[22 POV] Year 5, Day 205 (After departure from seamstress estate; 2 days until race)
The flying platform glided through Central’s evening sky.
22 stood near the edge in professional observation, wind pulling at her dress and city lights spreading below.
The others: X relaxed, Void concerned, Null silent, Twins curious.
Kira—thinking too hard with expression distant, processing something.
22 noticed and filed it away, then reconsidered.
[Distracted rider equals dead rider. Two days for training. Can’t afford existential crises.]
She approached directly. “What’s the problem?”
Kira blinked, pulled from her thoughts. “Nothing. Just… thinking.”
“About?”
Hesitation. Then: “The seamstress is 2600 years old. Many of her maids have served her all that time.”
22 waited. Let her continue.
“My family name was established 1400 years ago.” Kira’s voice carried something hollow. “Some of those maids had already been serving her for over a thousand years when my ancestor founded the family. When my entire lineage began.”
Pause. Weight building.
“And I could live 2600 years easily now. With the seed. With everything.” She looked at him. Uncertainty showing. “Would I actually still care about this challenge then? Would the name matter in a thousand years?”
22 processed and understood—long view, temporal perspective, philosophical crisis. Interesting but impractical and distracting.
“Sentimental now?” Flat delivery and analytical precision. “Two days until you risk everything. Bad timing for philosophy.”
Kira flinched as the valid criticism landed.
22 continued with practical redirection. “But if you want expert opinion, ask him.” She gestured toward X. “Lost his old name in a stupid bet. Was nameless for years. Some elder eventually took pity and named him X.”
Kira’s attention shifted with surprise. “X lost his name?”
“X as the last letter,” she explained with clinical assessment. “Last chance. That’s what the elder meant—final opportunity.”
X had been listening. Shameless eavesdropping as usual.
He shrugged with casual dismissal, but something flickered in his expression. Old memory. “I was still under a hundred then. Young. Bad bet and stupid youth pride.”
Pause. Then to Kira: “You’ll remember it matters. Trust me. Standing at that starting line. Sister across from you. Everything at stake.” Weight settling despite casual tone. “Long view is nice. Comforting. But right now? Today? Losing will hurt like hell.”
Kira nodded slowly, understanding that present pain and distant perspective were both real.
22 remembered X from before the loss—genuinely reckless back then, picking real conflicts and making dangerous enemies.
The loss changed him completely. Same shamelessness but redirected toward sexual conquests instead of actual risks.
The platform continued. Central’s architecture passing below. Magical infrastructure. Wealth displayed casually.
They arrived at a facility that made her reassess her understanding of scale.
A massive wall, hundreds of meters tall with dozens of doors embedded in its surface. The largest easily three hundred meters high, the smallest human-sized.
The entire structure radiated Dwarven Union design—logos everywhere, guards posted at every entrance, security visible and professional.
But as soon as the guards noticed X, they stepped aside, bowed, and made way. No questions, no checks, just automatic deference.
Professional courtesy or fear? Unclear, possibly both.
They landed in front of a human-sized door where more guards bowed and granted unquestioned access.
X talked while walking. Casual lecture mode. “Behind this door is a sub-space pocket. Dragon sanctuary. I’ve been running it for…” He paused. Thinking. “Three hundred and something years now. Lost exact count somewhere.”
22 listened with professional interest. Sub-space pockets were expensive. Maintaining one for centuries? Astronomical cost.
X continued. “When I joined, it was just the Dwarven Union head’s personal dragon collection. He’s a massive fan and collector who wanted expert care for his pets. Hired me as something like a vet.”
He paused, something shifting in his tone to almost rueful. “But I did too good a job of it and soon ended up running the entire show. Nowadays most dragons here aren’t even owned by the boss anymore, just renting space. We offer all kinds of services—care, breeding, training, medical support, everything dragon-related.”
He sighed with genuine exasperation showing through his shameless mask. “The thing is highly profitable—bit too much in my opinion. Causes constant headaches. Everyone wants space, everyone has requests, everyone needs something. It never ends.”
They stepped through the door.
Reality shifted.
22 had experienced dimensional travel before. Teleportation. Spatial manipulation. Various magical transit methods.
This was different. Smoother. More complete. Like reality itself adjusted rather than forcing passage between spaces.
They emerged on a platform high in the sky, impossibly high.
Around them: valleys, mountains, rivers, and forests with vast landscape stretching to distant horizons. Weather patterns were visible—clouds forming, rain falling in the distance, sunlight breaking through.
And dragons everywhere. Dozens visible, maybe hundreds if she looked carefully. Different sizes, colors, and species—flying, resting, hunting, and playing.
22 stared. Actually stared and couldn’t help it.
The most impressive sub-space pocket she’d ever encountered, possibly the most impressive one that existed.
X noticed her reaction and grinned. Pleased. Proud even. “Yeah. When I joined we had some land near the city. Basic enclosure. But the boss kept buying more dragons and local monsters caused constant issues. Escapes. Attacks. Property damage. Political complications.”
He gestured at the expanse. “So we planned this. The price tag was insane. I was sure it would never get approved. But the boss only asked one question: ‘Will the dragons be happy?’ When I said yes, he stamped it. Just like that.”
He paused, something like fondness in his voice. “Final cost ended up nearly double the original estimate. But he never complained or questioned, just kept funding it. And look—the dragons do look happy.”
They walked to a smaller platform attached to the main one with a visible magical circle and precisely carved runes.
X explained while activating it. “We use some kind of space shifting thingy. Don’t ask for details—not my field of expertise. It’s NOT teleportation though, which is an important distinction in case anyone asks.”
Space wrapped again. Different sensation. More localized. More directed.
They emerged on similar platform. But the environment had changed completely.
Desert. Vast. Empty. Hot. Barren except for rock formations and sand dunes stretching endlessly.
X continued talking. Professional tour guide despite casual delivery. “This place will do. We use it for testing dangerous things. Union even used it for bomb testing and experimental weaponry. Controlled environment. No collateral damage concerns.”
He pointed at the horizon. Warning clear. “Don’t go walking on your own. This pocket is over a thousand kilometers in diameter. Easy to get lost. And we rarely find more than bones afterward. Dragons think wandering creatures are extra snacks.”
Then he turned to Kira. Direct. Assessing. “Go take some distance. As much as you need. Then transform. Want to see your real form. Understand what we’re actually working with here.”
Kira hesitated with visible uncertainty, maybe fear.
Through the network, Mistress Null’s voice came simply and directly. «Show them. They need to see.»
Kira nodded and walked away across the sand with growing distance—maybe two hundred meters, maybe more.
Then she stopped, took a breath, centered herself, and transformed.
The change was immediate. Violent. Reality-breaking.
Kira’s form expanded. Grew. Shifted. Bones cracking. Flesh reforming. Mass erupting outward.
Five hundred meters of abomination.
22 had seen Dirty Dog’s true form before. That nightmare dragon. Horror made manifest. Proper terror with purpose and terrible beauty in its wrongness.
This was similar. But worse somehow.
Where Dirty Dog’s form had been nightmare dragon—organized horror with clear structure despite the wrongness—Kira’s was just abomination. Flesh hanging incorrectly. Tentacles emerging from places that shouldn’t produce them. Draconic elements mixed with tiger aspects mixed with something else entirely that refused to settle into coherent pattern. No cohesion. No organization. No purpose behind the horror.
Just mass and wrongness and death radiating outward in waves.
The aura alone was lethal. She felt it even from distance. Everything living would die on contact. Everything nearby would take damage just from proximity. Just like Dirty Dog, but somehow more chaotic in its lethality.
Equally dangerous. Maybe more dangerous because it lacked any control or direction or intentionality behind the destruction.
Just destruction given form without purpose.
X watched, studying and processing what he was seeing with professional focus.
Then he finally spoke, voice carrying unusual seriousness. “Kira. Transform back, now!”
Kira’s massive form rippled and compressed, reality bending back toward normalcy.
Moments later: tiger beastkin with horns, tail, and scale patches. Human-scale and functional, still clearly dragon-touched but manageable.
X circled her once with a grave expression, professional assessment replacing his usual shameless demeanor.
“Well. Good news—you won’t have power issues.” He paused as weight built in his tone. “But that form… I can’t think of any useful applications for it except causing destruction on continental scale and qualifying you to join the next Daemon Lord lineup.”
He gestured at where the massive form had been. “I’m fairly sure most people wouldn’t even recognize that as a dragon. It’s just wrong on too many levels. Organized wrongness would be terrifying. Disorganized wrongness like that? That’s apocalyptic waiting to happen.”
His tone shifted. Harder. More urgent. “If you accidentally take that form during the race, you’ll probably kill a million people with your aura alone before getting hunted down by everyone with power. SO DON’T DO IT.”
He paused with something shifting in his expression. Almost sympathetic. “I’m not sure this race is a good idea to be honest. I lost my name once. It’s not that bad. You survive. You adapt. You move forward. Names are just labels. They don’t define you as much as you think.”
Then he turned. Looked directly at Null. “Your turn.”
Null hesitated, which was unusual for her, showing uncertainty.
Through the seed network, Spy’s voice came encouragingly. «It’s fine, Host. Show them.»
22 added her own clinical but supportive assessment. “Your form is stable and controlled. No danger to observers. The demonstration is safe.”
Null nodded in acceptance, stepped away to clear space, and transformed.
22 had seen it before.
But watching X’s reaction was almost as interesting as the form itself.
He froze completely for five minutes in absolute stillness, just staring and trying to comprehend what he was seeing.
Then movement—walking around the form, circling, and studying from every angle.
He pulled out his wand, the diagnostic tool he used for medical assessments, and reached out to touch Null’s “body” carefully at multiple points and different locations. Professional examination despite the impossibility of what he was examining.
Then he withdrew. “Transform back. Please.”
Null’s form compressed and returned to human appearance—maid dress, black and white, professional bearing.
X’s expression carried something 22 had never seen from him before. Genuine confusion mixed with professional fascination.
“Can you cut your finger? Small cut. Just need to see something.”
Null looked confused but complied. Pulled knife from Item Box. Small blade. Precise cut on fingertip.
Few drops of blood emerged.
X watched with intense focus. “Hmm. That’s strange. Usually more blood than that. Believe me, I’m a doctor. I know blood flow patterns.”
Few more drops emerged. Delayed. Slow.
X almost jumped. Excitement showing. “Haha! I knew it! It’s fake!”
22 processed that. Fake? What did he mean?
X pulled out his wand again. But this time asked—actually ASKED, which 22 had never seen him do before. “Can I touch you a few times? Proper examination?”
22 was quite sure X was afraid of Null now. He’d just asked permission. She’d never seen him request consent for examination before. Just did it. Shameless and professional and completely unbothered by social niceties.
But with Null? Permission requested. Carefully. Respectfully.
Null nodded. Consent given.
X reached out with his wand. Touched various points. Head. Shoulders. Torso. Arms.
Then stopped. Started cursing. “Damn this dress. Can you perhaps remove it? It blocks everything. Can’t get proper readings through this legendary equipment.”
22 almost couldn’t keep laughter back. Some huffs escaped despite her control.
X had probably just tried making a checkup for first time in a millennium while patient remained clothed. And failed. And was only now realizing his usual naked policy actually had practical medical purpose beyond shameless enjoyment.
She wasn’t the only one who found this amusing. She felt Spy’s amusement. The Twins’ confusion about what was funny. Even Void’s slight mortification mixed with suppressed humor.
Null’s dress simply disappeared.
One moment: clothed. Next moment: naked.
22 felt surprise at the level of control. She was unable to catch the moment of change. No transition. No process. Just instant switch.
Though perhaps not that surprising. Null had serious obsession with that dress. Who else used twelve hours for dress maintenance? That level of bonding, that level of connection—of course the control would be absolute.
X used his wand again. Touching Null from head to toes. Fast. Professional. Clinical examination. Not like the harassment he’d subjected 22 to during her own checkup. Just efficient medical assessment.
After completing the examination, X said simply, “You can dress now.”
The dress appeared again. Same instant transition. Same perfect control.
X stood back. Processing. Organizing conclusions.
“This body of yours is a perfect fake. It’s like some kind of magical construct one can will into existence and away. Yours isn’t different—but it’s such perfect replication, even I’m not fully sure it’s not real.”
He paused while thinking. “We may need to work with the definition of ‘real’ a bit here. Because functionally? It operates like real body. Bleeds like real body. Responds like real body. But structurally? It’s construct. Abstract. Changeable.”
Then something seemed to amuse him. He laughed. Actually laughed. “Oh, and when you made all the maids sterile through seed programming? This body of yours is totally Fertile. Just neutral.”
“Neutral?” Null’s voice carried confusion.
X explained like discussing interesting medical curiosity. “Yes. Neutral. It means it doesn’t carry any racial information. For example, if you decided to make your master happy by—” He caught himself. Realized where the explanation was going. “—well, theoretically, any offspring would be pure-blooded elf. The body would just replicate the partner’s genetics. No contribution from your side because there’s nothing to contribute. It’s template, not source.”
He seemed to find the concept amusing. The quirk. The unusual medical property. Safe example to use since Void was proper elf. Traditional. Would never actually consider non-elf as real partner for that. Not one of those rare weirdos who broke from cultural norms. Just: theoretical medical discussion about interesting body mechanics.
Void’s face went through several colors rapidly. Red. Then paler. Then red again. Like body couldn’t decide which crisis to process first.
Null turned red briefly then returned to normal within seconds. But her focus shifted entirely to Void. Just staring. Expression unreadable. Something calculating showing behind the usual emptiness.
X’s amusement faded into confusion as he watched Void’s reaction. “I just meant theoretically speaking. As medical observation. Pure genetics discussion. You’re proper elf—you’d never actually do that with non-elf servant. Obviously. So why are you reacting like I suggested something actually possible?”
The confusion was genuine. The reaction intensity didn’t match what should have been safely impossible theoretical scenario.
She understood what X had missed despite sharing same cultural framework.
X was right that Void was proper elf. Traditional. Classical. Held all the correct beliefs about partnership and racial requirements and cultural expectations. 22 had heard it during blood wine. Heard Void express views that matched her own completely. Proper elven thinking despite everything that had happened to him.
22’s respect for him had increased significantly after that conversation. First time she’d seen him as somewhat worthy of respect instead of just soft master who needed protection.
But proper elf didn’t mean no wanting. Didn’t mean no desiring. Didn’t mean no feelings about things that were culturally impossible to act upon.
Void might want children someday. Might desire continuation. Might think about legacy and offspring and future.
And here was Null. Could provide them. Pure elf babies even. Template body with no racial contamination. Perfect genetic replication.
But she wasn’t elf. Would never be elf. Would never be partner in the way that mattered for proper elven thinking about procreation and family and continuation.
Physical possibility meeting cultural impossibility. Want meeting prohibition. Desire meeting barrier that couldn’t be crossed without violating fundamental identity.
Additionally: master-servant power dynamic. Exploitation implications. His slavery trauma about consent and agency and choice.
Plus—22 was quite sure Null wouldn’t agree anyway. Null clearly enjoyed dressing games and serving and being close to Master. But that was far from making babies. Perhaps even something in her monster logic blocked the concept entirely. Different category of interaction.
All of it hitting simultaneously. Too much to process. Easier to shutdown via mortification than examine any of it carefully.
22 noted the reactions with clinical interest—useful for understanding both of them better.
X clearly hadn’t expected this depth. This complexity. This reaction to what he’d thought was obviously safe theoretical example.
Made sense though. X understood the cultural beliefs even if he didn’t follow them himself. He’d focused on the obvious—Void would never actually do this, therefore safe to mention—and missed the want that might exist underneath the would-never-act.
Null continued staring at Void. Processing something. Working through puzzle. Not understanding the cultural impossibility. Just: seeing reaction. Calculating what it meant. Considering possibilities that didn’t actually exist.
If Void had issues with closeness or bad dreams or whatever psychological complication this triggered, she thought idly, he should just get a CAT. Much simpler solution.
X decided to change subject desperately. “Well! There’s also good news about your body. Since it’s abstract construct, you should be able to modify it however you like. Elvish sounds. Different vocal structures. Maybe even different forms entirely.”
Null’s attention shifted. Confusion showing. “Different forms?”
“Various monsters and animals can shapeshift.” X gestured vaguely. “Something as abstract as yours? You should be able to take different forms. As long as you have proper understanding of the target form. Good knowledge. Detailed comprehension of the shape you’re aiming for.”
He paused. Thoughtful. “Can’t guarantee it works. But theoretically? Should be possible.”
Null bowed to X. Genuine gratitude visible. “Thank you.”
Clear smile on her face. Real pleasure at this information.
22 thought about that. Remembered the shaman’s comments about elvish language difficulty. Even with abstract body allowing modifications, the language itself was still one of hardest to learn. Grammar. Tones. Musical requirements. Cultural context.
But having the physical capability? That was significant first step.
As for the monster forms—she could absolutely see Null taking strange shapes for completely nonsensical reasons. Playing with the Twins. Testing new appearances. Whatever alien logic drove her decisions. Null was inhuman enough that shapeshifting for entertainment seemed entirely plausible. Probably inevitable actually.
X turned back to Kira. Expression serious again. “Are you sure you want to do this race?”
Kira looked confused by the question, uncertain how to articulate the trap. “The challenge… if I refuse I lose my name forever. If I accept I lose in the race. Either way…” She trailed off. “No choice, really.”
22 understood everyone’s uncertainty just from watching their expressions—the impossible situation, the trap with no escape.
Then Void spoke firmly and decidedly, surprising her considerably.
He rarely took strong positions or insisted on anything, usually just accommodating and agreeable, letting others decide.
But now: “If it’s possible to make it safely, it’s very important to Kira. We do this.”
X studied him, assessing and understanding the weight behind those simple words.
“The chance of that kind of transformation was low anyway given your hybrid state,” X said slowly. “But I can think of ways to make it impossible. Even if Kira might not like the methods.”
Kira responded immediately. Desperate. Determined. “Please. Anything. Whatever it takes. I can’t let that form emerge during the race. Can’t risk it. Can’t kill people. Just anything. I’ll accept any restriction you can provide.”
X nodded. Acceptance. Understanding. “Okay. Let’s go find some wyverns then. See how well you can actually ride a dragon. That’ll tell us what we’re working with.”
