> Drach

>

> Noun

>

> Translation: Dragon

>

> Pronunciation: /'dʁax/

>

> Definition: "Drach" signifies dragons, reptilian creature characterized by immense power, with the ability to fly, and mastery over elemental forces. The existence and nature of Drach stir significant debate among the Menschen, oscillating between views of them as mere creature or as Spirits. This dichotomy positions Drach at the intersection of fear and veneration, marking them as subjects of one of the realm's profound mysteries.

>

> Cultural/Contextual Background: The societal structure of Drach is notably unique, operating similarly to hives with a central figure known as the Mother of Dragons. The primary objective of the Dragon Queen is to proliferate her species through the production of eggs, ensuring the continuity and dominance of Drach across the land, sea and sky. As of the current era, there exists only one known female dragon, Talathon Drach.

"How dare you!" the Treant's voice resounded once more. It was a mighty rumble akin to trees swaying in a storm's grip, its foliage rustling, bark crackling with indignation.

Before Noctavia stood a giant, a sentient old tree with a humanoid form crafted by nature's patient hand, limbs stretched out like the branches of rugged oaks, and its roots splayed below, anchoring it firmly to the earth, the swamp's mud.

The bark that sheathed its body was thick and knotted. Within its face, two emerald eyes glowed like forest fires, and its countenance, though seemingly fixed by the grooves and lines of its bark, could express a depth of emotion.

Noctavia, undeterred by the Treant's booming admonition, stood her ground. "How dare I come to visit an old friend?"

The Treant's eyes, those deep wells of living green, flickered with a light that was at once ancient and childlike. "How dare you!" the Spirit repeated.

Noctavia, unfazed by the imposing figure, retreated from the water's edge to avoid the swamp's clammy kiss.

"How dare I?" she echoed back, her tone laced with genuine confusion as she regarded the Treant with a bemused tilt of her head. "What have I done to warrant such an ugly greeting?"

"You have forsaken me!" The accusation came from the Treant like a thunderclap, resonating through the leaves and bark.

"I have done nothing of the sort, and my presence here is the very evidence of that," Noctavia countered.

"Why not visit me sooner then?" the Treant pressed, its massive form exuding a sense of wounded pride.

"Since when does a Spirit have the notion of time?" Noctavia posed the question with a soft chuckle. "Would it make any difference if I came yesterday or come tomorrow? Aren't we still who we are regardless of the when?"

A hush fell upon the clearing, and in that quiet, Noctavia noticed the corners of the Treant's bark-like mouth curve into a semblance of a smile. "I missed you," it confessed, the rumbling tones softer now.

"And I you," she admitted, her earlier defiance melting away. "Indeed, I should have come by earlier. But I am here now and with a rather entertaining quest in mind."

"A quest?" The Treant's interest was piqued, the branches that formed its eyebrows lifting.

"Do you see that fellow over there? Chubby, short kid?" Noctavia gestured toward Xendrix, who stood a little ways off, frozen in time and oblivious to their conversation.

"The human?" The Treant's gaze shifted, incredulity spreading across its wooden face as it took in Xendrix's unlikely presence in the forest's depths.

"Yes, a human," Noctavia affirmed.

"Why would you bring a human here?" the Treant inquired, its deep voice reverberating through the forest air. "I don't partake of flesh... but if it's an offering, I could be persuaded to try."

"I'm teaching him magic," Noctavia clarified, holding up the whimsically adorned sword for the Treant to see.

"Teach a human magic?" The Treant looked as sceptical as a tree could. "Might as well teach a twig to dance."

"A twig would be easier to teach, I agree. Yet here we are, a walking, talking entity of the forest," Noctavia retorted with a smile. "With imagination, anything is possible."

"I still don't understand how I fit into this picture. I'm a spirit of the woods, not a tutor of magic, especially not for humans," the Treant protested, its boughs creaking as it shrugged. "I'm still waiting for my Master, and that human, for sure, is not my Master! My Master will be the greatest of them all! Wise, brave and with fair humour."

"You still haven't found him?"

"Not yet, but I'll wait. There is nothing else I can do but wait."

"I know this kid is nothing to you, and I'm sorry you didn't find your Master yet, but they will come sooner or later." Noctavia stepped closer. "Alchemy... it's a kind of magic that humans can learn. I need him to believe this sword is imbued with such power."

"Is it?" The Treant peered at the sword, its emerald eyes scrutinizing the crude runes and colourful beads. "You defaced this blade with nonsense and baubles?"

"It's meant to look enchanted!"

"It looks like a shiny turd..." The Treant's blunt assessment was uncompromising.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Will you help me?"

"Very well," the Treant conceded with a rustle of leaves, "but only because you are dear to me."

Noctavia dropped the sword and watched with satisfaction as it plunged into the swamp, sinking steadily into the murky depths. The Spirit eyed the blade, then her, its confusion evident in the furrowing of its wooden brow. "I don't understand," it rumbled.

"The human will attempt to retrieve it, and you will pretend to stop him," Noctavia explained.

"But if I pretend to stop him, he will believe it impossible to succeed," the Treant countered, its voice a low growl.

"Or will he?" Noctavia challenged with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"No, he will not. If I were to truly try, I would crush him," the Treant said matter-of-factly, its branches creaking as it considered the weight of its own strength.

"Just pretend. You act as though you'll stop him, and I'll pretend I'm unable to assist," Noctavia instructed.

"How should I act? Do I simply make the earth shake?"

"Yes, and say something intimidating but not too harsh," she advised.

"Like commenting on how fat he is?" the Treant prodded.

"Not quite that cruel," Noctavia chuckled. "Just enough to test him."

"Very well," the Treant replied, settling into a stance that seemed ready for battle. "Like this?" it asked, branches poised.

"That looks convincing," Noctavia observed, then took a step back. "Perhaps make yourself a bit smaller."

The Treant withdrew slightly, lessening its imposing figure. "This?" it queried, still towering but less so.

"Spread your branches more," she directed, aiming for the perfect balance of threat and bluff. The Treant obliged, its limbs extending outward, casting an even more daunting shadow.

"We're set whenever you are," Noctavia declared, confidently nodding to affirm the scene they'd orchestrated.

"Bring forth the human!" the Treant bellowed, its voice echoing through the swamp, a challenge set for Xendrix—a test of courage, wit, and the willingness to reach for the impossible.

Noctavia bowed gracefully and positioned herself just behind Xendrix. In an instant, the scene before them erupted into chaos. With a firm shove, Noctavia propelled Xendrix forward, her voice laced with urgency, "Protect me!"

Xendrix lurched forward, nearly losing his balance as he caught sight of the towering Treant poised for a mock assault. "What am I supposed to do?" Panic edged his voice as he half-turned, contemplating escape, but Noctavia's grip was unexpectedly firm, anchoring him in place.

"Go! Retrieve the sword!" she commanded.

"What sword?"

"It's a sword that controls the earth element. With it, you can vanquish the Treant. Now go!" Noctavia's push was insistent, driving him toward the creature.

Xendrix's body tensed, every instinct screaming against confronting the massive being before him. He was unarmed, untrained, and at a clear disadvantage.

"Face me, you chubby human! ...I mean, just human!" the Treant's voice boomed.

"I come in peace!" Xendrix called out, advancing towards the Treant with raised hands. "I mean no harm!" he amended, his eyes scanning for the submerged sword.

Then, with a burst of adrenaline-fueled bravery or perhaps stupidity, Xendrix dove into the swamp. The water closed over him with a splash, the murky depths concealing his form as he sought the magic-laden blade that Noctavia had promised would grant him the power of the earth element.

The Treant and Noctavia watched, the former with an air of bemused anticipation, the latter with a spark of hope that this charade would ignite the true potential within the human who dared to dive into the unknown for a chance at the impossible.

Xendrix's form broke the surface of the swamp with a gasp for air, his heart pounding against the cage of his ribs. The looming figure of the Treant spurred him back into the depths, the threat of its presence driving him to search frantically for the sword.

Time and again, he emerged empty-handed, the murky waters offering no favour to the desperate boy.

On his third ascent, the Treant's growl echoed like a war drum, sending Xendrix plunging back into the swamp with renewed fervour. But human strength has its limits, and his was quickly waning. The swamp was an abyss, visionless and suffocating, and the Treant—a living force of nature—loomed ever-threatening at its edge.

Exhaustion clawing at him, Xendrix made the decision to abandon the depths and fled from the water's embrace. In a moment of instinct or inspiration, he extended his hand toward the Treant and Noctavia and called out, "Come to me!"

A hush fell over the swamp, the silence stretching taut as the moments passed. When nothing stirred, Xendrix's voice rose to a commanding crescendo, "I command you! Come to me!"

And then, as if summoned by the power of his command, the swamp water began to stir. A bubble formed, growing and swirling into a small vortex. With a sudden surge, like a fish leaping from the depths to greet the sun, the sword burst forth from the water, arcing gracefully through the air to land firmly in Xendrix's outstretched hand.

Noctavia and the Spirit stood motionless, struck silent by the spectacle.

"I have now the device to kill you, monster! Let her go!" Xendrix's voice thundered through the swamp, emboldened by the surge of adrenaline that raced through his veins.

Noctavia cast a discreet glance at the Treant and murmured under her breath, "Play dead."

The Treant, caught off guard, responded with a puzzled, "Play what?"

"Dead!" Noctavia insisted in her whisper.

Comprehension dawned on the Treant's barked features, and it performed its part with an exaggerated flair. Clutching the area above its roots where a heart might be, it groaned theatrically, "Oh, you have vanquished me, paunchy, brave human! You have vanquished me!"

Its massive form then toppled, mimicking the fall of a great tree severed at its base. "Oh, poor me! The mighty Treant Spirit of the forest, now I lay dead! Oh, poor me, I die. And I'm dead now! Argh."

"I did it!" Xendrix was in awe and disbelief as he stared at the 'defeated' Treant. "I actually did it! I killed a Treant!"

Approaching him with a ceremonious stride, Noctavia announced grandly, "Prince Xendrix of Keblurg, you have triumphed in the Trial of Earth!" She then bowed deeply before him, "Congratulations!"

"You saw it, right?" Xendrix asked, seeking validation for his astonishing feat.

"Yes, I saw it," she confirmed with a nod, maintaining the facade.

"I commanded the sword to come to me, and the Treant to die, and... and..." Xendrix's excitement cascaded into a torrent of words.

With a flick of her wrist, Noctavia stilled time itself. "For fuck sake, the boy never shuts up," she muttered, turning her attention back to the Treant still lying on the ground. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, this was delightful! Shall we do it again?" the Treant asked, its voice resonating with laughter in a wooden timbre.

"I still have three more objects for our ruse," Noctavia replied with a playful tone, "but I need fire, air and water, Spirits."

The Treant lifted itself up, shaking off leaves and twigs. "What comes next?"

"The Trial of Water... but I'm loath to deal with that fish—he's so..."

Noctavia trailed off, her face scrunching up in distaste, "Have you met the Dual-Headed Fish?"

Rolling its emerald eyes in sympathy, the Treant interjected, "If you take the path along the Meerio, there is talk of another Spirit residing in those waters."

"Another spirit?" Noctavia's interest was piqued. "One that I know?"

"A dragon," the Treant disclosed, a sense of intrigue suffusing the air.

But Dragons are not really Spirits. They are just big. Really big.

> The Islands of Cragua house, the infamous dragon lair, has always fascinated me deeply. The question that lingers in my mind, shared by many scholars, is whether dragons are Spirits or simply magnificent creatures of pure power. Some see them as elemental beings, while others argue for their physical existence. I've spent years exploring this mystery, and I believe that perhaps dragons straddle both realms, embodying a unique fusion of spirit and flesh. The islands of Cragua's allure continue to beckon, inviting me to uncover the truth behind these mythical creatures that have captured my heart and mind. Who knows, maybe one day I meet one. ——Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune