LOTM:Pathways of the [everlasting sovereign]

The ink bled into the parchment, dark tendrils spreading like veins pulsing with malignant life. Each stroke of the quill was deliberate, an incision into the fabric of reality itself. Alistair's hand remained steady, his focus unwavering, as he wove his will into the runes, shaping them with precision.

The symbols pulsed with an eerie glow, faint but undeniable, as if whispering to forces beyond mortal comprehension. The air grew thick, saturated with unseen energy, curling around him like a sentient thing. The words did not simply exist on paper; they coiled and slithered, pressing against the world's boundaries, demanding recognition.

Before him, the dragonkin flinched, its forked tongue flicking out in sudden unease. Its muscular frame tensed, ivory scales glistening under the dim lantern glow. It did not yet understand what had been done, only that something was wrong. Deeply, fundamentally wrong.

The girl in its grasp thrashed weakly, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts, but Alistair's attention never wavered. She was insignificant. The true subject of his experiment was standing before him, its slitted eyes dilating in confusion as an invisible force began to gnaw at its very essence.

A test. A simple experiment. And it was working.

Alister looked down at the runic language he had written in looking at the words he wrote which stured the forces of nature.

[The dragonkin due to not properly digesting its Currant extra beyonder characteristics began losing controle the effects of which where worsened due to its heightened negitive emotions,its attempts at cogitaion where unsuccessful leading it releaseing the gurl in its grasp before falling to the ground]

At the same time a vilent rage swpt through through the dragonkin's body, an imperceptible whisper at first, then a creeping sensation—a thousand unseen needles pricking its nerves. The beast inhaled sharply, its breath hitching, its muscles spasming as the ink-bound runes dug deeper. It could feel something intruding, something foreign rewriting the laws that governed its flesh.

The runes on the parchment pulsed, their strokes shifting ever so slightly, adjusting themselves in response to resistance. The ink was not merely pigment—it was a conduit, a disease spreading with meticulous intent.

The dragonkin shuddered.

Its fingers, once locked around the girl's throat with cruel certainty, faltered. A crack formed in its stance, the grip loosening enough for the girl to twist free and collapse onto the damp cobblestones, coughing violently. She did not pause to look back. Instinct carried her away, legs trembling but desperate.

Alistair let her go. She was no longer relevant.

The crowd did not react. They remained caught in the dull haze of ignorance, eyes sliding over the scene without comprehension. [One with the Crowd] ensured that their minds dismissed the abnormality not just with him but with anyone who was curantly in his "work" leading the currant persons to begin reducing the cuurant situation to a footnote in their periphery.

The dragonkin dropped to one knee, claws gouging deep trenches into the mud as it struggled against the unseen force constricting its being. Its breathing grew ragged, labored. The curse was not lethal—at least, not yet. This was a test. He needed to measure its limitations, its applications.

Alistair took a slow step forward, his boots soundless against the wet earth. The scent of damp stone and blood mingled in the air, cloying and heavy.

The dragonkin's gaze flicked up, slitted pupils shaking.

" why am i loosing control" It rasped, voice laced with pain and something else. Fear.

Alistair crouched before it, tilting his head slightly. " it truly is Fascinating," His voice was soft, almost conversational,using "one with the crowd alister was able to remove his physical presance while only leaving his voice whoch was heard in a distorted manor. "The way reality bends when guided by the right hand is truely interesting"

He tapped the parchment once more. The ink shivered. The runes shifted.

A strangled gasp tore from the dragonkin's throat as its body convulsed, its limbs twitching unnaturally. Something was coming undone within it—muscles seizing, sinew unraveling, bones trembling in quiet rebellion. Not enough. The resistance was greater than anticipated. His calculations needed refinement.

"You… who are you," the creature croaked, its voice barely more than a breath. "Who… what are you?"

Alistair considered the question, amusement flickering behind his eyes. It was still conscious. Either the curse was not yet refined enough, or the dragonkin's bloodline granted it unexpected fortitude. Both possibilities intrigued him.

"I am no one," he said simply. "But you—" He lifted the parchment, watching as the ink pulsed with residual power. "You are useful i will keep an eye on you in the future do not make my presance be know to others,young one and when the time is wright you may become one of my blessed."

With a flick of his wrist, the runes shifted once more. The dragonkin's eyes rolled back, its body slackening as it collapsed into the mud, unconscious but still breathing.

A success.

Alistair exhaled slowly, rising to his feet. His mind worked through the results, cataloging the information. The spell had taken effect quickly, but its potency was insufficient. He would need stronger subjects, a more refined medium. Still, this was proof that his abiltes functioned properly, in this world.

And if it worked, with enough advancements in his pathway their was no limit to what he could achieve.

He glanced down at the fallen creature, considering his options. Killing it would be simple, but inefficient. No, there was more to gain from study than from destruction. He reached into his coat, fingers brushing against fresh parchment.

Then—

A sound.

Not a voice, not a footstep. Something shifting in the air itself. A disturbance, like the world had exhaled in warning at the same time his spirituality sent warning.

Alistair's fingers tightened around the parchment as his gaze flicked up.

At the end of the alley stood a figure.

Not a villager. Not another dragonkin.

Something else.

Their presence was wrong. Not in the way of the mundane, not in the way of mortals. They carried with them a sence of distortion and displacement a quiet dissonance in the fabric of existence—something much like himself but different it being more promnent and their presance being more welcoming even though their true figure was not shown.

The figures lips curled into a slow, measured smile,as alsiter looked into their direction looking at "them".

[END OF CHAPTER]