Memories of a Soul

Fourth Fragment

Sylus needed to remain still. If he moved, it moved. It could feel him breathing, and it reacted to it as well. Slow, calm breaths, thought Sylus as he approached the rocky overhang. There, nestled in a crevice was a large bright yellow beetle with an impressive set of horns. The trick with catching thunderbugs was to not scare them, or they’d shock you. And depending on the age of the bug, the shock would range from a light zap to a paralyzing bolt of energy. Not to mention: they were extraordinarily rare to find. He just had to catch it.

As Sylus drew closer, the bug slowly unfurled its carapaced wings. Just the very movement of them made a sort of clacking noise. Sylus reached his hand out carefully, and the closer his hand got the more agitated the flapping got.

“I’ll just pick you up my little friend. Don’t worry. I’m very gentle,” he whispered.

As his hand grazed the surface of the bug's tough carapace it quickly contracted, protecting itself from the outside world.

“There, there,” said Sylus calmly as he slowly enveloped his hand around the bug of similar size as his hand. He touched it very lightly without applying pressure. Now he just needed to pick it up. Sylus began adding pressure in his grip and the bug did not react. He gripped the bug harder, as if holding a smooth rock, then tried prying it gently off of the wall. It squeezed its six legs anchored to the wall and would not let go, so Sylus tried tugging at it. He yelped—his hand felt like burning ice for a split second, as if frozen lightning shot up through his hand and his arm all the way up to his shoulder—and he recoiled backward. Blue sparks danced in the air before the bug whirred over his head and flew off. The lingering iciness tingled uncomfortably. His hand numbed and his arm pulsed, but he anchored himself to the moment and shot his gaze backward to where the bug had flown. He saw it still.

“You’re not getting away!” called Sylus before breaking into a dash, eyes locked to his distant target.

He leaped over rocks and ran across grassy fields chasing his prize. Sylus had come here to this distant rock spire, though still a part of the interconnecting bridges, to relax. That is to say, chasing insects was not originally on his to-do list. But, sometimes, adventure calls. And Sylus usually answers.

Sylus managed to close the distance soon enough. Thunderbugs were big, which served them well in the natural order, but it made them poor flyers. The whirring of its wings also made it easy to keep track of it. Sylus sped up. If he got right under it, he’d be able to jump up and grab it. It couldn’t emit those shocks forever. It hadn’t yet recharged! His digitigrade legs carried a lot of force from his hips down to his feet. His toes slammed rhythmically into the dirt as he came closer and closer to the beetle. The closer he got, the more his head tilted upwards, before he eventually was looking straight up; he was right under it. You’re mine!

Sylus leaped, swiping at the bug in the air. As gracefully as an insect of its size could manage, it rolled mid-air, avoiding the wyverian’s hand. He looked forward to readjust his sense of direction in order to land, but realized quickly that landing was about to become crashing. A natural, expansive shrubbery of leafy briar appeared before Sylus, and he plummeted right into their embrace, rolling over them and ripping them from their roots. Before he managed to come to a stop, his world turned upside-down as he fell off of a cliff edge where the shrubbery ended. He managed to turn himself downwards and brace for impact just before colliding with a branch, breaking it off and tumbling through many more branches. Though he was battered, he somehow managed to land on his feet, but tripped, fell, and rolled over, finally coming to a halt with his face planted in grass.

Sylus groaned as he flipped over on his back. The tall tree he had fallen through swayed slightly in the wind, and the sun crept through its many leaves. It hadn’t been as far as it felt. Something in the corner of his eyes turned his attention to the tree’s trunk. There sat perched a yellow beetle. He couldn’t believe it. Standing up slowly, fighting against the aching of his muscles, he moved towards it. However, even the simplest of creatures don’t fall for the same trick twice. It flew away. Sylus' looked in the direction of the flying beetle, not meaning to chase it again. He could see the edge of the spire. A flowery sunlit grassland.

“So that’s where you wanted to go, huh?” he mumbled.

Except, the beetle would not find itself alone on that prairie. There was a person lying nonchalantly by the edge. He hadn’t seen it immediately. It was as if they were a part of the flora. Interesting.

Sylus calmly made his way over to the person, who he could now tell was a man dressed in leathers—his torso wrapped in bandage. Bells rang in Sylus’ head.

“Nice fall, kid,” said the man without moving an inch. He was lying on his side facing away from Sylus, towards the edge of the spire. He appeared to be reading something. “Trying to give yourself a concussion or something?”

“I was chasing a thunderbug,” said Sylus.

“A thunderbug?” said the man, putting his book down and turning over to look at Sylus. The man’s weathered face still painted the picture of a youngster, eager and bold. He was well tanned with dark eyes, and his brown hair was stiff in the wind. He sported a masculine stubble, which was contrasted by a deep scar trailing over his left cheek. This was the hunter he had seen arrive a week ago.

“But it electrocuted me,” said Sylus.

“It must’ve felt threatened,” said the man. “Maybe you squeezed it too hard.”

“No, no I had a light grip. But he wouldn’t let go when I tried to pull him.”

The man clicked his tongue in playful disapproval. “Never force a thunderbug from its nesting place. That’s just bug hunting rudimentaries. You’re not very good at bug hunting, are you?”

Sylus almost grimaced. “I’ve caught lots of bugs in my days. What do you know about bug hunting?”

“A thing or two,” said the man, opening his book back up.

“You don’t hunt bugs,” said Sylus. “You hunt monsters. Don’t think I can’t tell you’re a monster hunter. Your garments give it away.”

“You got me,” said the hunter, snorting.

Sylus crossed his arms. “Hey, what are you reading?”

“Oh, this old thing?” said the hunter. “It’s my bestiary. Seeing as I hunt monsters, and you hunt bugs, I suppose it’s not that interesting to you.”

“I’m not a bug hunter you know,” said Sylus, looking off to the side.

“Oh really? Then maybe you’d like to take a look?” inquired the hunter, pushing himself upward and sitting up straight.

Sylus felt a rush of electric excitement course through him. They didn’t have any foreign bestiaries in their village library. He scurried up to the hunter and peeked over to look at the contents of the open book. The page revealed an illustration of a dark, shadowy dragon.

“What monster is that?” asked Sylus curiously.

“Oh, you don’t know? I thought you would’ve,” mused the hunter. “But I guess they don’t talk about this fellow anymore.”

“What, what is it?”

“Colloquially they call it the Dark Eclipse. I call it Gore Magala. An immature Elder Dragon that once terrorized your lands. That’s why I thought you might have known of it already.”

“Woah,” said Sylus, analyzing the various notes sprawled next to the monster. “...pollen-like scales, large claws… Are you going to hunt this monster?”

The hunter laughed. “No, this fellow ain’t around anymore. He was already dealt with waaay back.”

“Then what monster are you here to hunt?” asked Sylus.

“Hunt?” exclaimed the hunter. He then gestured to his bandaged stomach. “I ain’t hunting for a good while, kid.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Oh, you know. Just a little vacation,” said the hunter and smirked.

Sylus knew that nobody came to Cathar for vacation. It was a glorified farmstead in the middle of nowhere where the wind always blew a little bit too much.

“You’re from afar, right? Can you show me any of those monsters? Ones I’ve never seen?” asked Sylus.

“You’ve got a keen eye, kid, I’m not from around here. But don’t you have any bestiaries in your village?”

“We do, but our library only has books about the local fauna, and I’ve already read those.”

“Oh, what a shame,” said the hunter. “You know, if you don’t mind getting me some documents from that ol’ library of yours, I’d be happy to show you all the monsters you’ve never seen before.”

“What documents?”

“Check for things concerning the so-called “frenzy”. That should put you on the right track. Anything will do, really,” said the hunter.

“Alright, I got it,” said Sylus.

“We’ve got a deal then,” said the hunter.”

“It’s a promise, okay?” said Sylus as he stood up and began running back towards his village, and the hunter waved goodbye as he ran.

The sun rose steadily as the hours passed—perching itself at the top of the sky, glaring down at the world below—and Sylus found himself at the foot of the door to the village library. He stepped through the swaying curtains into the wooden building, now sheltered from the heat of the sun. Discreet beams of light illuminated the dust dancing nonchalantly in the soft breeze that seeped in through the open doorway. Books were strewn about and stacked in large piles. Old and cracked vases stood in most corners, each stuffed full with a number of scrolls. A crooked desk floured in dust stood tucked against the nearest wall. Sylus tread lightly up to it, needing to maneuver his way around books and debris, and wiped its surface off dust with his hand. It was time to find those documents.

Stolen story; please report.

He collected a number of books and scrolls which he was familiar with. ‘Frenzy’ was the keyword, and he loosely associated books about disease with that word and got to skimming through the pages. A moment passed, and one book about local diseases was read through. Irrelevant. Another moment passed, another book, this time about psychedelics. Irrelevant. A scroll about unique mushrooms. Absolutely irrelevant. He didn’t even know why he picked that one up. For each moment, another book, and another, and another. It was well known that wyverians were quick readers, but they were also quick to absorb information. Nevertheless, it wasn’t too long before Sylus had determined that all selected books and scrolls had no mention of ‘frenzy’.

He thought for a moment. There wasn’t a book in here that he hadn’t read. Not a scroll. Not a sentence. It wasn’t a library of a million books, it was a small study of the elder’s personal collection. Sylus supposed that there simply weren’t any mention of ‘frenzy’ to be found. Yet, if he arrived empty handed, he wouldn’t be able to read through that foreign bestiary. He had to find something. He stood up to go pick up another selection of literature but stumbled on the books by his feet, tumbling into a rickety wall but catching himself. A plume of dust erupted from the impact, and Sylus coughed as he retreated from the wall. Looking up at the settling dust, he saw the wall he had bumped into now slightly open. Or rather, a compartment in the wall had been revealed, a small hatch swinging loosely. Sylus tiptoed up to peek inside the compartment to see two books and a box.

“Did the elder hide this away?” mumbled Sylus to himself as he picked up one of the books. It read ‘History of the Wyvern I”, and looking over to the other book it read ‘History of the Wyvern II’. Sylus sighed. This most likely had nothing to do with frenzy. He looked over to the box. It was an unsuspecting box. Square in form, made of dark old wood. Even the hinges were of wood. He pulled it over and promptly opened it up. Inside were a collection of compact scrolls and a note. Taking the note, it read, ‘medical records of the frenzy virus’. He couldn’t believe his luck. He put the note back and closed the box. He was bringing the whole thing with him. Albeit, he wondered why something like this was stashed away. Ominous, he thought. As he was about to leave, he couldn’t help but think about those two books that were left unread.

“Oh, I guess remaining a little while longer couldn’t hurt,” he mused, putting the box down on the desk and pulling out the two books.

“Let’s see,” he said, licking his finger and opening up the first volume.

Dragons, kin to wyverns, fierce as they are grand

Conquering and hunting, some say the source of our land

Yet, to burn and destroy and consume is their natural way

Nature’s harmony falters where these beasts hold sway

Born of stars, they shine so bright

All the world’s creatures fear their might

With need for balance to stop their scorn

Here and now, the noble wyvern is born

The wyvern is cunning, it does not burn or ravage

Nature is kept in balance, no sign of dragon damage

But dragons, much stronger, soon grow cunning too

Dragons now scheme and plot, oh that they do

Wyverns are outmatched and the stars grow dim

No guidance in sight and our hope grows slim

Yet the stars speak of dawn, a new light to adorn

Hear ye, the First Wyverians are born

The dragons are cunning, but Wyverians more so

The wyverns they ride and their souls they glow

In harmony with all, as dragons’ reign grows cold

Behold, the First Hunters of Old

What was he reading? Sylus rubbed his eyes and looked again. ‘The wyverns they ride’...? ‘The First Hunters of Old’...? By all accounts, Wyverians were farmers and scholars. They lived out their long lives in peace and in harmony. They did not hunt, except for terribly rare exceptions. Yet, this passage claims otherwise. This passage means to say that wyverians were a hunter society. Not only that, they rode wyverns? He closed the book with a thud and placed it on top of the box. He picked up the whole package and rushed outside. He had to show this to the hunter.

Hurrying past the townsfolk, they did not seem to pay him much mind. To Sylus, it almost felt as if he were stealing something valuable. But now he had a mission, and he was too engrossed in it to back out. The sun was hanging low in the sky at this point, and the shadows grew longer by the hour. Treading through rocky terrain, passing over wooden hangbridges, and walking through windy meadows, eventually, he made his way back to the prairie where he had previously found the hunter. And there he was. Waiting. Meditating. His legs were crossed and his eyes closed. His hair swayed stiffly in the wind. Sylus approached him.

“I have your documents,” he said.

The hunter opened his eyes and looked at Sylus. “You lot are even quicker than I could’ve ever imagined.”

Sylus looked at the sinking sun. Was I really that quick?

“I know that wyverians are fast readers, but… this… I’m impressed. You must’ve read through that whole library to find that box,” said the hunter.

“You know of this box?” asked Sylus, raising his brow.

“A little bit,” said the hunter. “I was the one who stashed it away.”

“What?” exclaimed Sylus in surprise. “So you were…?”

“I was part of the team that hunted the beast. A pretty important part, actually.”

“The beast?” asked Sylus, dumbfounded.

“Gore Magala,” said the hunter. “You must’ve read the note, right? That beast was the cause of the so-called ‘frenzy-virus’.”

“I had no clue they were connected,” said Sylus.

“They really must’ve kept the new generation in the dark, huh? No wonder you didn’t recognize the name earlier.” The hunter stood up and walked towards the box, noticing the book on top of it. “What’s that book you brought with you?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Sylus in excitement. “It’s a grand discovery. It’s something I wanted to show you!”

“Alright. Let’s see it then.”

Sylus put the box down and picked up the book in both hands. He walked up to the hunter and unfolded the book.

“Here,” said Sylus and pointed to the passage. “The dragons are cunning, but wyverians more so, the wyverns they ride and their souls they glow, in harmony with all, as dragons’ reign grows cold, behold, the First Hunters of Old. The wyverians, they were hunters!”

“Wait, lemme see that,” said the hunter and grabbed the book, staring intently into the passage. “Where did you find this?”

“In the hidden compartment where the box was!”

“I don’t remember putting this book there…” mused the hunter. He continued. “It looks old. Judging by the spine, I’d wager it’s over five hundred years old at least. It’s well kept. Actually, it might be even older…”

“We wyverians are mostly farmers and scholars, but this shows that we didnt start out that way! We hunted and rode wyverns!” claimed Sylus.

“Assuming it’s accurate,” said the hunter while studying the rest of the book's content.

“It has to be!” said Sylus.

“How interesting…” The hunter looked up at Sylus. “So? What are you going to do with this information?”

“Well,” began Sylus. “I thought you might’ve found it interesting.”

“It is interesting. Riding wyverns? I wonder if they mean as companions?”

“Their souls they glow… that has to mean both of them.”

“I’m not sure, kid. The only wyvern riders I know of use ironshine silk to puppeteer monsters, but that sure doesn't make them content.”

“But maybe it is possible!”

“Maybe… Well, nevertheless, I always thought wyverians made good hunters. Shame that most of them don’t dare put a blade to a beast.” The hunter closed the book. “But you didn’t really show me this because you thought I’d find it interesting, did you?”

“I mean, it was an unprecedented discovery, so I just thought-”

“Young boy, you have passions beyond your village. I can see it in your eyes,” said the hunter as he kneeled down to meet Sylus’ gaze.

“What do you mean?” asked Sylus.

“You want to become a hunter. That’s why you were excited to show me this.”

“I-”

“You want to hunt dragons yourself.”

“I want to ride wyverns!” said Sylus.

The hunter was quiet for a moment, before smiling. “As said, only hunters wyvern-ride, kid.”

“In that case, I do want to become a hunter! Can you help me?”

“Kid, who do you think you’re talking to?” said the hunter, a confident grin widening his lips. “They call me the slayer of The Dark Eclipse, the Sword of Glass. I am the 17th ranked High Rank hunter. Kaelan Dimjaw, that’s my name. What’s yours, kid?”

“I am Sylus! The Rider of Wyverns!”

“Sylus, kid,” laughed Kaelan. “You can only get your titles through actual achievements. Real grand tales. And today, your tale starts. You are Sylus, apprentice of Kaelen. And I will train you to become a wyverian hunter. Now, wyvern riding? I’m not an expert, so you’re gonna have to figure that one out yourself. But I can help put you on the right path.”

“I’m willing to try!” said Sylus.

“Good. We’ll start your training today,” said Kaelen.

“Today!?”

“The sun’s still up, kid.” Kaelen pointed toward the trees. “Go fetch me two decent sticks. I’ll teach you how to swing a sword.”