toward the healing efforts beyond the chamber walls.

Erend nodded, eyes locked on the laptop. "Yeah. So are we."

He pulled out a chair and sat down, fingers already moving to access the data inside. Somewhere within this device were the answers or at least the beginnings of them.

Answers about the Praetoris, about what Laston feared, and about what might come to destroy not just them, again.

And as the sun filtered through the open window, Erend's voice broke the silence again.

"We will need Saeldir or even king Gulben with this. For now, we can't do anything yet."

"Right. But… for that, we need to wait a little bit longer," Eccar said.

---

In another wing of the Palace, behind heavy curtains and thick stone walls muffling the sounds of the outside world, lay the King and his son.

The air in the chamber was quiet and still and filled with incense and the low hum of healing chants.

Healers moved carefully, their robes brushing the marble floor as they tended to the two figures resting in the center of the room.

Aerchon and King Gulben lay in separate beds, both surrounded by glowing sigils that pulsed faintly with restorative energy. But even with all the skill and Magic the Elves could summon the injuries the two had suffered were grave.

Aerchon had yet to open his eyes. His chest slowly rose and fell but each breath was labored, as though fighting an unseen weight.

The front of his torso had been wrapped tightly in layers of enchanted cloth, but from the center, black mist still seeped through, a lingering and corrupted energy that continued to gnaw at his body from the inside.

He had taken the full force of Laston's cannon at point-blank range, without shield, barrier, or armor. It was a miracle that he had survived at all.

But now, his life hung in delicate balance and the healers dared not move him more than they had to.

King Gulben lay in the bed beside him, his eyes open and distant while looking at the ceiling above.

Unlike his son, the King was conscious, though clearly weakened. His chest rose calmly but his arms were tightly bound in splints and enchanted cloth. They weree bruised, blackened, and broken.

He could feel the Magic working slowly beneath the bindings but he knew that deep down, he might never use them the same way again.

The pain was one thing. He could bear pain. He had borne it many times across the centuries after all. But the uncertainty of his future, what remained of his strength, and most of all, the sight of his son unmoving beside him. That was the true weight pressing down on his soul.

His gaze turned toward Aerchon.

The proud boy who had grown into a fierce warrior. The one he had raised to someday stand as King. And now he lay quiet like a statue of himself, pale and still, the cursed mist twisting slowly above his chest.

King Gulben's throat tightened. He said nothing but his eyes shone with the quiet ache of a father watching something he could not protect. Not with power or with all the wisdom of his long reign.

A healer approached his side, sensing the emotion but saying nothing. She dipped a cloth into a bowl of golden liquid and dabbed it against the edges of king Gulben's arm. Her hands were gentle, but he barely felt the touch.

His mind was somewhere else.

"Aerchon…" he murmured under his breath, barely audible, his voice hoarse.

The healer looked up briefly but said nothing. She and the others had heard it. But none spoke. They knew there was nothing to say.

Outside the chamber, the light of dawn continued to rise across the battered Palace. The world was healing. Slowly, painfully, but healing.

Inside, however, the King stared at his son and wondered how many more wounds could be endured… before something broke for good.

---