Two fairy dragons grabbed Tristan under the arms and flew him over to the rift. They were both chatting about how amazing his rampage was, how he looked like a vicious predator who could not be stopped. A juggernaut. The ego boost was certainly appreciated. He was set on the ground outside the rift, back in the Fey Realm, and glanced at The Matriarch. She was standing there, claws on the rift, with Willow right next to her. “Why haven’t you grafted it yet?” he asked.

  “We should wait for everyone to be out of it. We have options when it comes to grafting a lost realm and how it incorporates.”

  “Explain them while we wait,” Tristan said as he crossed his arms.

  Willow looked him up and down, and quietly asked. “Are you okay, Lord Tristan?”

  “I’m fine.” He reached up and touched his ear, feeling the tip completely gone. “I’m mostly fine. How was the fairy dragon who lost an arm?”

  “Recovered and pissed off,” The Matriarch replied. “Now, you have two main options when it comes to the actual space of the graft. Are we making an enclave-like area, similar to what I did with The Witchwood? Or, would you rather just take the mass of this Lost Realm and add it to the Fey Realm?”

  “There’s nothing in there. Let’s just add it to the Fey Realm.”

  “Then we will also obtain the ambient essence; that happens either way. The next step is to choose a trait or feature of that realm, its occupants, or its ambient essence and add that to ours.”

  Tristan both-direction spun his crucible, filling to the brim. He felt a tingling next to his head, and reached up, feeling his ear grow back. “Must be because of rejuvenation and our partial graft with the Heavenly Realm. Am I correct?”

  “Yes,” The Matriarch replied. “You sucked in the essence of the realm, which is infused with that spell type.”

  Tristan looked at the rift as more of his forces came out of it. “I think that we should have whatever offensive spell type they used against me. It turned things to ash.”

  The Matriarch’s huge, draconic form squinted at him. “Entropy, one of the most potent forces. Lord Tristan, I would advise you against that. Entropy can destroy anything. Even you, if used incorrectly or accidentally.”

  “I drank a dragon’s blood. Pretty sure it was using that spell type, which means I’m now resistant.” He frowned. “But I have seen how fairy dragons use spells on each other for “fun”, and with children either to be born or migrating to the Fey Realm . . . you are right, entropy is too dangerous. Accidents may happen that cannot be reversed even with my control over the ambient essence.” He looked at Willow. “Can you see what this realm can offer us?”

  Willow walked just below The Matriarch and put her hand on the edge of the rift. “This one knows that the Fey Realm could graft several features. Darksight would be valuable, but most species have that already. Just not the new residents. The ability to persist without breath would be valuable.”

  “Let us do that,” Tristan said. “I want that.” He watched as the last of the soldiers came back, and Krik gave him a nod of confirmation.

  The Matriarch closed her eyes, and she grabbed the edge of the rift with her claw. There was a burst of rainbow light that surged from her claw, and then she opened her eyes. “It is done.”

  The rift shuddered, then shut. Tristan watched as the rainbow wave rippled along the edge of the Fey Realm, up to the top of the skies and into a high dome-like shape. Then, the entire film moved back a whole foot, with new dirt, stone, and grass appearing to meet the new edge. She lowered her claws. “Done. That added a large area. And now, we do not need to breathe except to exhale for conversing.”

  That felt odd, for Tristan. His body was just autonomously breathing, but he tried holding his breath and felt no tension. He did not feel that burning in his lungs for release. It was just . . . normal. “Huh. Neat.” He willed his wings to manifest and flapped them. “Well, that’s one Lost Realm down.”

  Willow stared at him. “Lord Tristan. Your wings look . . . different.”

  Tristan glanced behind him and saw that the phantasmal wings were not silver and crusted with ice. They were multi-colored and crackled with all the elemental dragon’s blood types he had consumed. “Huh. Interesting.”

  The Matriarch shrank down and walked over to him, rapidly muttering a phrase in Elvish. Her eyes went wide. “Lord Tristan . . . I just performed a divination. You are . . . well, the only way to put this is that your bloodline has . . . fused.”

  Tristan stared at her, feeling tension in his chest. “Explain.”

  “Forging a bloodline requires a feat of prowess. Something monumental. You already had a bloodline – two of them. Normally, when you forge a bloodline, you make a brand new one. But when a feat that qualifies for that threshold is performed by one with a bloodline already? It can refine further and become even more powerful; like distilling alcohol to increase its potency. But instead, your two bloodlines fused. What did you do in there?”

  Krik spoke. “He fought their dragon-like creature. And, he slaughtered thousands.”

  The Matriarch nodded. “Your bloodline is no longer Winterbloom alone, nor is it Dragonslayer. It is new. Congratulations, you get to name it.”

  Tristan’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m still an Elf though.”

  “Still a Winterbloom Elf,” The Matriarch said with a nod. “You do not lose your position as descendant of Zeltana. Think of this like you adding something new to the Winterbloom bloodline. A permanent addition, empowering future descendants.” She opened her extradimensional storage space and pulled out the vial holding his seed. “This will need to be re-filled to carry on this new variant of the Winterbloom.”

  “I think we should keep that one pure,” Tristan said. “Hold onto it. Just have the gnomes forge another one. We can keep them separate. I don’t want Zeltana’s legacy tainted.”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Thoughtful, Zeltana said in his mind. But I would not be concerned. You have done something so incredible that if you did not have a bloodline, you would have forged one in the heat of battle, near the end of your slaughter of those husks. This is like a better version of Winterbloom. I can already see the changes to your inner world. The potential here . . . you’ve gone beyond what I dared dream.

  The Matriarch dipped her head. “Some conditions as before regarding its use?”

  “Yes,” Tristan replied. “The same conditions. One-hundred years of my absence, or upon confirmed knowledge of my death.”

  She dipped her head and sprouted her wings. She placed the vial into her storage dimension and let it seal. “I shall speak to the gnomes and have a new vessel forged and delivered to your chambers.” She lifted off and flew away.

  Willow and Krik looked at each other and some silent communication occurred between them. Then, Willow spoke. “This one is pleased at our first task being successful. Would you like the dryads to continue our search for Lost Realms?”

  “Yes,” Tristan replied. “Please do so.” He looked at Krik. “You did an excellent job commanding our forces.” He eyed the hole in the pauldron. “Are you going to fix that?”

  Krik glanced down and the wood grew back over the injury to his form. “I had forgotten about it, to be frank.” He looked at Willow. “I will be here conversing with my companion.”

  Tristan nodded and flapped his wings, taking off. When he had some altitude, he used Dragon Leap to fly fast; even passing by The Matriarch, as he bolted to the Queen’s Wood. As soon as he landed in front of it, he ran downstairs, barking commands for fairy dragons to attend him and help him get out of his armor. After getting all of it off, he looked at himself in the mirror. His body looked much the same as before, but he could see little traces of colors flickering across the surface in small, undulating waves that randomly appeared.

  “That’s all,” Tristan said as he dismissed the fairy dragons. “Shut the door behind you.” Once the door was shut, he spoke to Zeltana as he jumped into the pool. “What are your thoughts about this development.”

  Her barely constrained excitement broke through. This is fantastic! The Winterbloom, stronger than ever. Come into your inner world. It is . . . something else.

  Tristan closed his eyes and envisioned his essence crucible. It looked the same from the outside, but as he traveled into it and opened his eyes, the normally white-silver ice he walked across was instead the whole spectrum of colors correlating to the dragon crucibles he had consumed. The tree at the center of the inner world, normally a replica of the Queen’s Wood, was instead a mix of that and a blossoming apple tree; with the multi-colored flowers swaying in a nonexistent breeze. He felt a pang of sorrow at the sight, as memories of sitting underneath Mr. Perry’s apply tree boughs with his mother. Sitting on her lap, as she read books to him. One of his fondest memories of his childhood.

  Zeltana was standing there, arms crossed, looking at the tree. He joined her, and she glanced sideways at him. “It’s something, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Tristan replied. He saw the words in Elvish still on the tree, along with the spirals; but the spirals looked like they were intertangled dragon claws rather than sweeping vines and leaves.

  “You also kept the pure Winterbloom bloodline just as a backup.” She turned to him with a sincere, warm expression on her face. “Did you do that for yourself or for me?”

  “For the bloodline,” Tristan replied. “I want your legacy to live on. You did something incredible, Zeltana. You were a Primordial Heritage and survived. You shaped this place to your whims . . . and because of that, now I get to do so, as well. The least I can do is ensure that a pure, undiluted Winterbloom . . . seed, exists.”

  Zeltana gave him a hug and squeezed tightly. “You are thoughtful,” she said as she pulled away. “Now. What are you going to name your new, fused bloodline? Winterbloom and Dragonslayer. Maybe Dragonbloom? Winterslayer?”

  “I like Dragonbloom. I actually like that a lot.” Tristan smiled. “I guess I’m Tristan Dragonbloom, now.”

  “Could also do Frostfang,” she said. “But, I do like Dragonbloom quite a bit.” She glanced sideways at him. “Any progeny now get the best of both worlds for spell type access above Tenth Order. Both your unique dragonbane spell type, and ice elementalism. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” Tristan replied. “What else do you think happened aside from the slight physical changes with my skin?”

  “That’s a question for The Matriarch with her Elf Nature spell thingy. Some divination spell she cast when you first got here.” She chuckled. “You’ve come a long way since then.”

  Tristan touched the tree and willed it to show his progress. He saw the ring fill up with multi-colored light, three-quarters of the way to Sixth Order. “I still have a long way to go.”

  “But you progress rapidly.” She smiled. “I think you will be able to graft another few Lost Realms before you receive word that the uprising in the Demon Realm is ready.” She looked at him and pursed her lips as her expression became deadly serious. “Are you ready to fight a Realm Protector and an entire legion of his assassins?”

  “No. I need to travel to find an enchantment dragon. Whatever that is. Maybe a trip to the Wild Realm to go hunt one quickly. Just Felicity, Onyx, and me.” He crossed his arms as he looked up at the tree. “I want to have spell type resistance against everything that Demonkin can do. I’ve got everything except binding and summoning – which can’t be used offensively; directly against me, at least. But enchantment can.”

  “You’re fairly resistant to it. But, I agree in principle.” She turned to face him. “Shall we spar while you wait for Felicity to return and Dorni to bring that new vessel?”

  Tristan shook his head. “I think I have learned all I can from you when it comes to martial prowess.”

  Zeltana manifested her maul and hefted it on her shoulder. “I think you have more to learn. Don’t let your new strength make you cocky. Come, we spar.”

  Tristan resigned himself to her lessons and manifested his sword in the inner world. “No spells though. Just raw fighting prowess.”

  Tristan felt someone tapping on his shoulder. Not the shoulder of his inner world form, but his real body. “Seems like someone needs me,” he said in between panting breaths. He was on the verge of exhaustion. Zeltana, as a being of pure consciousness, had endless stamina, and had been able to enhance her speed and strength until she was more than a match for Tristan’s raw capabilities. He could have enhanced himself while in his inner world, but then the training would be useless in practice.

  Zeltana grinned. “Told you I could still teach you. I will be watching. Oh, and if you want to keep both-direction spinning your crucible so I can feel what you feel . . .” she trailed off with a lascivious smile.

  “I don’t think so,” Tristan replied. “You’re my great-great something grandmother. That’s just weird.”

  “Pff. I’m as far removed from you as one could be. Literally hundreds of generations.”

  “Still, it’s weird. Go and get into a fairy dragon seed pod if you want to experience that so badly. Or rebirth as a nymph.”

  “Nah. I like being part of the Fey Realm. I’ll just live with watching from afar.”

  “Doesn’t make me feel any better,” Tristan muttered as he left his inner world and his eyes snapped open. He was frozen from the chest down in the pool, and ice had spread along the floor.

  Felicity was standing overhead, in her Elfanoid form, tapping him on the shoulder. “Hey you. All done meditating?”

  “I was training,” Tristan said as he put both of his hands at his midsection, bent his fingers so that each was interlaced like a lattice, and spoke the spell phrase for Melt Ice. “I order you, frost and ice before me, to obey my command. Melt in my presence, and become liquid once more.” The ice melted and returned to the pool thanks to the slight slope of the floor, and he got out. “Hand me an evapalm.”

  She gave him one of the large, broad leaves and he dried himself off. “I was told something changed.”

  Tristan smiled. “Let the proclamation go forth. Tristan Winterbloom is no more. Tristan Dragonbloom rules now.”