The Glitched Mage

The Shadow Kingdom lay quiet beneath a starless sky. No moonlight touched the blackstone spires. Only the faint violet glow of rune-lanterns lit the streets, pulsing softly like the heartbeat of the city itself.

Riven stood in his chambers within the Shadow Palace, cloak discarded, bare-chested as he washed the blood and dust off from his skin from his spar with Damon and Krux. The basin before him steamed faintly, tendrils of heat curling into the still air. In the obsidian-framed mirror across the room, the dragon tattoo across his back seemed to shift in the low light—its wings curled protectively around his shoulder blades, tail winding down his spine, the head resting near the nape of his neck.

Alive. Waiting.

His mana still buzzed from the earlier sparring session—raw and vast, like a tide just barely held at bay. He could feel his Fourth Circle humming beneath his ribs, a molten rhythm of shadow and fire.

And somewhere, deep beneath it all, something stirred.

The Obsidian Dragon Egg.

Cradled within the abyssal void of his system, sealed in the silence between worlds, it had lain dormant since the forging of the last bond. Silent. Motionless. But never truly asleep. It had watched through him, waited with him—an ember hidden in the hollows of his shadow, patient as the grave.

Until now.

The air shifted, almost imperceptibly—a subtle tightening of space, the kind of pressure that comes before a storm breaks. Not magic. Not wind. Something deeper. A slow breath drawn in by the very bones of the world.

The rune-lanterns guttered and dimmed, their violet glow strangled by an unseen force. The shadows thickened, bending inward, as if the walls themselves bowed in quiet reverence.

And then it struck.

A deep, resonant boom, not heard but felt, rippled through Riven's core. A phantom impact, like a great drum sounding from within the marrow of existence. His mana surged instinctively, rising in a wave—part defense, part recognition, part reverence.

The Obsidian Dragon Egg was awakening once more.

Riven's gaze sharpened. He reached inward, drawing the Egg forth from the abyssal hollow where it had slept, answering its call.

A flash of dark light peeled open a rift in the air before him. From within, the egg materialized—suspended between planes for a breathless instant before dropping gently into his waiting hands.

It pulsed the moment it touched him.

Its black shell was hot—alive—veins of blue-violet light running like molten circuits across its surface, brighter than ever before. Waves of raw mana radiated outward, thick and ancient, washing over him like a tide of memory and instinct.

His dragon tattoo ignited with answering heat, searing along his spine.

His grip tightened around the shell as a soundless roar tore through his mind, primal and echoing. It wasn't a scream of rage.

It was hunger.

The egg throbbed again, synchronizing with his mana heart. Riven staggered a half-step as power swelled between them, chaotic and insistent. He didn't need the system's permission this time—he could already feel the demand.

The battlefield had left its mark. The blood spilled, the divine essence ruptured, and the clash of fire and shadow had all fed the bond he carried. The forging of his Fourth Circle had been no quiet affair—it had been violence given form, and somewhere deep within the silent corners of his soul, the Obsidian Dragon Egg had felt every shudder of it.

The air shifted, subtly at first. A faint tightening of space, like the invisible draw of a storm before it breaks. Not magic. Not mana. Something older. The rune-lanterns along the walls flickered, their violet light smothered under a thick, unseen weight. Shadows leaned inward, the room itself seeming to bow toward a single, unseen center.

Then it came—a pulse.

A low, resonant drumbeat that rattled through the hollow of Riven's core. It wasn't sound. It was sensation, striking deep through the forged layers of his soul. His mana stirred unbidden, rising instinctively—not to resist, but to answer.

The Obsidian Dragon Egg was moving.

Riven's eyes narrowed. He straightened slowly, feeling the weight of something ancient and immense stirring against the boundaries he had sealed. The battle, the forging, the bloodlust—it had all reached it. Awoken it.

A whisper slid into the hollow spaces of his mind. It wasn't words in the way men spoke them; it was something more primal. A command etched in instinct, carved into the marrow of existence itself.

Feed me.

The demand was not a cry, nor a plea. It was inevitability given voice.

Riven inhaled slowly, drawing the air deep into his lungs, feeling the charge of it ripple through his veins alongside the lingering echoes of fire and shadow. And in the quiet that followed, low and steady, Riven spoke.

"System."

[[ The Egg has entered Phase Three of incubation. ]]

[[ Bloodlust resonance and Fourth Circle awakening have triggered a Bond Link Request. ]]

[[ Establish Bond Link 3/10? ]]

[[ Mana Requirement: 80% of current reserves. ]]

[[ Warning: The Dragon has begun imprinting on your power signature. Further bonds may begin affecting physical and magical attributes. ]]

Riven's fingers tightened around the egg.

The temptation was real—to see what came next, to feel that link deepen, to harness whatever power lay dormant within the obsidian shell.

But he wasn't careless.

He moved to the side table, uncorked a flask of etherbloom concentrate, and downed half in one breath. Mana surged through him, cold and sharp. He'd learned from last time.

Then, he sank to the floor.

His legs folded beneath him, movements fluid as smoke, and he settled into a cross-legged position with the egg cradled in his lap like a precious, volatile ember. The cool stone beneath him seemed to hum faintly, as if reacting to the tension in the air.

Riven closed his eyes, centering himself against the rising storm inside him. He drew in one long breath, slow and deep, filling his lungs with mana-laced air until his chest ached from the strain. Then he exhaled, measured and steady, sending a ripple of invisible heat ghosting across his skin.

The Obsidian Dragon Egg stirred in his grasp.

It pulsed once—then again—steady and rhythmic, like the beat of a second heart beginning to align itself with his own. The warmth of it spread up his arms in slow, creeping tendrils, threading through muscle, coiling around bone, sinking into the sinew of his being like living fire.

His Fourth Circle stirred in answer, the well of his mana heart swelling, the tide of his power rising to the call.

Riven didn't hesitate.

He let go.

He tore open the gates of his mana heart without reservation, unleashing a surge of raw shadow and searing flame that poured into the waiting vessel in a flood of primal offering. His mana roared through him, wild and untamed, a river of heat and hunger meant for the Egg alone.

It drank greedily, pulling at his strength with a hunger that was no longer passive, no longer patient.

And the room around him began to tremble, the stone underfoot shuddering as if the very foundation of the world had been disturbed.

[[ Initiating Mana Transfer… ]]

The drain began instantly. The egg drank his power greedily, and this time, the pull wasn't smooth—it was wild, erratic, like trying to contain a storm inside a vessel not yet ready to hold it. His limbs trembled slightly. Shadows writhed along the floor. The dragon tattoo burned brighter, glowing faintly in the mirror's reflection.

And then, without warning, the Egg roared—not in sound, but within him.

A flash of burning cold slammed through his chest as a third bond ignited. Riven arched, eyes wide, as the heat carved itself deeper into his spine.

[[ Bond Link 3/10 Established. ]]

[[ Mutation Detected. Draconic affinity developing. ]]

[[ Mana Type Altered: Abyssal + Fire + Draconic (Embryonic) ]]

Riven gasped, sweat streaking down his skin as he slumped forward, the egg cradled in his lap.

His veins burned as if something ancient was now echoing through his body. A faint thrum stirred in the deep—a heartbeat not his own.

The egg was no longer just responding to his mana; it was reaching for something more profound, something deeper than magic—his soul. A tether had formed between them, unseen but unbreakable, braided through essence rather than flesh.

Riven lowered his gaze, studying the shell resting in his hands. The earlier gleam that had pulsed along its surface had faded, dimming into a low, persistent warmth. Yet the life within it still burned steady, feeding, growing, biding its time. It wasn't simply dormant. It was sleeping—digesting the offering it had been given. Gathering strength.

A breath eased from Riven's chest as he leaned back against the cool stone wall behind him. His body ached faintly from the torrent of mana he had unleashed, but the exhaustion was distant, dulled by something else—something more important. His half-lidded eyes never left the egg, the nexus of shadow and flame that pulsed gently in his lap.

He exhaled a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh under his breath, a wry twist of amusement curling at the edges of his tired smile.

"You're going to be a nightmare," he whispered.

The egg stirred in answer, its warmth blooming once more against his palms—soft but unmistakable. A quiet acknowledgment. A promise.

The room stayed silent after that, thick with the tension of something unspoken—something alive. Riven's fingers drifted along the egg's smooth, obsidian surface, still warm with residual energy. The pulse had slowed now, no longer frantic, no longer demanding. It was… content. For the moment.

But beneath that calm, Riven felt the shift—deep and low, like tectonic plates grinding far below the surface of a sea. The third bond had changed more than just his mana. He could feel it in the way his fire burned now—hotter, hungrier. His shadows seemed to move on their own, reacting to his thoughts before he even gave command.

And that new element—that embryonic draconic mana—was still settling, stirring through his core like embers waiting to ignite.

He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the stone wall.

Outside, the wind stirred. Distant, soft. The kind of wind that carried omens.

Sleep didn't come easily—not truly. His body drifted into stillness, but his mind remained adrift. Dreams weren't so much dreams as impressions. Whispers. Flickers of movement behind closed eyes. Great wings unfurling over oceans of fire. Claws dragging through ash.

He saw a figure—immense, winged, its form wreathed in shadows and studded with obsidian scales that pulsed with molten veins. Not just a beast, but something ancient, sacred—carved from stone that pulsed with power. It stood at the edge of a fractured battlefield beneath a violet-hued sky, flames licking up its spine like a living crown of smoke and fury.

It turned.

And though its face was draconic—regal, alien, eternal—

The eyes…

The eyes were his.

Riven jolted awake just before dawn, breath shallow and skin damp with cold sweat.

The egg rested in his lap.

Heavier.

As if something within it had shifted, grown, taken more shape.

He stared down at it, the shell was smooth and uncracked, but unmistakably changed. The glowing veins that ran across its obsidian surface had multiplied, branching like rivers of light—deeper, more complex. They pulsed now with the rhythm of something breathing. Something waiting.

A soft notification shimmered to life before his eyes:

[[ Draconic Bond Link: 3/10 ]]

[[ Current Incubation Phase: Evolving ]]

[[ Time Until Next Reaction: Unknown — Determined by Combat Resonance, Emotional Surge, or Near-Death Experience. ]]

[[ Dragon is watching. ]]

Riven blinked at the final line, exhaling slowly.

"Yeah," he murmured, voice low. "I know."

His thoughts drifted—not to the present, but to the mausoleum beneath the Academy, where Waunuk of the Obsidian Realm had first spoken to him. The ancient dragon, his colossal skeletal frame sealed in stone and chains, had not begged for freedom. He had given Riven a gift—a burden wrapped in scaled obsidian.

Riven rose slowly, careful not to jostle the egg as he guided it back into the swirling dark of his inventory. Before sealing it away, he paused—one last glance at the glowing shell resting in his hands.

He felt it watching him.

Not with fear.

With trust.

He summoned a thread of his mana—now tainted with the embryonic spark of something draconic—and wrapped it around the egg like a warded veil. Fire. Shadow. Stone. He sealed it in silence.

And the egg pulsed once—like a heartbeat heard across time.

Then faded into the void between.

Riven stood for a long moment, watching the space it left behind.

Then he turned, pulled on his robe, and stepped into the palace hallway just as the faint light of dawn broke over the Shadow Kingdom's eastern towers.

He had generals to meet. A kingdom to guide. A realm to expand.

But with every stride, the responsibilities tethered to him grew heavier—no longer obligations, but chains forged in fire, loyalty, and legacy.