CHAPTER 41: EMOTIONAL DAMAGE

Back in the den, a temporary occupant lay listless.

Orien did not expect to be hit with this kind of pain.

And that was saying something, considering he hadn’t even flinched much when he learned he’d been handed back to the clan as an egg and definitely left with no way to contact his parents.

Sure, it had been confusing. Disorienting. But it didn’t hurt this bad.

That pain dulled even further once he learned the way of dragons. That was apparently common; after all, dragons may even have issues with their own reflections.

Harsh, yes.

Cold, absolutely.

But he had been lucky. Lord Karion and Lady Cirila, who turned out to be his grandparents, were powerful. Respected. And his mother? Although she left him like that, it was still thanks to the fact that she was Dragon Lord Kael’s cousin that he’d been able to remain relatively comfortable.

Not bad cards to be dealt, all things considered.

Definitely not as bad as... this.

Because this? This was emotional obliteration.

What if his uncle couldn’t bring them back?

What now?

Orien curled into himself, miserable, eyes glassy as he blamed himself for something he had already been warned about.

Maybe the elders had been right all along.

Dragons really shouldn’t mix with others.

He sniffled. The kind of sniffle that sounded both pitiful and resigned.

If only he truly understood what kind of "teaching" that was.

Far away, in a place supposedly unreachable by lesser beings, shimmered an orb that should have never existed.

It hovered ever so slightly, pulsing faintly as if to alert the owner.

The call came at dawn.

In the distance, a string instrument played—slow, eerie, haunting. But the moment the message came through, everything stopped. Even the last note hung motionless in the air, like it feared what was coming.

"Package not received."

The voice was sharp, dry, distorted. It didn’t ask for names. It didn’t ask for reasons. Just results.

The recipient didn’t flinch. He barely even blinked. His hand paused only briefly on the strings before continuing its lazy rhythm.

"Package shipped out as scheduled," he replied coolly.

This reply came from a man who had spent countless years hidden in the dark. Someone who thought he never needed the light yet deserved it. He sat alone in a quiet study, bathed in shadows, his fingers now tapping against the desk in a pattern that matched nothing at all.

"Still. No package. No payment."

The orb flickered. And then, just like that, it went dead.

Silence returned.

The tapping slowed. His eyes flickered—once. The smallest spark of irritation appeared. But that was it. Just irritation. No fear. No worry.

Not when the disappearance had already served its purpose.

Not when nobody was expected to look. Not really.

And even if they did, it wouldn’t do anyone any good.

That’s how this world worked. Vanishing was just another word for forgotten.

So, he would proceed. As planned.

After all, running away was the same as being banished.

And who better to decide that than him?

Without so much as a sigh, he reached over and scribbled something down.

One name. One sentence.

Orien Vathros — Relocated.

And it would have been the mark that started it all... if the said person had actually been relocated as expected.

However, between the sudden trauma of losing an entire world and the even more sudden revival miracle that dropped into his lap, Orien Vathros really could not care less about the supposed implication of that mark.

Not when Riley Hale had returned.

And not just returned.

He came bearing the best news since the birth of humanity.

"Lord Orien, here it is."

!!!

Orien, who moments ago looked like he had aged five centuries and had been contemplating the meaning of life while lying flat on a very large bed, nearly fell off it when the den’s space tore open.

Two figures emerged.

One radiant like justice. The other grim like taxes.

The dragonling practically launched himself toward Riley with a squeak of delight—if not for Kael raising a hand like a traffic stop.

Orien halted mid-leap with a confused mewl.

"If you crush him, your little people die," Kael said flatly. "The rectangular device is weak."

And flimsy. And noisy. And a hundred other complaints Kael was already filing in his head.

He really did not like the idea of maintaining things that required regular upkeep.

But none of that mattered to Orien, who looked at the device like it was a sacred relic. His eyes widened. His ears twitched.

Then came the sound.

Riley blinked.

Oh. Right. He must have left the volume on this time.

"I can turn the sounds off again, Lord Orien, if it irritates you," Riley offered quickly. "That way, you can play like before."

"No," Orien gasped. "You mean... you’ve silenced my people this whole time?!"

Riley tried not to laugh.

Deep breath. Be the adult. Be the responsible guide of emotionally unstable dragonlings.

"My lord, it’s just volume adjustment. You’ll play better with earphones anyway."

"What is that?" hissed Kael, immediately suspicious of anything else Riley might bring into their lives.

"If you plug it here," Riley demonstrated, "you’ll hear the sounds through these tiny speakers without anyone else hearing. Hopefully."

Though, considering dragon hearing could pick up a mosquito landing three valleys away, that might have been too hopeful.

"But, my lord, more important than the sound is the battery," Riley continued. "The reason it stopped working last time was because it ran out of power."

"Huh? Then why not give it more power?"

"Oh no. Not just any power. This device needs electricity. A very specific kind. Please don’t try to zap it with lightning magic or it’ll be fried."

The look on Orien’s face suggested he had very much been planning to do just that.

Thankfully, Riley got there in time.

"So because it needs something specific to function, I’m leaving this power bank here." He held it up. "You can use it to charge the console when this little icon gets low."

"!!!"

Orien inspected the power bank and its flimsy rope-like thing.

Wait. This was their life force?

This tiny, easily-chewed, string-like thing?

It looked like it would snap if he breathed on it too hard.

"So this is their life force?" Orien whispered. "So small. Is it going to be enough? For how long?"

"For tonight, my lord."

"WHAT?! TONIGHT ONLY?!"

"Then they have to die again?!"

"No, no!" Riley said quickly, hands raised. "They’re not alive. Not exactly. It’s the save file that matters. It stores everything so you can continue playing from your last save point. Even if we use a different device."

Orien blinked.

Riley kept going. "I already made a backup, just in case. But since we don’t have internet access in the Ministry, I’ll have to do that manually every now and then."

Orien looked increasingly horrified.

"And the same goes for the power bank. Since there are no power outlets there, I’ll need to charge it at home."

"Every day?" Orien squeaked.

"Yes. And depending on how long you play... maybe even more."

Orien sat back like someone just dropped the moon on his lap.

Riley could feel the despair rolling off him in waves, so he tried a quick recovery. "On the bright side, it’s all still there. And maybe you’d enjoy playing while eating some snacks—"

Orien was not soothed.

Instead, the dragonling suddenly squinted at the table with two distinct objects. "Two circles?"

Riley blinked. "What?"

"Didn’t we agree on two boxes? Why are there just two circles now?" Orien asked, the spark of righteous betrayal flaring back into life.

"Ah. About that," Riley said, already regretting everything.

"I don’t have any more ingredients."

And once again, Riley delivered a devastating blow to the young one’s fragile mind.

How many years would it take for those ingredients to grow again?