Luxoria’s Second Lightsday of Greengale, 1437, magical academy, city of Luminara.


    Vaelith blinked, suddenly aware she was no longer outside. She sat in a sun-drenched classroom; her scaled hands folded neatly on her lap. This had to be another memory? The shift in her surroundings was so sudden, disorienting, as if someone pulled her into a scene from their lives—no, her life. The details of the room felt both unfamiliar and yet intimately known, like she had been here many times before. Once again, this was not one of Jason’s memory, but Vaelith’s.


    The room was alive with the hum of activity—students flipping through grimoires, quietly muttering as they practiced the incantations for simple ritual spells.


    The magister, a homini in his early thirties with salt-and-pepper hair, stood at the front of the room, observing the students with a warm smile and the calm authority Jason recognised as a fellow teacher. Instructor Daren did not raise his voice to command attention; his presence alone was enough.


    “Vaelith, can I have a word?” he said, calling her to the front.


    She stiffened slightly at the sound of her new name—Vaelith. The strangeness of it had worn off too quickly, slipping into her thoughts like a comfortable old garment. How had it become so natural, so easily hers? The ease with which her body responded to it startled her, as if this identity had always been there, waiting just beneath the surface. Jason would not have reacted this way, would he? But that thought felt distant now, like the edges of Jason were blurring, fading into the background.


    She rose from her seat and walked over. Even standing, she felt small and dreadfully vulnerable next to the students sitting in the room. She was a lone dracan in a sea of tall hominis. On the way, her golden tail twitched repeatedly, betraying how nervous the summon made her feel.


    Daren offered a chair next to his desk. “You seem hesitant today,” he said, his tone gentle. “You are not as focused as usual.”


    Vaelith shifted, uncomfortable. How did this man, an NPC, know her so well? But no, Jason corrected himself—this was Vaelith’s teacher, not just “an NPC”. She had a history here, not him. Of course, her teacher could tell if something bothered her.


    “I’m fine, sir,” she said, though her voice came out softer than intended, not the usual clipped tone Jason might have used in the real world.


    Daren raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. He leaned forward, hands clasped on his desk. “You know, I’ve noticed something about you over these last few months. You’re an excellent student. Brilliant, really. But you don’t let yourself shine. You hold back.”


    Vaelith felt a twinge of discomfort, like the instructor’s words were hitting closer to home than she wanted to admit. Though it seemed like he was discussing her, his speech increasingly felt directed toward Jason.


    He knew what it felt like to stand on the sidelines, to offer encouragement while shrinking into the background. Jason had done that all his life. He thought it made him selfless—selfless in how it earned praise without seeking it. But standing here, as Vaelith, with Daren’s quiet, piercing gaze on her, it felt different. It felt like weakness. It felt like fear. And Jason had never been ready to admit that. Not even to himself.


    “You’re cautious. You wait for others to act before you take a step. Why is that?” Daren’s eyes were calm but probing. “I’ve seen you give advice to the others. You encourage them to be bold, to take risks in their spell craft, to trust themselves.”


    Jason had spent years telling others to believe in themselves, to embrace their worth. But every time he had offered advice, there was a quiet guilt lurking beneath his words, a guilt that he was not living by those same rules. How could he ask someone else to be brave, to put themselves first, when he had never had the courage to do so himself?


    “Yet for you, you retreat into your shell, like you’re afraid of your own potential.”


    Vaelith’s heart pounded in her chest. Afraid of your own potential. How many times had Jason said that to his students? The ones he saw struggling, the ones who were too shy to speak up, too uncertain to assert themselves? He always knew the right thing to say to guide them, to help them overcome their fears.


    But here she was, in the student’s role, and she was the one who could not listen to her own advice.


    “That’s different,” Vaelith said, mumbling as she looked away. She felt the heat rise to her face, her mind spinning. “It’s… easier to say that to other people.”


    Instructor Daren smiled gently. “Of course it is. It’s always easier to give advice than to follow it yourself. But that doesn’t mean you’re not capable of the same growth.” He leaned back in his chair, regarding her thoughtfully. He had spoken calmly, but his words had landed like a blow.


    “You tell the others to trust themselves because you see their potential. You encourage them to take risks, to embrace their strengths. But you—” Daren’s eyes softened. “You’re always putting yourself last, aren’t you? Why is that?”


    Vaelith froze, a knot tightening in her chest. Am I always putting myself last? She remembered saying something similar—just earlier this evening, in fact—to Claire. The words echoed in her mind: “It’s not about fair or unfair. It’s like when you’re in a plane emergency. You put your own mask first.”


    That had been Jason’s voice, Jason’s advice. Advice he had believed in. M-E dropped everything because of it. Claire could not accept it. And Jason? Jason had never placed himself ahead of anyone else.


    So here she was. Putting herself last. Again. Always. She felt a surge of guilt—a biting, shameful thought cutting through her like a blade. It’s fine when I tell someone else to do it. But for me...


    Her hands formed fists in her lap. The fins on her head twitched uncomfortably, her dracan body no longer as foreign to her. But the truth pressing down on her chest… It was not simply foreign. She forbid herself from putting herself first. She could feel her tail coiling in frustration behind her, an automatism. Once again, she could not help but frown as her tail moved of its own volition.


    I’m always the one holding back. I’m always the one afraid to shine.


    She tried to convince herself. It was not selfish to let others take the lead. It was not wrong to stand on the sides. Others needed the encouragement more. They deserved to be given a chance and the space to succeed. That was what she believed in. What she had told herself all her life, anyway. But the words felt hollow now, like the lies she had been telling herself for years were finally unravelling.


    Instructor Daren’s voice broke through her spiralling thoughts. “What about you, Vaelith? Don’t you deserve the same freedom and belief you offer to others?”


    The words stung. She did not answer right away, her throat tightening as she tried to swallow the growing lump. How many times had Jason told himself that others deserved more? That it was okay to encourage them to put themselves first, because they deserved it.


    But me? She closed her eyes, biting her lips in frustration. I always go last.


    Vaelith could feel it coming, like the build-up of a storm. The question. She knew it was coming, because she normally was the one asking others. It was the question she had always avoided asking herself. The one she was not sure she wanted to hear. Her breath hitched, and her hands gripped the edge of her chair. She braced herself, but it was not enough to stop Daren’s words from landing like a blow to her chest.


    “Why don’t you see that same potential in yourself, Vaelith?”


    His words echoed in her mind, each repetition heavier than the last. She wanted to push it away, to focus on anything else—the sound of the bell, the shuffle of papers, the quiet hum of voices outside the door. But the truth clung to her like a weight, and this time, she could not ignore it. She could not retreat into the safety of being second best.


    She felt something tighten in her chest, an overwhelming pressure, like the two halves of him—Jason and Vaelith—were straining against each other, desperate to reconcile. Why could she not see it? Why was it so hard for Jason to believe in himself the way he believed in his students? The way he saw their potential so clearly, but looked in the mirror and saw only doubt staring back at him?


    “I don’t know,” she said in a whisper, her voice small.


    Daren did not push further. Instead, he offered her a kind smile. “Sometimes, we’re our own worst critics. But remember, you’re in this academy for a reason. You belong here, just as much as anyone else. You have more potential than you’re giving yourself credit for. Don’t be afraid to embrace it.”


    Jason’s mind whirled as Vaelith nodded quietly. He was sure this lesson was not just about spell craft anymore. This was about everything—his doubts about who he was, the discomfort that had shadowed him for years, both in the game and outside of it. Vaelith was supposed to be someone else, someone confident. But Jason was anything but. He had never truly allowed himself to see what he could become, had never dared to believe he was capable of more. Maybe that was what terrified him most—the thought that he could be more, if he only let himself.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    The bell rang, signalling the end of class, but Vaelith stayed rooted to her chair, lost in thought. Why was it so easy to tell others to believe in themselves, but so hard to take that advice to heart?


    Was it because, deep down, Jason did not believe in himself? Did not believe he could be anything other than what he was?


    As she stood up to leave, Instructor Daren gently placed a hand on her small shoulder. “Just think about it, Vaelith. Sometimes the advice we give to others is the advice we need most for ourselves.”


    She nodded, a lump forming in her throat. “I will.”


    As Vaelith walked out of the classroom and into the bright halls of the academy, the echoes of the conversation stayed with her. Jason’s thoughts were a tangled mess of emotions. For years, he had guided others, pushed them to grow and change. But for his entire life, he had been standing still. Not an actor, but an observer.


    Maybe, just maybe, it was time to take his own advice.


    Once again, the memory faded. But this time, it left her with something more than a vague lesson—it left her with a truth she could not quite ignore. A permission she had not realized she was waiting for. Yet even now, the thought of embracing it scared her. To shine? To finally be more than she had ever allowed herself to be? The idea felt almost impossible. And yet... it was there, undeniable, waiting for her to claim it.


    <hr>


    Jason tore off the FullDive rig’s neural jack and pulled himself out of the game with a gasp, his heart pounding as if he had run a marathon. His body felt... wrong. He blinked, disoriented, his surroundings in the real world settling in like static after too much white noise. The warm sunlight of Luminara’s magic academy faded, replaced by the dim glow of his office—cluttered with books and paperwork, the hum of the computer barely audible.


    He sat on the edge of his chair, trying to steady himself. The shift in sensory input was dizzying, like stepping off a rollercoaster that had not quite stopped moving. His head spun, the room tilting slightly, and a wave of nausea twisted in his gut. Jason sucked in a breath, trying to reorient himself. The world felt off balance.


    Vaelith’s body—ethereal, agile and graceful—was gone, replaced by the familiar clunkiness of his own six foot one body. He felt the way gravity weighed him down. His limbs felt awkward, like they did not belong on this body. He shifted in his chair, trying to adjust, but everything felt like it took twice the effort.


    And the sound—God, the sound.


    Something muffled the sound. Muted it. Like he had cotton stuffed in his ears. The faint hum of the house felt distant, the familiar noises of life dulled to a low buzz. But after a moment, he realised what it was. This was how he had always heard things. His hearing was normal. But, after spending hours as Vaelith, he felt almost impaired. Back in the game, every sound had vibrated through his bones—sharp, crisp, alive. But here, everything seemed dull, wrapped in layers of wool.


    Jason stood, slowly, and wobbled. His legs did not move the way they were supposed to. He felt a sharp pang of disorientation as he tried to find his balance again—without the constant support and instinctive adjustments Vaelith’s dracan tail had given him. He stumbled forward, catching himself on the desk.


    The door to his office creaked open, and Lisa’s soft voice cut through the haze. “Jason?”


    He winced. That name. It was like a slap, grounding him back in the real world. Lisa stepped inside, concern etched across her face. “You okay? You look… a little pale.”


    He blinked and tried to smile, pushing off from the desk and standing upright, though he felt like he was swaying slightly. “Yeah, I’ll be just fine,” he said, his voice strained. The simple act of standing straight was proving more difficult than it should have been.


    Lisa stepped closer, eyeing him with the look she usually saved for patients at the hospital. “You sure? You’re wobbling like you’ve been drinking,” she teased, though there was worry in her eyes.


    He waved her off, though his stomach still churned, and the dull ache in his head had not subsided. “I’m fine.” He hesitated, knowing she could tell he was not actually fine. “Give me a second to adjusting to this…”


    Lisa folded her arms, watching him. Her tone shifted, softer now, more probing. “Is it that vertigo thing again? You’ve been off balance for a while, Jase. Maybe you need a break from the game?”


    Jason bristled a little. It was not vertigo. Or rather, he knew what she was talking about, and this was something else. His body was just… misaligned now. Out of sync with itself. He could still feel the absence of that tail like a phantom limb, the heaviness of his legs, the sluggishness of it all. The human clumsiness.


    “No, that’s not it,” he said, rubbing his temples. “This new game, they do something so you feel comfortable with your VR character…”


    Lisa’s brow furrowed, and she stepped closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “This looks a bit much. Are you sure this is normal?”


    Jason cut her off gently, shaking his head. “It’s… it’s because of how different we are.”


    She cocked her head, clearly still concerned. “Different? How? Who?”


    Jason struggled to find the right words. How could he explain what he was feeling? The contrast between his human body and Vaelith’s dracan form was not something you could just describe with words. It was not just the tail or the scales. It was... everything. Every movement, every breath, felt wrong now. Heavy.


    He shrugged, trying to downplay it. He was finally feeling steady enough to appear normal. “It would take a while to explain.” He glanced at her and forced a half-smile. “But I could show you?”


    Lisa’s gaze softened, and she nodded, though she didn’t fully understand. “Only if you want to.” Her hand gently squeezed his arm.


    Jason exhaled, grateful for her concern and tenderness. He was nervous. No, he was more than nervous. Vaelith and Jason. The two halves of himself that had blended together did not seem to fit together anymore.


    He gave her a soft nod. “Alright.”


    He pulled out his smartphone and connected to his rig. He navigated to the game’s app icon and asked for a screenshot showing his character. It produced some sort of photograph from that last scene. Vaelith sitting next to Instructor Daren. Seeing Vaelith in the third person—a small, delicate figure with scales and fins—felt surreal. Jason had lived inside that body, felt every shift of weight, every breath, but seeing her now from the outside, it hit him: she was not him. Or was she? The disconnect gnawed at him, deeper than he wanted to admit.


    Shaking the discomfort away, he spun the phone around, flipped it sideways in a smooth motion, presenting the render to Lisa.


    She smiled, slightly confused. “A teacher? It doesn’t look like that much of a difference,” she said.


    Jason swallowed the knot in his throat and forced a smile. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Oh… I am… actually the student?”


    Lisa’s attention lingered on the phone. Then on her husband. And on the photograph a moment longer, her eyes darting between the young student and her husband, as if trying to puzzle something out. “She’s not even human,” she finally said, her voice almost a whisper. Jason could feel something behind her words. Was it resentment? Betrayal?


    Despite him towering over her, Jason felt small. Smaller than even Vaelith was.


    Lisa then faced him again. “Why?”


    Why? He really had no answer to that one. It had not been his choice. He shrugged, glad he could be honest with his answer. “Beats me. I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”


    “So this new game made you into a teenager Demon-girl, against your will?”


    Jason winced. Lisa had a very Christian upbringing. It usually was not a problem, but maybe this was a line in the sand he had never encountered before.


    He sighed. “She’s not a demon. She’s a dracan...?” He realised this was not much of an explanation, and did little to clear things up. He added tentatively, “They’re dragons?”


    He honestly was not sure how that made things any better.


    Lisa’s brow furrowed, her discomfort visible in the slight tightening of her lips. “A Dragon-girl... I guess that’s better than a Demon, but still...” Jason could almost feel the weight of her religious upbringing pressing down on the conversation. “But what about the rest? The girl part? The age? You’re forty, Jason. She looks around Maya’s age.”


    He honestly was not sure about any of that. Why had the game picked that character as his avatar? Vaelith was so far from what he would have gone for. He would have to ask M-E about the character customisation part. Maybe he missed a button and simply ended with the default choice.


    There was nothing he could do about it now. And Lisa had been right: his character was around Maya’s age. If Lisa and Jason had different priorities and made different choices, they might have a teenage girl of their own.


    Jason swallowed hard, forcing a smile. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Well, that was a scene from her past. She’s actually older than that. As for the rest, the girl part? Like I said, it wasn’t by choice.”


    Jason felt a knot form in his stomach as Lisa studied him. Time seemed to freeze. Was it pity in her eyes? Or something else? He was not sure, but the fear of her judgment tightened around him like a vice.


    Finally, she let out a long sigh. “Well, it looks like you’re doing better already. So I suppose it’s like you said. You just needed time to adjust.”


    He nodded, trying to give her his best reassuring smile. “Yes, I’m feeling much better.”


    He knew his words offered no real reassurance. Jason hated lying to his wife. He knew he was not good at it. She could always tell when he was not being fully honest. But right now, honesty tonight would only make her worry more, and focus on him, instead of more important matters.


    How was he supposed to tell her that everything about her husband felt wrong, and that this dragon-girl did not?


    As he mulled over this question, Lisa suddenly pulled out her phone and swiped a few times. She lowered the phone and looked him in the eyes.


    “Honey, will you be okay for the rest of the evening? I’ve got a shift coming up. I’ll warn people about possible vertigo after logging out of that game. If it happens to others, I imagine the company might get sued over this.”


    Jason slowly nodded. He did not want her to worry over his malaise. She could not afford the distraction, not right before a shift—Her patients needed her undivided attention. He could cope with this, no matter what happened to him.


    “I’ll be fine, love. If this is happening to others, they will need your help.”


    Lisa stepped closer and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “I won’t tell you to stop playing. But please take breaks if you feel sick or uneasy. I don’t want to see you... fade away from reality.”


    As Lisa walked out of his office, Jason let out a long breath, sagging back into his chair. His chest tightened. Fading away? Was that what he was doing? He was not sure, but the thought gnawed at him. Did it matter if he was more himself in a world of scales and magic than here, in the quiet mundanity of reality?


    He glanced at the FullDive rig. The neural headset called to him, its silent promise of escape tempting him more than ever. In Vaelith’s world, he did not have to think, did not have to question. Everything felt right there. Real. He could slip back into that skin, into the balance and grace that his current body lacked. Was it wrong to crave that? Maybe. But right now, he did not care.


    But Lisa’s warning echoed in his mind. “Don’t fade away.”


    Jason rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the weight of his skin, the unfamiliarity of his own flesh. He had to be careful. He had to find a balance. Between Jason and Vaelith. Between who he was... and who he was becoming.


    He did not have to answer any of those questions—not now, not yet.


    He glanced at the headset sitting on the chair. Vaelith’s world was right there, waiting for him.


    He sat back down, determined to log back in. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. After all, M-E was counting on him, and he still had to find a priest for their party.


    There was still work to be done. He could worry about everything else later. So he dived back in.