Mochai Xoriloth, or as he would be known to bipeds, Xoriloth Mochai, did not open his eyes. They were already open. For a moment, this bemused him, as it seemed he had not been able to see a moment ago, yet now he could...almost. The shadows beneath the trees, trees that his addled senses told him had not been there before, appeared to melt into place while his eyes adjusted to the change of lighting. There was still a green tint here, but it was the healthy verdancy of a jungle, rather than the sickening shade of Blighted land. Although these moments following his recollection into the Prime felt long, it was only a brief time before he once again felt relatively normal and realised that his...experiment, perhaps it could be called, was successful.

The Mochai clan was well aware of the Gift that some Istarians found themselves possessing. Being Lunus to their core, many of the extended family viewed the Gift as a significant potential advantage. Yet they remained careful with the preservation of their lives for the most part. Xoriloth, however, had been unable to suppress his interest in the possibility that, upon his eventual death, he might return. In tandem, his urge to become proficient in combat without the threat of inconveniently-permanent demise was also strong. He felt that he could not continue living without knowing whether he was Gifted.

What if...?

Thus, he had journeyed to a place he'd been warned by his paternal ancestor to avoid. There he awaited the handful of wandering skeletons that would kill him.

There had been pain, but it was brief, for he put up no resistance and the skeletons were too powerful for him to last long in any case.

Now, the destiny of a Gifted dragon lay before him almost tangibly. A rare gesture of excitement shone through his customary veneer of inculcated discipline: He pranced around the shrine he had materialised next to. Then, recovering himself, he approached the dark juvenile whose name filtered into Xoriloth's mind before any words were spoken, as easily as he heard the sounds of the jungle: Spitfyre. After a brief orientation, he was directed eastward to Instructor Karkath, who ordered him to kill one of the nearby grulets. This Xoriloth accomplished with something akin to glee, overachieving by several of the pitiful creatures while he reveled somewhat in the frenzied dance of life and death which he had partially transcended.