Chapter 3843: Tipping the Scales (Part 2)

"Take Shargein, for example." Salaark caressed the Wyrmling’s head. "The scales and feathers he was born with were produced by a red core. There’s no way they can handle the mana flow he’ll develop once he reaches the cyan.

"When that happens, Shargein will shed his old scales and grow new ones that will match his current mana core."

"I first became a hybrid five years ago." Lith said while clenching his hands to resist the urge to scratch himself. "Should I expect to shed again in another five years?"

"Don’t be silly." Salaark chuckled. "You spent three years as a hybrid, and those were proto-scales you shed and replaced with each breakthrough of your mana core. You only became a Divine Beast a little less than two years ago.

"I’m honestly surprised you didn’t shed sooner. You went from deep to bright violet with a single set of scales. That’s an impressive achievement, if you ask me."

"Thanks, I guess." Lith couldn’t keep his hands still and started rubbing his arms. "What should I do now, Grandma? I’m going crazy."

"That’s because you are standing there like an idiot asking all the wrong questions." Salaark replied. "Go to a place large enough to accommodate your Tiamat form, undress, and let nature take its course."

"Okay, thank you, Grandma. Bye!" Lith Blinked inside the tower and then Warped it to the geyser near Salaark’s beach house.

He tossed the Voidwalker armor in the Spark and shapeshifted into his Tiamat form as he walked through the door. The mere expansion of his body propelled dozens of scales into the air like catapult shots.

More fell to the ground with each step he took, producing thuds against the sand that softened their landing.

"Do you think a bath could help you?" Kamila asked. "Maybe a good scrub?"

"Tiamats are weak against large bodies of water, just like Dragons. A bath is not an option." Lith replied. "As for the scrub, I can’t risk ripping- Kami? What are you doing here?"

"I heard the fuss when your first scale fell off and decided to follow you." She cleared her throat in embarrassment. "For moral support and scientific curiosity."

"And I totally believe you." Lith’s voice oozed sarcasm.

"Yeah, you should work on your excuses, Kamila." Menadion nodded. "For a Constable, that was pretty weak."

"Ripha, what are you doing here?" Lith furled his wings to cover his now exposed privates, triggering another salvo of scales from his back.

"I’m bound to you, kid." The First Ruler of the Flames didn’t even pretend not to be staring. "Wherever you go, I go. Or rather, we go. Isn’t that right, Valia?"

"I wasn’t peeping! I swear!" The former member of the Queen’s Corps inhabited her own corpse and had a magnificent ruddiness to her face as she peeked through her not-much-closed fingers.

"Damn, son." Locrias sighed. "People say that size doesn’t matter, but-"

"Guys, how can you be so rude?" Solus came out of her hiding spot and shoved the Demons inside the tower. "Give Lith some privacy! Return to your Void Sigil, go train your Blade Spells, I don’t care. Just do it inside."

"Why are you pushing me away?" Menadion asked. "I’ve already seen this particular scenery countless times. I followed you for years as a wandering soul, remember? I was there when you treated Lith’s wounds."

"Mom!" Solus chided Menadion.

"Solus!" Lith chided her. "What are you doing here, and why were you hiding?"

"I wasn’t hiding. I was worried about you and followed the tower. I just got here." She lied through her teeth.

"Yeah, right, and I’m the most generous man on Mogar." Lith snarled, sealing the tower to ensure that no one could see or hear anything from the outside.

"What do we do, now?" Kamila asked.

"There is no ’we’ here." Lith waved his hand and sent the fallen scales into the Spark to be further refined. "I think I’ll do stretching exercises until I’m done shedding, turn back into my human form, collect the scales, and go back home."

"Sounds like a plan." Kamila nodded while dragging a lounge chair and conjuring a cold drink to better appreciate the show. "Now put those wings away, please."

***

"Will the same happen to me, Grandma?" Tista asked after Salaark had taught her and Lith how to keep the lost scales in their compressed size so that there was no need to turn the entire tower into the Spark to store them.

"Yes, Featherling." The Guardian nodded. "We Phoenixes molt at regular intervals. Dragons are not the only ones who get stronger with age."

"Will it take three years for me as well?"

"Not a chance." Salaark replied. "Your brother’s development was slowed down by external factors, which also limited the growth of his scales. Your development, instead, is normal.

"I’d say it’s a matter of weeks before your first shedding. Two months tops."

"Sweet!" Tista jumped at the Guardian’s neck with joy.

"Not to complain, but why are you so happy about something so trivial?" Salaark asked.

"Because shedding means a fresh batch of scales of the right size that I can implant on my armor." She replied. "I won’t have to stretch Ishka’s scales anymore, and maybe my armor won’t look funny anymore."

"It’s not my habit to criticize the work of a fellow Forgemaster only because she’s short of means, but I can’t argue your point." Salaark nodded. "Your armor has... quite the peculiar look. It can use an improvement."

"That’s a kind way to say it sucks. Doesn’t it, Grandma?" Tista sighed

"Yes."

Ishka’s Honor looked terrible. The young Fire Dragon had died before reaching the deep violet core, while Tista had reached the peak of the violet. Even after the weeks spent in the Spark, the corpse was still much smaller than the Hekate.

Even though Lith had used Infusion and Second Life to the best of his abilities to stretch Ishka’s Honor until it fit Tista, the scales and bones of the Fire Dragon had become irregular in thickness and size.

When hung to its refinement slot in the Spark, the armor resembled a famished, misshapen metal giant instead of a proud warrior. It was the only piece stored in the tower that drew no curiosity from the children, only a compassionate look.

Sometimes, Aran brought Ishka’s Honor get-well-soon flowers, as though it were a patient in an intensive care ward.

"Speaking of molting, what about my feathers? When can I expect them to fall off?" Tista asked.

"Molting is a sacred rite of passage in the life of a Phoenix. Not a free magical ingredients fest, young lady." The Guardian snorted. "As for your question, most likely never."

"Never?" Tista echoed in disbelief. "Why never?"

"Because of your bloodline ability, Prismatic Wind." Salaark replied. "Don’t you cast your feathers off and regrow them every time you practice with it?"

"Yes." Tista’s shoulders slouched as she realized her issue.

"The new feathers are born from your current body, which makes them better than the old ones." The Guardian continued. "Unless you spend a few years without Prismatic Wind, no molting.

"That said, why the long face? It’s not like you can’t pluck your own feathers if you need them for a magical experiment. It’s what every Phoenix does."

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