The Machine God
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[TLD] Chapter 5 - Gifts
🕑 Added 2025-10-14 02:28:28 +0000 UTCChapter 5
Gifts
The first of the rings was plain in design, though the material it was made of was different to the others he’d examined so far.
He pushed Qi into it and immediately confirmed that it was a storage ring. It resisted his attempt to access the contents. He pushed more Qi into it. Still nothing. A barrier blocked him, requiring far more power than he currently possessed to overcome.
The other storage rings lacked any such protection.
He considered it for a moment. There was no way he could think of to overcome the problem now, so he set it aside, but apart from the others. Useful eventually, but not now.
The second ring responded easily when he poured Qi into it. Information flooded his mind immediately, drawn from the sword-memories. It gathered ambient Qi continuously, storing it within intricate formations carved into the metal. Could be manually charged as well. The ring could deploy the Qi as a barrier, responding to threats and protecting its wielder.
Azratheon held the silver ring up between his claw tips and examined it briefly.
It was a simple defensive treasure. He lost interest immediately. The cub was weak. She could have it.
He placed it with the pile of basic storage rings.
The third ring was different.
He pushed Qi into it the same way he had the others. Instead of opening to reveal contents, the ring itself responded. It lit up to his senses in a way the others hadn’t. It didn’t physically glow, but his eyes could see how the energies flowed. Patterns emerged in his awareness. Geometric shapes layered over each other. Symbols he half-recognized from fragmented memories. Symmetry that suddenly broke into asymmetry, then resolved back into balance.
It tickled at his mind. Demanded attention. Promised understanding if he could just parse the logic.
Azratheon settled into a more comfortable crouch and focused on the ring.
The patterns weren’t random. They connected to each other in specific ways. Lines of flow that directed energy. Structured intent. The symbols modified those flows, changed their behavior. And the geometric shapes provided structure, a framework for it all to operate within.
He traced the patterns with his awareness, following them around the ring’s surface. They wrapped continuously, with no beginning or end. A closed system that fed back into itself.
Azratheon found it beyond beautiful.
He pushed more energy into it, watching how the patterns responded. Certain symbols brightened when energy flowed through them. Others dimmed. The geometric shapes shifted slightly, adjusting the pathways.
A training tool. That’s what this felt like. A way to study the principles of human enchanting without risk. The patterns were too complex to be functional on their own, too deliberately varied. They demonstrated techniques rather than accomplishing a specific purpose.
More memories surfaced. Fragmentary. Incomplete. He caught glimpses of the cultivator working, carving complex patterns into various objects. The knowledge was there, buried in the inherited mess, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.
Frustrating. He had memories of the boring ring, but not the interesting one.
He studied the ring more intently, trying to pull understanding from what he could observe. The way the patterns layered. How the symbols interacted. Why certain geometric arrangements allowed energy to flow while others blocked it.
Time passed. The sun moved across the sky, altering the angle of light filtering through the forest canopy. He barely noticed.
The ring revealed more with each examination. Subtle variations in line depth. Tiny differences in symbol placement. Everything mattered. Everything had purpose.
He wanted to understand it completely.
Behind him, a sound broke his concentration. A groan. Movement.
Azratheon pulled his awareness away from the ring reluctantly. Turned his head.
The cub was waking.
Azratheon looked down at himself. The cloak had come loose during his examination of the rings. He pulled it back around his waist, tucking it awkwardly. The fabric refused to cooperate with his claws at first, slipping free twice before he managed a secure wrap.
He picked up the storage ring he’d decided to keep, and, along with the enchanted one, carefully slipped them beneath the scales at his shoulder where they wouldn’t slip free.
Behind him, she groaned. Shifted position.
He turned his attention back to her.
Her eyes opened slowly. Unfocused at first, then sharpening as awareness returned. She blinked several times, staring up at the forest canopy. Then her gaze found him.
Recognition crossed her face. He expected fear, but this time it was just confusion.
Azratheon reached for the third storage ring. The one with coins and pills. His claw tips gripped it carefully and he pulled it close. Focused his intent on the contents within.
A jade bottle appeared in his other hand. He set the ring down and worked the stopper free with deliberate, careful motions. Inhaling, he could tell it was what he needed. A single white pill rolled into his palm.
He looked at the pill. Then, with a subtle motion, gently pressed one claw tip into his palm, hidden from her view. A bead of blood welled up. He tilted his hand and let the pill roll over it.
The blood soaked in instantly.
He turned back to her and stood, moving to where she lay. Crouched beside her.
“Open your mouth.”
She stared at the pill in his hand. Then at his face. Her mouth stayed closed.
“What is it?” Her voice came out rough. Weak.
“A healing pill. You were dying.”
Her eyes widened slightly. She looked down at herself. At her arms where the burns had been. The wounds were still there but different now. Scabbed over properly. Less angry. Healing rather than festering.
“I don’t...” She trailed off. Looked back at him. “Healing pills are expensive. I’m not worth—”
He just stared at her. Blinked slowly once.
She fell silent. Her mouth worked for a moment. Then slowly, she opened it.
Azratheon placed the pill on her tongue. She closed her mouth and swallowed. He watched her throat move as the pill went down.
A moment passed. Then another. Color spread across her face. Her breathing deepened. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly.
He settled back on his heels and waited.
After a long silence, he spoke.
“How old are you?”
She hesitated. Looked at him uncertainly, as if the question might be a trap.
“Nineteen,” she said finally.
Azratheon tilted his head slightly. An adult. Not a cub. But she was small. Far smaller than she should be, based on what the memories told him about human and beastkin development.
“Why are you so small?”
Her shoulders hunched inward. She looked down at her hands.
“I stopped growing when I was fifteen.” Her voice went quiet. “They kept me hungry. On purpose. White bears grow tall. Strong. They didn’t want that.”
Azratheon processed this information. Deliberate stunting. A practical decision from their perspective. Keep the tool useful but not threatening. She had the enhanced senses they needed without the physical power that might make her dangerous.
Efficient, in a way. Cruel, but efficient.
“You’ll eat properly now,” he said.
It wasn’t a question. He considered for a moment whether it was the wrong approach. Didn’t want to command as a master. But he lacked the patience to explain. Or convince.
She nodded slowly. Then looked up at him. Something shifted in her expression. Curiosity pushing past the careful deference.
“Can I ask something?” Her voice was tentative.
He waited.
“You just hatched. Yesterday. But you’re already so...” She gestured vaguely at him. “Big. Grown. How?”
Azratheon considered the question. It made sense she would wonder. He’d emerged from the egg already capable of hunting and killing, knowing and talking. Not helpless like most newborns.
“Dragons mature in the egg,” he said. “We grow. Develop. Learn from inherited memories. By the time we hatch, we’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To be dragon.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then nodded slowly, as if that made perfect sense to her.
The silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable, just time to process.
Azratheon stood and moved back to where he’d left the rings.
Five of them lay in a cluster. Four storage rings and the silver defensive treasure. He positioned his hand above them and spread his claws. Drove each claw tip down between the rings.
The claws punched into the ground. He dragged his claws along it and pulled the rings up.
Dirt and ash cascaded off the rings as they came up, dangling from his claw points like trophies on spikes. He turned and moved back to where she sat.
“These are for you,” he said.
She looked at the rings hanging from his claws. Then at his face. Confusion clear.
“The storage rings won’t fit me. And I don’t understand coins.” He gestured with his free hand at his thick fingers and claws. “You need the food. The supplies. So you’re responsible for them.”
He held his hand out over hers. Let the rings slide free and drop into her waiting palm. They landed with little clinking sounds in her hand.
She stared at them, then at him. Clearly overwhelmed.
Azratheon noticed the burns on her arms as she held the rings. Already healing faster than they should. The pill had smelled weak to him when he’d opened the bottle. Basic. But perhaps his blood had enhanced it somehow.
He filed that observation away.
“This one is different,” he said, pointing at the silver ring with a claw. “It’s a defensive treasure. You can channel Qi into it. Creates a barrier when you’re attacked. It’s yours.”
She glanced down at the silver ring among the others and picked it up.
“Master, I...” She hesitated. “I can’t cultivate.”
Her voice carried shame. Expectation of disappointment.
Azratheon paused. Stared at her for a long moment.
“Most people can’t,” he said. “But you can learn.”
Her eyes widened slightly. Surprise, maybe relief.
“The ring doesn’t need cultivation.” He gestured at it with one claw. “It works on its own. Wear it.”
She stared at the silver ring in her hand. Then slid it onto her finger. It adjusted itself, shrinking to fit and immediately giving away the lie that he couldn’t wear the rings. She didn’t notice. Just touched it with her other hand, testing if it was real.
“There are manuals in the rings too,” he added. “Cultivation techniques. You can use them if you want.”
Her head snapped up. “Master, I—”
“You called me that again.”
She froze. Looked down quickly.
Azratheon studied her for a moment, then let it go. They would address it later. Instead, he turned and gazed up at the volcano. The peak rose high above the forest that surrounded it, still glowing faintly in the daylight. Heat radiated from it even at this distance. He could climb back up. Find a nice magma pool. Curl up in the warmth and nap for a few hundred years.
The thought was deeply appealing.
Movement at the edge of his awareness drew his attention. Golden script materialized briefly.
—
[System Quest: A Debt Repaid]
Status: Complete.
—
He dismissed it without reading further. The quest thought the debt was settled, but he knew it wasn’t. Saving her life once didn’t erase what she’d done for him.
He turned back to her.
Fire-memory whispered. Dragons repay their debts.
She sat there, small and burned and holding five rings like they were the most precious things in the world. Waiting for instruction. For permission. For whatever came next.
He couldn’t nap yet.
“We need to move,” he said. “Where’s the nearest settlement?”
She blinked. Processed the question. Then pointed into the forest.
“There’s a rest stop. Midway point for people crossing the forest. Maybe a day’s walk.”
He nodded. That would work.
A rest stop meant people. Shelter. Safety for her while she healed. He could leave her there with supplies and return to the volcano. Find that magma pool he'd been thinking about. Nap for at least a few decades undisturbed.
The thought had merit.
Azratheon moved toward her. She scrambled to her feet, clutching the rings. Tried to stand properly. Her legs shook. She took one step and her face twisted in pain.
Her feet. The burns there would be just as bad as her arms.
“I’ll carry you,” he said.
She stared up at him. “Why?”
He didn’t answer directly. “Until your feet heal.”
She glanced down at her feet. Something crossed her face. Embarrassment, probably. Then she gave a little nod.
Azratheon reached down and picked her up. She squealed as he lifted her. He adjusted his grip and placed her on his shoulder, seated, with her legs dangling down his chest.
“Hold on.”
She grabbed at his shoulder and neck with one hand, steadying herself. The rings clinked softly in the other hand as she struggled not to drop them.
He waited until she’d settled. Then started walking.
His strides were long and confident. The uneven ground didn’t trouble him. She bounced slightly with each step but seemed to find her balance quickly.
After a few minutes of silence, he spoke.
“What’s your name?”
She was quiet for a moment. Then her voice came soft, close to his ear.
“I don’t have one. Slaves don’t get names.”
He processed that. No name. Just property. A tool.
“I’ll think of one for you,” he said. “If you want.”
Another pause. Then, barely audible, she said, “I’d like that.”
He continued walking. The forest thickened around them as they moved away from the volcano. Trees blocked more of the sunlight. The air cooled.
She shifted gently above, putting on the rings one by one. From her pocket, she pulled the gray-silver wolf core and studied it for a moment before tucking it back away carefully.
After a while, he changed the subject.
“I have panels of light in my mind. Information. One says I have a reward to choose.” He glanced up at her from the corner of his eye. “Do you know what that is?”
“Yes,” she said.
Comments
Benjamin Thomas
Thanks for the heads up! I appreciate the feedback. You're right that the hybrid form gets significant use. It's necessary for survival in a human-dominated world where being recognized as a dragon means death. But the story will balance both forms throughout. The true dragon form appears regularly. Even over the next few chapters he'll shift back. There are entire arcs planned where he operates primarily in dragon form. The hybrid form serves specific narrative purposes. Disguise and infiltration along with the practical reality that a dragon can't exactly walk into towns or sects without causing problems (for himself, mostly). And he's motivated to grow stronger due to the increasing corruption of having a human cultivation method and a hybrid form that conflicts with his true dragon form. The form usage is strategic to the plot rather than a preference. He wants to be in his true form (magma baths, dragon instincts, naps, increased strength) but needs the hybrid form to navigate a world that hunts dragons to extinction. I'm sure it's come across already that he's exceedingly pragmatic. I'll make sure the blurb sets this expectation clearly so readers know what they're getting into. The story isn't 'dragon becomes human,' it's 'last dragon on the planet must hide what he is to survive long enough to become strong enough that hiding isn't necessary anymore.' Appreciate you flagging it :) Always good to know what other readers might think!
IgnisPrimus
Disappointing that his humanoid form is likely gonna be the form he uses the most, and fair warning, you are probably gonna get a lot of flak for having your dragon mc get his human form so fast and using it often when you upload the story to Royal Road. It's one of the top things people can get annoyed with in a story like this.
