The year is 2010 of the Avalorian Imperial Calendar. I am ten years old.
The one years since Mark I's successful test flight had been a period of unprecedented innovation and development. My workshop, once a single repurposed storage room, had expanded into an entire subterranean complex. A series of interconnected chambers, carved out of the bedrock beneath the castle by magically augmented dwarven miners, were now dedicated to the various disciplines of magitech research. The familiar scent of hot metal, ozone, and the faint, sweet smell of cooling mana crystals hung permanently in the air.
I stood before my central workbench, making final adjustments to a delicate mechanism. Patricia, my ever-present shadow and supervisor, stood in her usual position at the designated safe observation point. Her initial terror at my experiments had, over the years, gradually given way to a kind of resigned, professional acceptance. Nearby, Bob maintained his vigilant, statue-like stance, though the sphere of shimmering water magic he kept at the ready was smaller these days a sign that even he had grown more confident in my safety protocols.
Kaelus still hovered near me on his signature red velvet pillow. He was now significantly larger, the size of a small watermelon, but still showed no signs of hatching. His presence had become so constant that I sometimes forgot how unusual it was to have an unhatched dragon egg as a workshop companion and occasional paperweight.
The workshop itself had undergone a dramatic transformation. A massive, reinforced metal door, controlled entirely by Tes, now provided direct access to the outside courtyard where I conducted my flight tests. The original dungeon core still hummed at the heart of the complex, but its containment apparatus had been completely redesigned and improved. The core now hovered ornately between two engraved orichalcum plates that served as positive and negative terminals for the entire workshop's power grid. From these plates, crimson mana pathways snaked across the walls and ceiling like luminous veins, pulsing with a steady, silent energy that powered everything from the lighting to the emergency barriers.
The majority of these pathways led to one specific wall where my greatest achievements stood in silent testament to three years of relentless innovation. Three suits of magitech armor were mounted there, standing at attention with their arms at their sides like a trio of mechanical knights awaiting their orders.
Mark II, Mark III, and Mark V.
Each suit was crafted from a lustrous, dark blue magitech alloy that I had developed by combining mithral with trace amounts of orichalcum and powdered dungeon core fragments. The result was a metal that was lighter than steel but stronger than anything that had existed before, capable of channeling magical energy with unprecedented efficiency.
Mark I had been honorably retired after serving as a proof of concept, its components cannibalized to improve later designs. Mark IV… well, we didn't talk about Mark IV. That particular experiment had resulted in what I diplomatically referred to as "an unexpected rapid disassembly event" that had required three days to clean up and had prompted my mother to implement even stricter safety protocols, much to my chagrin.
Each of the new suits bore a large, circular power core in its chest that glowed with a steady, hypnotic blue light. These weren't just energy storage devices, they were miniature, stable versions of the main dungeon core, carefully crafted to provide sustainable power for extended operations. This latest generation of armor incorporated lessons learned from countless hours of testing and refinement. As a boy going through a growth spurt, I couldn't keep reforging the suits every time I grew taller. Mark II was adjusted to my current height, but Mark III and Mark V featured expandable joints with overlapping plates and circular connectors that allowed them to extend and contract as needed, a solution born of pure necessity.
Right now, all three suits were in charging mode, connected directly to the dungeon core through the crimson mana conduits. Mark V was particularly complex, featuring multiple connection points that fed power not just to the main core, but to smaller, subsidiary cores embedded in each individual piece of armor.
But today's project wasn't armor. It was something much more personal and, arguably, more important.
I finished my work on two ornate pieces of jewelry, holding them up to the light to examine the craftsmanship. The pendants were matching in design but distinct in their crystal cores one featured a sky-blue stone that seemed to contain captured starlight, while the other held a jet-black crystal that appeared to absorb the light around it. The design was borrowed from a famous jewelry brand in my old world, modified with runic inscriptions so subtle they appeared to be merely decorative. These weren't just accessories, they were the most sophisticated portable protective devices I had ever created.
"Patricia," I called, "is it tea time yet?"
"Young Master, the Duke, Duchess, and Young Lady are already in the gazebo in the garden," she replied with the crisp efficiency that had made her indispensable.
"Perfect timing," I said with satisfaction, placing the pendants in small velvet-lined boxes.
As I arrived at the gazebo, a small bundle of energy broke away from my parents and ran toward me with arms outstretched. "Big bwother!" Lyra squealed, her pronunciation still charmingly imperfect.
I scooped her up in a practiced motion. At three years old, she had developed our family's characteristic determination along with an alarming talent for finding creative ways to get into trouble. "I have something special for you, little sister," I said, handing her one of the boxes.
Her eyes lit up. I fastened the pendant with the black crystal around her neck. "Remember, Lyra, never take this off. It's very special."
"Okay, bwother," she nodded solemnly.
My mother observed this with a knowing look. "Cream pie, nothing for me?" she asked with a playful pout.
I handed her the second box. "Knowing you, there must be something special about them," she said, her political instincts sharp as ever.
"Want me to show you?" I replied with a mischievous grin. I took her pendant and walked to a decorative porcelain vase. I dropped a single royal gold coin inside a gesture that represented more wealth than most families saw in a year then fastened the pendant around the neck of the vase.
I turned to Bob and his younger brother George, who had joined the castle guard the previous year. "If either of you can break that vase, you can keep the coin."
Both knights looked to my father, who gave a subtle nod. George stepped forward, his blade clearing its scabbard with hostile intent. The sky-blue crystal on the pendant flared to life, and a shimmering barrier enveloped the vase like a soap bubble made of solid light. George's blade struck with a resounding CLANG that echoed across the garden, but the barrier absorbed the force completely.
These pendants were the culmination of my research into portable defensive systems. They were connected to Tes through quantum-entangled runic matrices, allowing her to cast protective magic through them from anywhere within range of the main dungeon core. They also contained enough stored energy to withstand multiple high-level attacks and recharged wirelessly through ambient mana absorption.
"You can use magic!" I called out cheerfully.
George's blade began to glow as he channeled his Knight abilities into it, a Rank 7 enhancement spell. His second attack struck with enough power to crater stone. The barrier held without even flickering. The onlookers my parents, the servants, even some guards drawn by the commotion stared in silent amazement.
"My turn," Bob announced, stepping forward. His blade erupted with the earthy brown energy of his draconic contract. When he struck the barrier, the impact was enough to crack the stone pathway beneath his feet, but the vase remained perfectly protected. That was a full Rank 8 attack, the kind of force that could level buildings. The stunned silence was finally broken by my father's booming laughter.
"Hah! My best knights, bested by a flowerpot! Clearly, you've both been neglecting your training!"
I retrieved the coin and handed the pendant back to my mother, who stared at it as if reevaluating her understanding of reality. But my father's laughter gradually subsided, replaced by the calculating look of a military commander recognizing the strategic implications of what he had just witnessed.
"Speaking of training," he said, his tone shifting. "Alarion, let me see how far your own development has come. How about a spar with your old man?"
This was the opportunity I had been waiting for. "Alright," I said, trying to contain my excitement. "But a proper spar requires proper equipment. Can I use my armor?"
My father raised an eyebrow. "The armor you've been perfecting? Very well. I admit, I'm curious to see what my genius son has created."