Dragon scales surfaced, flashing a chill like winter steel, while dense silver mana gathered like broken blossoms and etched filigree across each scale.
An edge like a soldier’s blade flared, then fell silent like a gust snuffed out; in its wake, life force rose in a warm tide of dawn mist.
Silver Luan shut his eyes, first feeling a hushed swell like snowfall; within, pale light ringed his soul, and a thread of dragon-song thrummed in his chest.
Two of four soul-stars lit like twin lamps, yet his star-map lacked the Phantom God’s kaleidoscopic drift; the Dragon Deity woke in flesh, not color.
Life clung to his scales like dew on armor, a clear sign of the Law of Substance settling in with mountain-weight calm.
Judged by effect alone, the Dragon Deity Silver Luan awakened hardly felt like a god’s gift, more a quiet iron in the bones.
It sharpened his senses and drove his body toward berserk heat, like a drum pushing a march through storm.
If it were only that, it’d trail high-tier enhancement spells, a spark beside a bonfire in a long night.
Yet this strength fit Half Dragonkin like rain fits rice shoots, each drop multiplying the harvest beyond measure.
That was only the face of it, a wave’s skin; the Dragon Deity’s true force was augmentation, growth stacking like rings in a tree.
The Dragon Deity was also a Deity of Proliferation, a power usually singular, reborn only when its bearer fell like a lone comet.
Yet this one was an exception, split into shards like seeds scattered in spring; in one era, many could inherit, each with a chance at bloodline awakening.
Only one seed sprouted fully among the many, a solitary sprig reaching sun; Proliferation’s core was enduring increase, value that keeps.
Reinforcement, augmentation, instinct, evolution—these winds braided into one; Silver Luan inherited reinforcement, and with his bloodline’s wake, the Dragon’s deeper current flowed.
He opened his eyes with a tide of calm, felt power humming like a hive under skin, nodded, and rose from the woven cushion.
With each small motion, the silver floral scales receded like a tide slipping from rock; when he stood tall, he looked unchanged, a still lake face.
“This feeling…” His voice came low, like a reed’s whisper in fog.
One step forward, and the fullness inside spilled; white mana drifted from his skin like steam off hot spring stone.
It left him, beading into droplets, pattered to the floor, then boiled at touch, turning to mist that curled back into his pores like breath returning.
“It’s leaking without me noticing… looks like I need to rein it in,” he said, tone steady as a hand on a bridle.
The Dragon Deity’s gift belonged to Half Dragonkin alone, and its divine trace nudged some of them into strange evolutions, like fish growing wings.
Silver Luan’s bodily fluids carried special effects, a clear dew-born sign of that shift.
As a natural elixir and catalyst, a little refining turned it into top-tier draughts, like rare sap drawn from ancient bark.
Aileaf had used it to craft the second version of a super elixir, a clear star bottled in glass.
Now its effects glowed brighter, carrying a vast life force like a river under moonlight.
Life force, a major bough of the Law of Substance, reached for undyingness, the far shore of a long river.
Silver Luan couldn’t touch that horizon yet, but with the God’s guidance, his dragon blood surged with spring-fed strength.
He felt even grave wounds would knit fast, like cuts sealed by fire and rain.
After steadying his breath a moment, Silver Luan pushed open the door; outside, Spring Tide, Cerqin, and Aileaf waited like three lanterns in a corridor.
Seeing him, they all looked him over, curiosity flickering like sparks in the eyes.
“Feels like your aura changed,” Cerqin said first, voice lilting like a plucked string, and she squeezed his shoulder with cat-paw fingers.
Silver Luan swept the mischievous pink-haired troublemaker into an arm and pinched Cerqin’s cheek, a playful tide lapping the shore.
“So much life force…” Aileaf, newly at the Sixth Rank, looked him over, gaze drawn to the scales like a moth to silver flame.
“Feels like your blood could make not just elixirs but healing tonics now,” Aileaf added, words coming like notes on glass.
Silver Luan went speechless, half smile, half sigh, fighting to keep his aura taut like a bowstring.
“If we use it straight, it may hit too hard. We’ll need to dilute,” he said, calm as cold tea.
“But with this life force, drawing extra blood should be fine,” Aileaf murmured, eyes lighting like stars behind clouds.
“You’re terrifying,” Silver Luan breathed, a laugh like gravel and wind.
Whenever their field came up, Aileaf’s mad-researcher spark flared, a storm Silver Luan never quite got used to—especially that instrument and the shadowed face while he drew blood.
He shivered, a reed rustling; that loosened focus let life seep out from the scales like nectar breaking seal.
White misty mana spilled fast; Cerqin, hugged closest, drank it in like a black hole swallowing starlight.
“Uh…” Cerqin trembled with a pleasant quake, eyes going dreamy, like fireflies slipping in and out.
The strong life force paired with that older property, a braid of river and wine; first-taste Cerqin couldn’t quite bear the rush.
Luckily, it was only a wisp; within seconds, Love God’s power eased and tuned it, turning flood into rain fit for fields.
“So strong.”
“As expected of you.”
“So, how’s it feel?” Aileaf asked, voice keen as a scalpel, and tried to take hold of the life force strand shimmering in the air.
It wasn’t smooth, much like when he’d tried to steer Spring Tide’s time power; rough waters pushed back even if the Law of Substance fit the Curse Deity’s grasp better.
Different layers resisted like stone steps in a waterfall, hard to climb without slipping.
“Feels a bit like Cerqin’s Love God’s blessing, but still different,” Silver Luan said, weighing it like a coin.
Life force didn’t only mend flesh; it converted mana and surged body functions, like a bellows stoking a forge.
Its boost and recovery stood near Love God’s embrace, two paths to a fuller cup.
But their routes diverged, like two roads through the same forest.
Spring Tide’s Love God restored by warped infinite replication, a conjuring from nothing like mirrors birthing mirrors.
The Dragon Deity pushed the core power with life itself, a seed swelling into root and trunk.
Silent until now, Spring Tide spoke, tone tinged with expectation, a ribbon afloat in stream. “Wanna spar?”
“Okay.” Silver Luan’s answer was simple, a blade’s nod.
Back at the Sixth Rank, they’d been evenly matched, both loving close-quarters brawls, fists and scales like thunder and rain.
Now at the Seventh Rank, testing hands was natural, a night wind inviting a dance on the rooftop.
Silver Luan also wanted to feel this new river inside, to chart its bends.
Aileaf tugged Cerqin’s fingers, light as dragonfly legs. “We’ll head back. You two take your time?”
“Huh, back already? I wanna watch,” Cerqin said, looking down at their joined hands, confusion like mist on a mirror, unaware tonight’s earlier plan might shift.
It was already deep into the night; a spar wouldn’t take long, a spark show before sleep.
What follows a good fight? The rest writes itself like ink on rice paper. Aileaf sighed, resigned, then let the tug go slack, not dragging Cerqin away.
He muttered, soft as a reed whistle, “You’re not… looking forward to it? Seems you’ll have it rough tonight.”
“Ah?” Cerqin blinked, innocence like a cloud.
Aileaf was curious too, a scholar staring at lightning; so hand in hand, they followed Spring Tide and Silver Luan to the training hall where Spring Tide and Ninexiao had sparred.
“Law of Time versus Law of Substance—sounds fun,” Cerqin said, words crisp as a snapped twig.
As they entered, Ninexiao arrived on the scent like wind finding pine, curiosity bright as a lantern, watching the two walk to center.
He activated the chamber’s warding array and the mana-dampening seals, petals closing over a pond.
Then he poured soul force through the room like fine rain, to watch closely and keep danger at bay.
