“I know you’re there…”
A snicker sounded in the fog. “A most excellent guess, Victor.”
Victor breathed in deep through his small lungs. A quick glance at his hands made clear that he was back in his dreams, as he had lost the scales he so detested. It was too good to be true, and thus there was no reason to celebrate. Especially now that the voice from many a bad night had come to pay another visit.
“What do you want from me?! Everytime you show up, I just know the next day is going to be atrocious. It’s almost like seeing, I don’t know, a brute smile as he’s about to put someone someone’s head in a noose! Why are you-”
“Easy now, Victor. My will extends far, but not that far.”
Victor breathed out into the fog, folding his arms and tapping his foot into the clouds below. “Alright, spit it out, then. I know you want to say something, so just say it.”
Warm laughter spread across the fog. “Quite the fierce one, are we not? I must say, Victor, that is quite the change from before. I doubt that anyone in the world would have expected as much this soon.”
“It’s not a joke, damn you! You’re hiding something from me, I know it! What is it now?!”
A soft hum stirred in the fog, which forced Victor’s eyelids shut. A door closed in the distance, it’s echoes softened the atmosphere all around. For some reason, it had gotten awfully cold. The mists which now seemed to descend upon Victor much as a swarm of mosquitoes. Yet Victor did not protest. Working up the motivation to do so had become a task beyond his reach, much as if someone had asked him to create the finest of porcelain wares with naught but his bare hands.
“There, that is better, is it not?” Victor’s eyes came back to life. He did not say anything. “Ah yes, these are far better conditions to speak.”
To his surprise, the fog had crept out of sight, despite the cold still poking and prodding. Victor looked around: Horror began to set into his eyes as he realised where he was. The place where life as he once knew it had ended, its cursed altar rising above the rest of the hollow marble halls.
“Wh- What in the world? Why here?! Out of all the places in the world, why this wretched temple?!”
The voice spoke, now using a gruff middle-aged man with a beard and a military jacket as an avatar. “Is there something wrong with this place?”
Victor gritted his teeth. “Those bastards took my life from me here, and you think this is all a joke? I swear to the gods, the walls and floor of this place are cursed, cursed I tell you!”
As the avatar sighed, the fog swirled further away in the distance, its echoes lingering in the heights of the temple. Time did nothing to quieten them down, or give any signs of them fading away.
“How unfortunate. I had hoped you would warm up to this place more since you’ve last been here, but it will have to do for now. It certainly beats the fog for a place to have a little talk, that much is certain.”
“Why this place, damn you-”
“This is not about rooms, Victor. This is about you. About your future.”
Chills crept their way up and down Victor’s back; alas, the illusion of regained humanity faltered, for the chills and the reaction were far removed from here. He could feel his scaled body quiver away in the darkness of the night, comforted by no one besides the other scaled one whose presence in this dream would be very appreciated right now. His lone comfort and protector, and she was out of reach.
“What is with the long face, Victor?”
Victor ran a hand through his blonde hairs. “Every time you’ve shown yourself, it was always because something bad was going to happen. Between that damned dragon attack, having my humanity ripped away, and everything else you’ve done to me, I dread having to hear your voice again. You’re going so far as to use the voice of my former friend, who I killed! I feel like a ball being kicked around by village idiots, I keep being pounded and pounded on, until I end up through one of the neighbours’ windows, or in the river...” That made no sense whatsoever, didn’t it?
“Well now, my apologies. Perhaps this is not the voice you want to hear, then. Maybe this would be better.” The avatar’s voice had morphed into something as gruff and authoritative as the rest of it. Victor bit his lip. It was hard to tell anymore if this was all something his mind had conjured up in the fury of the nighttime haze, or if something else was at play.
“There. I can already tell you approve of this more. Let us continue.”
The avatar proceeded up the hall, pacing along the walls without so much as looking back. Victor followed slightly behind, more out of courtesy than anything else. The tunnels leading out were filled to the brim with mist; the gates of the temple were shut.
“You see, all things must come to an end eventually. ”
“Do you mean to say that I might die tomorrow? That’s not a problem to me. I wouldn’t have any regrets if I was struck down, aside from leaving Celesta and William behind,” Victor said.
“And what of your father? Have you no regrets should you leave him all alone? He does not know of any other family which may still live, after all.”
Victor sighed. “He got me into this mess to begin with.”
The avatar craned his neck around, and rolled his eyes as a grin materialized on his face. “Quite cold of you. But I digress. This is not about life and death. Whether you survive or not has zero bearing on what I mean. Life as you know it will end; even if you attain immortality, these words will ring ever so true.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you not considered your ancestry, Victor? Have you not understood what your parentage means to you?”
Sweat trickled down Victor’s forehead. He can’t mean that I’ll have to follow up in his footsteps, right? Do I look like someone fit to lead a market stand, let alone a group of monsters and brigands? “I’d rather not know.”
“Ignorance isn’t so bliss as you might think it to be, Victor.”
“Listen, I’m not a heir to anything. The only reason I’m even with them is because I don’t have a choice anymore! If I try to flee, the Justitians will hunt me down, all because that golden bastard so desperately wanted me to become a monster like he is. And don’t tell me that he did it out of love, damn you! I’ve wanted to beat my own head in with a rock ever since!”
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The avatar scoffed. “No matter how you may struggle, there is no avoiding what has been etched in stone. Lokahn has spoken, and now awaits your answer.”
Before Victor had the chance to reply, the fog flooded back into the temple with the ferocity of an ancient calamity. “Wait, wait!!” Victor yelled, to no avail; for the fog had him gagged and bound, and no protest would amount to anything more than a mere formality for the forces powering it.
“Farewell again for now, Victor. Remember, your destiny awaits you...”
Fog forced its way into Victor’s lungs, choking him out. The world turned to black, and the dreams of the temple vanished into the unknown.
* * *
“Victor? Victor! Wakey wakey!”
“ACK!” The red dragon awoke to someone shaking his torso back and forth. Celesta stood over him, claws pressed into his side, eyes focused on the bridge between his eyes.
“Calm down, what’s the matter? I woke up to you shivering like a madman, what happened?”
Victor gulped. “I had a bad dream… I guess. I was being led around by a strange man, who kept talking about ‘my destiny’ or something. It was very strange.”
Celesta tilted her head. “Destiny? What do you mean, Victor?”
Victor brought his shoulders up and down. “As if I would know. That man in my dreams never told me anything specific.” Lying is wrong, she said. But it’s not as if I have the choice to not lie, sometimes.
“How weird,” the lavender dragoness replied, “I guess it was just a strange dream, nothing more. I’ve had plenty of those myself. You know, I oddly enough had a dream years ago in which I imagined myself as a dragon, frolicking in the fields. I don’t know why I had that dream. I don’t know why I brought it up, actually, but...” The dragoness’ cheeks puffed up. “I guess it’s funny, looking back at it.”
“Well, that’s something alright,” Victor snickered out.
“Aw, you’re laughing at me!” Celesta playfully taunted.
“Oh, my apolo-”
“No, don’t apologise. I love it when you smile.”
The red dragon lifted a foreleg in front of his chest. That awful swelling in the walls of his ribcage came up again. It was very odd. Strangely enough, he found himself liking the feeling. It felt somewhat wholesome, much like a box of kittens announcing their presence to the world.
“Anyway lad, it’s time to wake up. We have the whole day ahead of us, remember?”
Victor gulped. “Oh, yes… The whole ‘going after the road’ thing. I do remember that well. You gave me quite the earful about it yesterday.”
Celesta grinned. “What can I say? I like talking about these things. It’s the future of the country on the line, after all! No such thing as time wasted on that!”
The rest of the group was still fast asleep, by the looks and sounds of it. Some breathed, others snored, others groaned in response. It was the typical night, albeit one that would come to an end soon. The sun was rising behind the clouds, and the snow outside was as pale as ever. A winter morning, just like the dozens that had come before it.
Whilst waiting for all the others to wake up for breakfast, the two did a few morning exercises to wake up. Nearby the town was a small stream, which ran into the Stejer river. The same river they had to cross later in the day, using the material logged in the nearby area. Celesta bathed in the freezing waters; Victor didn’t dare to dip more than a toe in without being egged on. Celesta found it funny, much to his chagrin. Alas, she had other tastes in humour, and Victor would have to deal with that for as long as he and her were stuck with each other.
Bathed and awake, the two returned to the sleepy town: Half of everyone within the village had by now woken up, which wasn’t enough for breakfast. One youngster lost his patience, seizing a pot from last night, and proceeded to beat it with a stick.
“Alright, up and at ‘em! Time to get up already, ya lazy bastards!”
From windows all across the village came a cavalcade of groggy groaning from Frontsmen and locals alike, cursing the youngster for all he was worth.
“Ah, ye damned son of a…! Put yer damn pot down or I’ll stick it right up yer arse!”
“Shut up… shut up!! I’m trying to sleep here still, you whoreson!”
“OI! I’ll ram that pot o’ yours right down your throat you little-”
“Can everyone just shut up? Is this how you act to your parents too, you twerps? If you can’t behave, then leave already, damn you!”
The deluge of half-drunken rambling and insults continued for as long as the pot was being beaten. Breakfast came a short while thereafter. A grandma who hadn’t forgotten her ancestry had baked bread and prepared small meals for both dragons, all out of the kindness of her own heart. Victor whispered a weak ‘thank you’, and received a pat on the head from the old woman in response.
After she left, he looked towards his feet. Bread with bits of old steamed vegetables and chopped up bits of liver was on the menu today. His nostrils filled up with the scent of the liver in particular; Victor pulled a sour face. It smelled like something one would serve to their guard dog, not a proper meal for anything aspiring to claim the title of ‘A human being’. He sighed, and pressed a foreleg against the base of his chest.
I can’t just say no, she must’ve poured her heart and soul into this for me, given how she is as frail as she is. But it stings, it stings to be reduced to… this.
Playing off a sigh as a yawn, Victor took a small bite of the bread. Thankfully, it tasted better than it smelled, or perhaps his taste buds were playing games on him. Either way, Victor managed to swiftly push the rest of the bread down his throat, before any of the poor lads sitting near him would catch a glimpse of the noxious livery scent.
With breakfast wrapping up peacefully, the time had come for another day of struggle and suffering. For it was today that William’s group had been tasked with crossing the Stejer, and to help isolate Whitestream from the rest of the country. They weren’t the only ones, of course, but they were in for the fight of their lives. All the marching in the last few weeks were nothing but a prelude to his.
Victor eyed the people around him, who were fiddling with their weapons. Most were barely past their teenage years, and yet they were on the verge of throwing themselves into a meat grinder. For him, it was the strangest thing in the world, seeing how calm, no, excited they were in the face of it all. Once the scout had found a safe place to make the crossing, they’d go out to meet what could very well be their deaths. But alas, there was no stopping that now. For all he knew, trying to stop it may just end up with him receiving a pike between his ribs. The gods alone could help them now.
William had sat down on the wooden steps of the small communal building, being comforted by Celesta. Jim was there too, leaning against the wall of the building with his arms folded. Typical, thought Victor. Jim had no interest in anything which may get in his way, whether that be someone’s fears or anything else. Imagining how their conversation was going was easy enough.
But even though they were in earshot, Victor didn’t care to listen. It all made him want to grovel. It wasn’t going to be long now until hundreds of foolishly passionate young people much like himself would charge at hundreds of like-minded youngsters in a fight to the bottom of the barrel. So many would fall, and never see the sun rise across the land ever again. So many would be struck, unable to live out a life worth living. So many would be scarred, shivering at the horrific memories which would be created on this day. And others would be deranged, laughing like monsters as they basked in those same memories.
But that was all set in stone now. Better to do your part than to let the people counting on you down, again. He was going to do what he had to do, and hopefully the best result would prevail in the end. The gods knew that he was willing to back up that talk with action. This time around, there'd be no fleeing.
Victor sighed, and craned his neck backward, away from the others. The Origin Mountains were a distant memory now. He thought of the spy he and the others had stumbled into, and how he was faring. He’d been interned, of course, Perhaps he was being treated well, or he was thrown in a pit somewhere. At least he was protected from the war now.
Alas, it wasn’t long before the scout came running back, announcing to William that he had found the perfect spot. Like a machine conceived in the minds of madmen, the Frontsmen got to work lugging the pieces of the makeshift bridge to the spot. Victor followed behind.
May the gods be with us.
The stage was set for a turning point; for as the first pieces fell into the river, the Frontsmen of the surrounding groups crept out of the woods, and the clock struck noon, it marked the beginning of the battle of Whitestream.