The Aether Mishap · Dragon Village

The Aether Mishap

The smell of burning cedar anchored Runi’s physical body to the meditation mat in his small attic room. But Runi himself—his consciousness, wrapped in a shimmering sheath of astral light—was light-years away.

He floated in the Drift, the currents of the astral plane swirling around him like nebulae of indigo and spun gold. Today’s practice was weaving. It was delicate work, taking the raw, chaotic energy of the realm and knitting it into stable constructs.

Runi extended his translucent hands. With a mental twist, he pulled a thread of cerulean light from the ether. He began to braid it with a strand of sunset-orange, intending to create a simple lantern of focused intention.

Focus. Stabilize. Manifest.

The weave was tight. It hummed with potential. Then, a rogue current hit it.

It wasn't a gentle breeze; it was a heavy, thrumming undertow that dragged at his astral form. His half-finished lantern unraveled in a shower of sparks.

Annoyance flared, but curiosity quickly overtook it. This current felt different—ancient, dense, and inexplicably magnetic. It tasted like ozone and old iron.

Against the better judgment of his teachers, who always warned against leaving the charted shallows of the Drift, Runi followed the pull.

He descended. The vibrant colors of the upper realm faded into varying shades of deep violet and charcoal gray. Here, thoughts didn't manifest instantly; the space felt thick, resistant, like moving through spiritual molasses. This was the Deep Astral, where forgotten dreams and primordial concepts sank to rest.

The current led him to what looked like a floating island made of obsidian jagged spires jutting into the velvet darkness. In the center of the island was a crater, glowing with a faint, rhythmic pulse.

Runi drifted closer, his silver cord—the lifeline connecting him to his body—stretched taut behind him.

In the center of the crater, nestled in a bed of crystallized starlight, it sat.

It was roughly the size of a human head, a coalesced knot of immense magical pressure. It appeared as a large, teal-blue oval, glowing with a soft, internal light. Its surface was webbed with intricate, darker teal veins, like leaves. Encrusting the entire object was a gnarled, thorny wooden frame, its brown, organic branches curling around and embracing the luminous core like protective roots.

A dragon egg.

It wasn't a biological egg, not yet. It was the idea of a dragon, a seed of raw, mythical power waiting for enough belief and energy to manifest.

Runi reached out a trembling astral hand. The moment his fingertips brushed the rough wood and smooth, glowing surface of the egg, a shockwave blasted through him.

It wasn't pain. It was a sudden, overwhelming connection. A heartbeat, vast and slow as a mountain waking up, synced with his own. A rush of images flooded his mind: vast skies, fire that could burn reality, and a fierce, possessive hunger.

The egg had been waiting. And it had chosen his touch to wake up.

The density of the object began to change. The glow inside pulsed stronger, solidifying. It was drawing on his energy, grounding itself through his connection.

Panic warred with awe. He couldn't leave it here. If it hatched in the Deep Astral without a guide, the resulting entity would be pure, destructive chaos.

I have to take it back.

The thought was insane. Bringing astral objects across the veil was nearly impossible; they usually dissolved into mist upon re-entry. But this... this felt too solid to dissolve.

Runi wrapped his arms around the heavy, thrumming weight of the egg, feeling the thorny wood against his form. He focused on his silver cord, envisioning it as a winch, pulling him home.

The ascent was agonizing. The egg felt heavier than a collapsed star, resisting the pull toward the physical world. The turbulence tore at his astral form, fraying his edges. He poured every ounce of his will into shielding the egg, wrapping it in the same defensive weaves he had been practicing.

With a final, wrenching snap, he slammed back into his body.

Runi gasped, his physical lungs burning with the sudden intake of air. His attic room spun. The smell of cedar was overwhelming.

He was lying on his side on the mat, drenched in sweat. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic counterpoint to the slow, deep thrum he still felt echoing in his mind.

Slowly, terrifyingly, he uncurled his body.

Resting on the woven mat, between his trembling hands, was a large, teal-blue glowing stone, encased in a gnarled, thorny wooden frame, warm to the touch and pulsing with a light that didn't belong in this world.

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