B4 – Chapter 43: Fused bloodline

Two fairy dragons grabbed Tristan under the arms and flew him over to the rift. They were both chatting about how amazing his rampage was, how he looked like a vicious predator who could not be stopped. A juggernaut. The ego boost was certainly appreciated. He was set on the ground outside the rift, back in the Fey Realm, and glanced at The Matriarch. She was standing there, claws on the rift, with Willow right next to her. “Why haven’t you grafted it yet?” he asked.

“We should wait for everyone to be out of it. We have options when it comes to grafting a lost realm and how it incorporates.”

“Explain them while we wait,” Tristan said as he crossed his arms.

Willow looked him up and down, and quietly asked. “Are you okay, Lord Tristan?”

“I’m fine.” He reached up and touched his ear, feeling the tip completely gone. “I’m mostly fine. How was the fairy dragon who lost an arm?”

“Recovered and pissed off,” The Matriarch replied. “Now, you have two main options when it comes to the actual space of the graft. Are we making an enclave-like area, similar to what I did with The Witchwood? Or, would you rather just take the mass of this Lost Realm and add it to the Fey Realm?”

“There’s nothing in there. Let’s just add it to the Fey Realm.”

“Then we will also obtain the ambient essence; that happens either way. The next step is to choose a trait or feature of that realm, its occupants, or its ambient essence and add that to ours.”

Tristan both-direction spun his crucible, filling to the brim. He felt a tingling next to his head, and reached up, feeling his ear grow back. “Must be because of rejuvenation and our partial graft with the Heavenly Realm. Am I correct?”

“Yes,” The Matriarch replied. “You sucked in the essence of the realm, which is infused with that spell type.”

Tristan looked at the rift as more of his forces came out of it. “I think that we should have whatever offensive spell type they used against me. It turned things to ash.”

The Matriarch’s huge, draconic form squinted at him. “Entropy, one of the most potent forces. Lord Tristan, I would advise you against that. Entropy can destroy anything. Even you, if used incorrectly or accidentally.”

“I drank a dragon’s blood. Pretty sure it was using that spell type, which means I’m now resistant.” He frowned. “But I have seen how fairy dragons use spells on each other for “fun”, and with children either to be born or migrating to the Fey Realm . . . you are right, entropy is too dangerous. Accidents may happen that cannot be reversed even with my control over the ambient essence.” He looked at Willow. “Can you see what this realm can offer us?”

Willow walked just below The Matriarch and put her hand on the edge of the rift. “This one knows that the Fey Realm could graft several features. Darksight would be valuable, but most species have that already. Just not the new residents. The ability to persist without breath would be valuable.”

“Let us do that,” Tristan said. “I want that.” He watched as the last of the soldiers came back, and Krik gave him a nod of confirmation.

The Matriarch closed her eyes, and she grabbed the edge of the rift with her claw. There was a burst of rainbow light that surged from her claw, and then she opened her eyes. “It is done.”

The rift shuddered, then shut. Tristan watched as the rainbow wave rippled along the edge of the Fey Realm, up to the top of the skies and into a high dome-like shape. Then, the entire film moved back a whole foot, with new dirt, stone, and grass appearing to meet the new edge. She lowered her claws. “Done. That added a large area. And now, we do not need to breathe except to exhale for conversing.”

That felt odd, for Tristan. His body was just autonomously breathing, but he tried holding his breath and felt no tension. He did not feel that burning in his lungs for release. It was just . . . normal. “Huh. Neat.” He willed his wings to manifest and flapped them. “Well, that’s one Lost Realm down.”

Willow stared at him. “Lord Tristan. Your wings look . . . different.”

Tristan glanced behind him and saw that the phantasmal wings were not silver and crusted with ice. They were multi-colored and crackled with all the elemental dragon’s blood types he had consumed. “Huh. Interesting.”

The Matriarch shrank down and walked over to him, rapidly muttering a phrase in Elvish. Her eyes went wide. “Lord Tristan . . . I just performed a divination. You are . . . well, the only way to put this is that your bloodline has . . . fused.”

Tristan stared at her, feeling tension in his chest. “Explain.”

“Forging a bloodline requires a feat of prowess. Something monumental. You already had a bloodline – two of them. Normally, when you forge a bloodline, you make a brand new one. But when a feat that qualifies for that threshold is performed by one with a bloodline already? It can refine further and become even more powerful; like distilling alcohol to increase its potency. But instead, your two bloodlines fused. What did you do in there?”

Krik spoke. “He fought their dragon-like creature. And, he slaughtered thousands.”

The Matriarch nodded. “Your bloodline is no longer Winterbloom alone, nor is it Dragonslayer. It is new. Congratulations, you get to name it.”

Tristan’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m still an Elf though.”

“Still a Winterbloom Elf,” The Matriarch said with a nod. “You do not lose your position as descendant of Zeltana. Think of this like you adding something new to the Winterbloom bloodline. A permanent addition, empowering future descendants.” She opened her extradimensional storage space and pulled out the vial holding his seed. “This will need to be re-filled to carry on this new variant of the Winterbloom.”

“I think we should keep that one pure,” Tristan said. “Hold onto it. Just have the gnomes forge another one. We can keep them separate. I don’t want Zeltana’s legacy tainted.”

Stolen novel; please report.

Thoughtful, Zeltana said in his mind. But I would not be concerned. You have done something so incredible that if you did not have a bloodline, you would have forged one in the heat of battle, near the end of your slaughter of those husks. This is like a better version of Winterbloom. I can already see the changes to your inner world. The potential here . . . you’ve gone beyond what I dared dream.

The Matriarch dipped her head. “Some conditions as before regarding its use?”

“Yes,” Tristan replied. “The same conditions. One-hundred years of my absence, or upon confirmed knowledge of my death.”

She dipped her head and sprouted her wings. She placed the vial into her storage dimension and let it seal. “I shall speak to the gnomes and have a new vessel forged and delivered to your chambers.” She lifted off and flew away.

Willow and Krik looked at each other and some silent communication occurred between them. Then, Willow spoke. “This one is pleased at our first task being successful. Would you like the dryads to continue our search for Lost Realms?”