Facade of the Dragon

Flashback

In my life, there was never peace. I always had to strive after some challenge, some fanciful dream that left me restless, aching to become more than the physical limitations set upon me. My list of accomplishments turned to dust in my eyes as I set my gaze upon higher pursuits.

It was never enough, merely getting into the most prestigious wizard academy in Kalvora—I had to be the best. It was never enough to spend all my nights studying to earn perfect grades on the impossible tests—I had to set new records, learning abilities grades above me could only dream of.

It was never enough to achieve the pinnacle of perfection in the eyes of everyone around me, because it my eyes, I needed to be more. I needed to become a Dragon.

Now, looking back, all I see are regrets on how I wasted my life.

Present

My past haunts me the most in situations like this—where I just feel entirely helpless. The child lay crying in front of me in the middle of the forest, his eyes continually tearing up as his voice called out, hoping to summon someone to his rescue. I hated this ritual, and on more than one occasion requested for the Council to remove it.

But the Council’s words were Law, and the Law is unmovable as the stone, unyielding as the mountain, and unmoved by any plea. The Law is hard, yet it is for our safety… or so they said and repeated their maxims and inscribed them into the fabric of our lives, a woven thread that would unravel us whole if we ever dared to have the audacity to question their authority.

I just wished I had questioned it more, because for all my power, the child remained crying and I remained frozen. And what made this worse was that I am a veteran in the highest attainable level of wizardry—a Dragon.

Kalvora was, to say the least, a harsh world. Our wizarding schools weren’t just fanciful constructs meant to imbue ourselves with mystical powers for the pure advancement of it—they were necessities. Creatures rose out of our forests like nightmares, and only spells and our innate tenacity kept them at bay. Floods and fires occurred unceasingly, creating constant potential tragedies that could destroy entire villages.

Due to our environment, in the early days, food was scarce and life was short. Those who were weak were left behind as our ancestors migrated in packs, scavenging as much as they could on the run because to pause for even a moment invited absolute disaster. In those days, additional humans were not viewed as an asset, but a liability; an extra mouth to feed, and an extra hinderance in moving camp. Children were cursed the day they were brought into the world— a cruel perspective from living in a cruel world.

In an effort to convince the group that the child was worth protecting and feeding, the ritual was created. The child, on their second summer, where they developed at least some motor skills and movement abilities, would be left in a “safe” section of the woods. If they survived a full half-sun, they would be kept alive by the group.

Their justification was that they let fate dictate the life of the child, but in reality, the truth is that humankind sets aside morals in the face of survival. Regardless, the ritual is still a cornerstone of our society, echoing the foundational motto, “Let the Strong Survive.”

Flashback

I mulled those words over, “Let the Strong Survive.” It was the driving force behind all my actions that I wanted to be, needed to be, the strongest. Yes, everyone in our society had passed the ritual and was considered “strong,” yet I needed to be stronger than all the rest.

I needed to become a Dra’gonal’ki, or “Dragon,” as we called them.

Dragons were the top sorcerers in Kalvora, able to calm raging seas with a simple gesture, radiating with so much power than even the most mighty of malicious creatures cowered beneath their auras. They were so powerful that any other type of existence paled in comparison. That’s why I had to excel at everything to become one. That’s why nothing else mattered to me—only this one fixation.

Dragons were also incredibly rare, with only one top wizard becoming a Dragon roughly once every two to three years. The official process to transform into a Dragon required a certain amount of wizarding strength, a level that was unattainable to most of the population yet with every fiber of my being, I would obtain that level.

And every day inched closer.

Present

I watched as the child inched closer towards my direction, still bawling as it was so confused and hungry and tired and scared. I wanted to tell him to be quiet, yet the words got caught in my throat—how could I yell at a mere toddler?

Isn’t that strange that the natural reaction in the face of danger and bewilderment, evidenced by this young human, is to physically shut down and cry loudly. In our society, that makes no sense—it is literally the most vulnerable position possible. In some of the most dangerous forests, to do such a thing would be a death sentence, yet our core human nature is to the opposite of survival. Does that mean survival is a learned behavior?

I sighed again as I mentally cursed the Council and their ritual. There is no point to it, yet I severely question anything the Council does now.

Becoming a Dragon was not all that I had envisioned.

Flashback

Social activities never interested me—I always considered such things beneath me and a waste of my time. Music, sports, art, dancing and games became like dust before my eyes; they were merely idolized unfulfilling mediums. Why would I dare invest time in something that was not rewarding me to my goal? Why would I dare to do anything that would deviate from the path of the ascension to Dra’gonal’ki?

Honestly, regardless of someone’s specific goals, whether they were attempting to become a Dragon or not, why would anyone waste their time in such frivolous activities? Spending hours at a so called “game night,” as if we had the time for such a thing, did not help one ace the next test. Devoting passion and energy into an artform did nothing to protect oneself from the nightmare creatures plaguing our realm. Like honestly, would drawing a picture in the middle of a fight suddenly save your life?

I don’t understand, and I don’t think I ever will understand. In truth, we are in different worlds—I am in the world of reality while they still exist in the world of fantasy, hoping that maybe their pursuit of needless aspirations will someone not endanger their lives or endanger their professions.

Kalvora is a cruel place, and a mere couple hundred years ago, those activities would have been considered a detrimental death sentence. Not to say that our society shouldn’t have evolved from the state it started at, but we have lost a crucial piece of survival determination, and understanding what our goals should be. At least I have returned to this natural state, and as the next Dra’gonal’ki, it will be my duty to inspire others, and teach the way of this simple enlightenment for the good of our people.

Present

Fortunately, the child had stopped crying as I so gratefully observed it, him, sorry, wiping his tears on his sleeve and taking a look around to try to understand where he was. The fact that I dared to call him an “it,” startled and scared me, forcing me to take a minute to reflect on my choices. There was a time when I objectified everything, where people around me where just tools to be exploited, teachers to be learned from in every action, where all that mattered was to become a forsaken Dra’gonal’ki. That word erupted an anger in me and I struggled to not get lost in another recollection…

Flashback

The dopamine surge hit in an insurmountable wave, crushing me in ecstasy as I read the letter in my hand. My decade of training had been worth it and somehow, I was going to be the youngest Dra’gonal’ki in the history of all Dragons. All the work that I had completed last year as a field wizard, all the saving of lives from avalanches and monsters had finally meant something.

I almost wiped away tears of joy as I dared to read the letter again, still in a profound state of disbelief. This was so much more than just a simple acceptance—this was proof that diligent determination could overcome any boundary, and accomplish any goal, no matter how seemingly impossible. I was finally getting everything I ever wanted.

Present

“I will never get anything I ever want,” I silently muttered to myself, mentally cursing this whole situation again.

I wish that I had not become a Dragon.

I wish that our society didn’t have to participate in this idiotic ritual.

I wish that I had the power to change something, anything…but I don’t.

Flashback

There was a ritual, more of an official acknowledgement of becoming a Dragon. It took place in a room deep under my wizarding alma mater, so secretive that only the Head Dragon could unlock it for initiation. Many of my classmates spent their time making bets and theorizing what transpired, but to be honest I simply didn’t care. I had proved myself worthy of joining their order, and regardless of what the ceremony actually was, I would complete it without hesitation. There was no other way.

I was led down many flights of stairs, giddy with excitement to the point I stopped counting. To the point light didn’t reach the darkness below. Yet still we descended, we being my headmaster, and Couv, the Head Dragon of our time. In the climb, I attempted to engage both with some amount of conversation, yet it was to no avail as they gestured towards the climb and I happily obeyed, wanting nothing more than to simply be in their presence.

After what seemed like endless climbing, we reached the bottom of the stairs and were greeted by a particularly large wooden door, engraved with symbols and words that I didn’t recognize, even with all my training. With a simple nod, both the headmaster and Couv placed their hands on the door, and it opened with a simple touch. I blinked, remembering the rumors about the ethereal-like appearance of a physical key but it appears that it was just a myth—what else didn’t I know?

I guess my ignorance wouldn’t matter. Little did I know how much of a fool I was.

Hesitating, I went inside first, trying to take everything in. The room was ordained simply, with unceasing fire-globes nestled around the upper corners, and a central pool filled with some purple liquid that rippled back and forth in an unnatural way.

Before I finished formulating the many questions on the edge of my tongue, Couv’s voice echoed through the darkness. “Do you accept the responsibility of becoming a Dra’gonal’ki,” he asked, his voice raspy as he glared at me with his golden eyes. “To give yourself completely over to magic to protect our society?”

“Yes,” I answered without thinking. The wording was nearly exactly the same as the oath I took as a wizard, and I found, at the back corner of my mind, a small shred of disappointment at this. I really thought the Dragon oath would be strikingly different.

“Then enter the sacred pool and emerge a Dra’gonal’ki.”

While perplexed at the simplicity and quickness of the ritual, I rushed to obey because nothing would stop me now, not especially when I was so close to everything I ever wanted. Couv placed his hand out, gesturing to a series of steps leading into the pool, and my eyes almost teared at the honor given to me--this ritual was everything I ever wanted, everything I had worked so hard for.

Then, without hesitation, I stepped into the pool. That’s when pain erupted in every nerve ending of my body, and I screamed out of anguish.

This was not everything I wanted.

Present

I observed the child, cursing my form all while it, he, looked around in fear at wonder at its new environment. He at least had the sense to stop crying, knowing the tears were doing nothing, and that made it at least possible that he would survive.

Actually, supposedly the ritual in itself is “completely safe” now. It takes place in clear, marked boundaries in parts of the forest close to civilization where nightmare creatures haven’t been spotted in many years. If that was the case, then all our society was really doing was placing these children through unnecessary trauma that held no purpose.

A sense of calm returned to me as I observed the child start to wander around, his fear and confusion now being placed by curiosity. I shook my head with a small smile—children are amazing in their ability to change emotions so quickly. I wish more adults had that power.

Suddenly, a growl sounded from the underbrush no more than a mile away, and fear wrapped its icy talons around my heart.

Flashback

When I spoke those words, “giving myself over to magic,” I didn’t know that it literally meant that. Those words were always more of a phrase, a motto that you would take seriously to live your life in pursuit of becoming the best possible wizard.

I really didn’t know it meant actually becoming magic.

My time was now split into a randomized 1:17 ratio, where for every one hour or one day or one section of time I was an actual person, the other 17 hours or days or sections of time, I became the fabric of magic holding Kalvora together. The first time I transformed, I had no form in this phantom phase, and all I could feel was excruciating pain over and over as memories of fire and water and air and earth filled my mind. It took over a year before I finally could exist in the magic fabric as a consciousness, and another year before I was able to mentally materialize a form of some kind.

Yet in my magic form, I was bound by where I could travel to. In my magic form, I could not communicate. Thus, days were torture—seeing people suffer in tragic attacks and being able to do nothing about it. Seeing floods rush over the land and holding my metaphysical breath as I waited for a strong wizard to step up and try to stop it. In my magic form, I couldn’t choose when I was human and when I was not except for… well, maybe I could choose once, invoking a curse that would kill me within minutes of such temporary freedom.

On the other hand, my human form, the form I completely controlled, gained incredible power and control over abilities that I didn’t realize were even possible. I once moved part of a mountain just so it would stop raining avalanches on a nearby village. I felt invincible in power and—

So, so, empty. Becoming a Dragon was not what I truly wanted at all.

Present

The growl sounded again, this time much closer, and I cursed under my breath as the child, more curious than anything, tried to approach the sound. I hated myself in my magical form—that I was forced to observe situations like this and do nothing. What was the use of this ascension if I couldn’t even be in control over myself? How had the other Dragons managed to keep this terrible hinderance a secret for so long?

Finally, the nightmare beast emerged, stepping out from behind the tree with its glowering scarlet eyes and hideous shadow-like body. It opened its mouth wide, flashing multi-colored teeth as it took a menacing step forward.

“Why did it have to be a Shadowhound,” I muttered, as if it mattered. Any nightmare creature could kill an innocent child, but the child stood literally no chance with the Shadowhound. While one of the weaker nightmare creatures by comparison, it made up for its lack of strength in its intelligence, and ability to travel through nearby shadows if threatened. Shadowhounds were whispered in fear, and there should have been no Shadowhounds in the area!

The child hesitated, tears forming in its eyes as it finally realized something was wrong and that’s when the Shadowhound pounced.

My life flashed before my life as moments passed over me in a cascading wave of sounds and colors. I reminisced about all the pain I went through to achieve the ultimate height of wizardry, and remembered how worthless the pursuit actually was, and how much I will forever regret it.

I remembered all the friendships I brushed off, broken for the sake of my goal. I remembered never enjoying art or music or games or simple walks until my freedom was taken away from me and all I wanted to do was return to simpler times. I remembered every achievement that was now a regret, and every noble pursuit that now felt like ash scattering in the wind

Yet at the core of all of these memories, there was one hidden from a long time ago, buried underneath the pain and sorrow and passion and drive that had filled the whole of my life.

“Why do you want to become a Dragon so bad,” my mother asked me one night as a young child, as I asked for more and more stories about my amazing heroes.

“So I can save as many people as possible,” I blurted back.

What use is this power if I can’t save anyone now?

I hissed as I invoked the curse, feeling pain wreck my body as I materialized instantly, casting out a weak spell of light which burned the Shadowhound and forced it to recoil in horror. I gasped as I fell to the ground, clutching my chest as it hurt to breathe, much less even move. Magic leaked from my body in a steam and I knew I only had a couple minutes left at most.

Gasping, I waved my hand towards the Shadowhound and threw it through a portal into the center of a volcano before immediately closing it before hearing its dying streaks in my ears. It was wizardry 101—I didn’t have enough strength to beat it head on, not with the curse that was, so I just removed the problem in general. Amazing how complex answers sometimes have the most simple of solutions.

Coughing, I spat up something thick and red and I averted my eyes as I turned to see the child standing near me, struggling to touch me for whatever reason.

“Are you ok,” he asked, or at least I think that’s what he asked. I don’t understand childspeak, and I was kind of delirious.

“Yes,” I groaned, and then, before the rest of my magic left me forever, cast a protection mark on the child’s head, which would ward off any nightmare creature within a half mile radius, and then, against my better judgement, I sent him all the remaining magic within me that I could muster.

I felt his gasp as light radiated all over his body and he turned back to me, now just a moaning, shivering heap on the ground.

“Thank you,” he whispered, or at least I think that’s what he said. “I wanna be jus’ like you when I grow up, a Dragon.”

Of course he pronounced Dragon with such a silly, unpronounceable accent, but his sentiment haunted me, and I knew that I needed to make it right before the darkness overtook me.

Gritting my teeth, I answered back, “No you don’t.” Then I surrendered to the oblivion.

But at least my last feeling was, before I slipped into the eternal blackness, was peace. At least I had tried to redeem myself with this one last action, and one more child would survive to hopefully not make the same mistakes that I did. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to learn like I did that sometimes what you think you desire is merely a façade over what you truly want.