Draconia Offline vol. 2

82.1. Illusive - Part 1

The chains are tightening their grip around my wings and I can't break free. My Celestial instincts shout alarm and I start panicking. Because I don't feel the gravitation pull anymore, I try to stand up and position my wings to somehow slip out. However, the moment I do so, heavy shackles appear on my back around my wings, squeezing me even more painfully. I collapse back on the ground.

I don't feel temperature and my lungs don't need air here. Yet, the pain is as real as it gets and I feel my wings as I would feel them in the real world. I feel every single feather and I dread my wing bones getting crushed. My brain refuses to believe that this is just a dream.

"Your inner mental image is strong," my father says calmly, undisturbed by my sufferings. "You think of yourself as a Celestial, therefore you look Celestial even in your dream and rely primarily on your wings. You have to shift that paradigm. Unthink."

Unthink that I'm a Celestial? That very idea is strangely alien to me and I used to like pretending that I'm someone else when immersing in fictional gaming worlds before. Not anymore. Ever since I transformed, I never wished to be anything else than I am now.

"Difficult, I know," he shrugs. "Especially for a Draconian. You're supposed to be proud of who you are after all. We made sure of that."

"Made sure?" I try to hold my head straight at least, bravely facing him.

"We couldn't have had people dissatisfied with the race they turned into, could we?" he explains. "Those personality tests all players had to undergo to make their avatar weren't just for fun. Our best psychologists were working on them and, later in the game, we were carefully instilling much-needed racial awareness and the sense of pride."

I twitch and the chains squeeze my wings tighter, but when I'm still, the shackles don't react. That gives me a second to (metaphorically in this case) catch my breath and try channelling my mana. I do feel my mana circuit reacting, but nothing happens. A transfiguration symbol doesn't appear.

"You feel your body's mana in the real world, but that isn't transferable here," my father says when he notices what I'm trying to do. "Forget that you're a Celestial and use your inborn powers. This is just a mental construct, so use your brain."

I try to push him telepathically with all my might, but he doesn't even waver. It's as if he isn't here at all.

"This is just as I want you to see me," he sighs, disappointed by my attempt. "But I can appear anywhere."

Suddenly, his body multiplies and surrounds me. There are dozens of him.

"This is your dream, not mine, yet I rule over it," he says, his voice echoing as it comes out from each projected body. "Seize control or you will never get rid of those chains."

But how? I've never manipulated dreams before because I had no idea that I can. Sure, I'm able to peek when my partners are sleeping and I can even stimulate them to deepen their sleep and make it more pleasant and restful, but that's about it.

"Pathetic... pathetic... pathetic..., my father's voice echoes. "Are you really my son?"

"I'm starting to hope that I'm not!" I retort.

"Disappointingly, you are," he clicks his tongue and his multiple projections merge back into one. "I've confirmed it."

"So it was you who stole my feather!" I accuse him.

"Of course, I needed to be sure," he shrugs. "Back then, I couldn't know that you're a telepath, but it was publicly known who your mother was and your age overlaps with the time we were still together so I decided to investigate just in case. Honestly, I was convinced that she found another lover and had you."