Nine Years Ago...

...

— Sit on this chair. Lift your head, please. Name?

— Freya.

— Surname?

— Crescent.

— Age?

— See these fingers?

— Five... Alright. What is your purpose?

— I don't know.

— What do you like to do?

— Singing.

— What purpose does singing have?

— I like to sing.

— Why do you like to sing?

— I felt like music.

— Which kind of music?

— Don't know.

— So it ain't music that you do sing. It's a song.

— What is difference?

— Well... a music is composed by instruments. A song can be composed by your voice alone.

— I did not knew that Mister.

— Okay. So, what will you be when you grow up?

— I'll be an adult.

— I mean, what do you want to become when you grown up, Freya?

— I want to be a Dragoon.

— Why?

— Mom is a Dragoon.

— Do you want to become a Dragoon Knight because that's your mother's job?

— I know mom.

— Yes, you are... let's see... Lenneth Crescent. Is that your mom, right?

— I am a Crescent.

— Fine. Wonder why you are qualified to become a Dragoon Knight, Freya?

— My mom is Dragoon.

— Right. Who or what inspired you to become a Dragoon?

— I'm not Dragoon. Mom is. She is strong.

— Do you believe in your own strenght?

— I can kick butt.

— Does kicking others, eh... 'butts'... point is, do harming others make you feel any stronger?

— For a while. A dragon don't feel regret. I do.

— Do you have any other direction to take if you are unable to become a Dragoon Knight?

— No. I want to.

— To be a Dragoon costs too much of a burmecian, so you know. The time spent by Lenneth during her job lasts more than the average working hour...

— Duty.

— You know what this means to her, and you.

— I do. Mom speak a lot about it.

— Right. Do you remember which other words Lenneth had spoken to you, in regards to what a Dragoon must follow?

— The D's, you mean? Uh... Discipline.

— Yes. We taught the Dragoon discipline here on the Jugend. Which else?

— Devotion?

— Yes. Each Dragoon must be devoted to what it means to be a Dragoon beyond the title. Anything else?

— Defense?

— A Dragoon is tasked to protect, either those who were victims of a crime, or the ones who commited it.

— Uh, Mister...

— Yes, Freya?

— Do... does a dress count?

— Dress? Well, Dragoons wear distinguishable clothes, so... that's fine. I guess that's enough for today.

— ...Despair.

— What did you said?

— No, Mister. Nothing important. Be Dragoon is really painful, no?

— If I said no, I would be lying. If I said yes, however...

— It is hard to describe pain. A song alone ain't music. Easy to cry, but Dragoon don't cry.

— Of course we do.

— Why?

— Because we aren't only Dragoons. I'm a burmecian as you do. Yaaaaawnn...

— You are tired.

— A tired body means nothing to me.

— Dad was so tired. Mom gets home tired too. Dad won't get home.

— I'm sorry if things have gotten too personal, Freya.

— No, it's okay. When mom get home, she dreams. Only time mom is allowed to share of same thing I have plenty all day.

— And what that would be?

— Imagination.

— Fine then. Lenneth must be awaiting for you outside. Seeing how many kids prefer to play in the yard, it's a surprise that you, out of a few, were willing to share of this talk. Bye, Freya.

— Bye.

...

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♫Aphex Twin - Tha♫

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Years Later...

...

[https://i.vgy.me/3ZWt8F.png]

There you are.

Finally. Impressed? Not that much. I had been here once. Twice, but now that I am on my own, and this coat to make me feel there is someone with me, before he left. Dan followed me to this place, but couldn't stay here anymore. Only for a while, before duty called his. A silent duty, unnoticeable by the sight of many. To be a guard is just a thing, they can be replaced at any moment, just like the dreams these people shared before. Those who attempted to become Dragoons and didn't even had a chance to fail... many became guards, only to wield of a blade. But to be a guard isn't Dan's only way to give a meaning to his life. He doesn't only wear blue. Outside of that outfit, tarnished of sweat unfelt when under the rain, I can see that he is also a good father. And someone who cares, who follows of its words spoken. Most of the time, mainly these. When Dan was a kid, he was just like my brother. And I didn't knew who I was.

Younger, tiny, cute, and other names. Words that were fit, others that hurted instead. I also hurted them, with kicks. With a mouth, and its bites, like a dragon. An ironite, the main type of these reptiles. Pinkish skin that devours those who haven't grew of fur. Never that I saw them, only their heads, empty alike their stomaches. Only the bones left, and their meat taken by mom. It was hard to take those scales off, to not feel their taste, or to prepare them alone. The size of that knife, sharper than any of my claws, these you have learned to polish. Not bite, and spit instead of swallow. Now when it comes to a job, it's better to take it. To clean dishes was one of my first jobs, and I didn't earned anything else. Not even mom's trust, already there, but that we began to knew each other, and with father gone, she couldn't be doing all those things on her own. There isn't only me to serve as a Dragoon there.

Unnoticed by a few, and noticed by same few. Only the mouth to speak, and the mind to speak without having to deal witl the consequences immediately brought by any of your words. It's silent there, weren't for the rain, and my steps. It ain't polite to step on someone's feet, or to yell on quiet places like these corridors. Not even the fountaing and its stream are allowed to be as loud as the rain falling outside. Only outside. The ceiling doesn't share of any holes, and now you realise you are so far from home, far from a kitchen found at the other building. I could catch my breath, if it wasn't so cold, or if the rain didn't vanished it, unlike this scent of onions. When I felt this scent, it meant that my nose wasn't stuck anymore. Now you are stuck as a whole, wondering to where should you go. Nobody knows you, but this coat they do.

I hope these people don't turn out to be my enemies. It would be unnecesary for a Dragoon to fight each other, unless there is an acceptable reason for the fight to happen. You can even break someone's teeth when on training, as far as excuses, and circunstamces as well, are taken. Now I wonder if all mother's injuries were not only made when she stood outside this place, whose only color is the same one belonging to this city, and the clouds above. As far as an excuse goes, what had been acceptable for you to be so pissed before coming here, Frida? Yep, you said it. The excuses of before won't work here, I guess that they never did. I just didn't liked how my brother treated me most of the time. In front of others. How Jack tried to take care of me, when I already knew how... But he tried anyway, and you've accepted it.

The rain washes the streets, and the manholes take all the dirt to reside below. Some kids are playing football in the yard. Green grass grows instead of muddy puddles. They don't get as any dirt or wounded as my brother did on weekends. These must be the children of those who work here. Engineers, cookers, gardeners, masons, healers, tailors, and only a few to be born in a family of Dragoon Knights. I used to be one of them. Dreamt of same. Now that I am able to realize of same dream... to where are you going, exactly? This place seems like a maze, yet I can see the exit gates from a distance. Shouldn't there be someone to follow me, as a guide? Only the wind to tell you this place doesn't hold of any fresh air. Althought flags are spread everywhere, none of them share of a crest. Only the Cherry Blossom, deemed as the official crest of the nation, yet only the Dragoons were able to yield its power.

No matter how powerful the skill, it doesn't last for too long. Just like the cherries, and their blossoms who falls. These are the only kind of petals that, even withered, are able to caught the attention of folks walking around. Anything colorful is enough to be deemed as something beautiful, on a land where everyone is born gray, alike the clouds, and the ashes rising out of the dead. Buildings made of same ashes, or those who came before they came to be ashes, like dad. Not everyone is gray, and that used to be the enough of being treated differently. Not even a burmecian, but to be deemed as a dormouse, as if being called by wasn't enough... A few subdued by the majority, and the majority subdued by the few, of something. Only a hundred Dragoon Knights, compared to a hundred thousand burmecians, and this number doesn't even measure half of the population of Burmecia.

Half of us aren't even adults. We are born as halfs, only to be fit into another half; father's words were like this. I wonder why his life had to be taken too earlier. Mother's one too, but at least she did too much, far more than any person could do. Nobody does anything on their own, except I, sitting on a bench. Instead of going somewhere, you decide to await for someone. And something else to be said, other than your thoughts. No, you're not on your own. We're in this together now, These cramps told me. Ugh, the pain... nobody deserves it. Honest. It ain't that much of a pain, but unlike wounds, they come inside you, unseen. Only felt, and what comes out it's the same blood, as usual. While cheers and smiles come from others, and the eyes who once told you were a girl changed, like pupils in the dark, fur growing inside a nose.

To feel the skin below your hand touching your own, underneath the coat. A massage brings a sort of relief. A tea and to lay over a bed could solve it, had I been at home. It's forbidden to lay on the bench. Who lays in a soaked bench? You used to lay on a bed soaked by yourself. The rain doesn't stink, only the people. As far as I can tell, dad didn't had a bad credit. Anywhere I went, I played, instead of doing something else other than being a company to my father. He carried on the weight before I was able, or interested to. Only after carrying enough that I tried to bare of any weight, instead of grief upon this back. Dragoons do not live on their own, and they do not have time to share of any grief. How do they feel up there? Ask me. I was the daughter of one. Once I holded tightly at mom's back. Was it risky? Well, not that much. She was aware of what she was doing.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I did nothing, but see with my eyes. Only mom's bare feet to guide us to this kingdom, as she jumped above each one of these rooftops, sliding on the verge of parapets, and I I got queased. My head ached. To this day, I wonder if that was a dream. Now it isn't, yet all I see sliding above is the rain. Below, my mouth salivates, eyes blink, lungs inhale... and exhale. When did these things have gotten so boring? Since I've been awaiting here. I hear the rain changing its shape, to nails falling out of the skies to ripples beneath my feet. Scattered across my body, running into this coat. My skin doesn't sweat, but it becomes itchy instead. An urge to scratch my skin suddenly comes, but there is nothing there. Nothing I am able to see. Have I cleaned this coat of any mold? They all seem to grow when near moisture, and living on a land where rain falls all the time favours their existence.

[https://i.vgy.me/00z3m8.png]

— It ain't polite to poke yer nose in public, you know... – I heard someone near me. Right side, and another Dragoon, maybe the only Dragoon here, stood on its feet. Like that spear, a sharp blade on its point. Sharp alike her.

— Uh, sorry... I feel an itchy, but now it's gone – I said, with the need of being sincere to a familiar voice – well, maybe this itchy doesn't exist. Only a kind of imagination, you see – except that same never brought me any harm to this day. Until I acknowledge this world harms, and that my own had been gone, for a while. Same I thought about my friends, if I ever had one.

— I can't see anything but a Dragoon I've never met before. You must be new here. Though, this coat, and this hair... a Crescent, right?

— Yes. Not that one you have expected.

— Don't try to fool me, Freya. I already expected you to be there, someday – that voice and mine... ain't the same. Same for that hair. The care she had for it ever since a long ago. Curvy like pasta, or so I once thought to taste alike. It happened a long ago, yet I can't forget her name, and that hair, and that attitude as well.

— And you are Hrist, right?

— That's who I am. Who are you?

— You already know me.

— Yes, but... your name. Aren't you going to say it? I said mine, now-

— Fine. Freya Crescent, at your service – I said, as if she haven't spoken my own name before. Or if I didn't knew how to grate someone.

— Ask my father for service instead.

— Hah, funny... Are you there to help me or what?

— Any kind of help is better than none at all, don't you believe? – I believe. One of the few things I do, coming out of Hrist. Two years younger than me, and she already saw the sun, instead of feeling its warmth, while I feel this same-

— Feeling cold?

— Why do you ask? – that was fast. Hrist had eyes for that, while the ball always hitted my face, leaving a purple mark.

— Been standing there like a stone – she wears purple, spread over that coat and nails. Naked lips, who do not stop talking – doing what, other than letting water pour over you?

— I was thinking.

— About what?

— How times change... – I know when a day becomes the night. There are the bells, the clouds who become darker, and the moms. Only a father to take care of Hrist. Ezekiel, or Zack, was a friend of mom. Maybe he can be my friend, or more than. In fact, he is.

— You've changed, Freya. I never saw you this taller.

— I didn't grew that much.

— I wasn't talking about your height.

— Oh. Quite attent to details, don't you?

— Devil is in there – before evening came, Jack used to stay most of the time outside home, and with mom on her work, we had to hold hands. Most of the time. Dan used to put his finger on the nose and ears, then the mouth, so... nothing to complain about. How these things have changed, and how some remained the same.

I was full of health, compared to the skinny ones. Bones instead of kids, and some of them felt alright, despite only being served of rice and beans. On ancient times and sieges, there were no sign that our people would eat for the next week. Eels instead of blueberries for the pies, and Jack's legs grew so thin that his gaiters were all taken for me, so did many of his clothes. With less meat than bones, it hurted each time he kicked a ball, or someone in the butt. And as for me, not only my legs hurted. As for Hrist... I took a brief look to those legs. The word 'hideous' appear in front of me, same can't be said about Hrist's eyes. Nothing can be said, since they're hidden beneath that helmet and its shadow. The shadow lying below her feet, found upon mine, unable to scream at someone younger than me. Hrist is the quaking one, in a way.

— To where are we going?

— To where you should go. Afraid?

— No. It's just... have you felt the same chill on your stomach?

— I once felt a fist coming into it. Get used to it in time.

— I'll do.

— Don't you dare to faint, Crescent. You haven't began anything worthy of a faint yet.

The corridors within the Jugend are gray. Nothing new, other than the pillars who sustain the ceiling above, portrais belonging to old figures, none of them knew by me. Dragoon Knights, that's what I know about them, despite the name written below. August, Fratto, Jeriah, Luneth, Brynhild, a Bartholomew other than dad... they all share of same looks. Drew and painted by same artists, who had been left to wonder how they looked alike, in time for receiving their montly wage. A blue hue for the walls and its tiles, curtains of silk whose wind coming from outside was the only thing I felt, other than a chill on my bones. The spine alone can't take it all. Steps taken after another, the wall getting smaller, water dripping and falling into my muzzle, running into my skin slow as our walk above this carpet dyed in red, a color so strong and easy to be noticed, even out of the field.

— A Dragoon must be on its shape, but a spear shares of its same shape since it was made. That's what father told me – soon Hrist began to get bored, and started to talk. I could hear her voice, between so many silent rooms, and the noise of papers being signed, one after another.

— It must be really hard for Ezekiel be here all day.

— What do you mean?

— I mean, it must be insane for your father keep signing its own name all day. If he had someone elese to fill in the blanks of each lawsuit taken by his...

— If people stopped complaining abouts bones broke, blaming themselves instead of us.

— Well, someone has to take responsibility.

— And money in exchange – Hrist's words weren't meant to be taken by me. But that's their purpose, to be tackled to another. Even if the one whom she directed these words by wasn't here. Only me, and her father, hidden by those doors unlike the noise of its pen. I remained in silence, because I had nothing to say. No opnions, no movement, an only breathe... I changed looks with Hrist. Was I ready? If not, she already opened the door. Her hand was glued on the handle, to begin with.

— ...One more, and this row should be done by late afternoon.

— I thought that you had plans to see me in training, dad – Hirst came near the table, and sat upon it, as I stood near the window, unnoticed.

— Well, guess not. Sorry, my dear.

— Duty calls... I know – Hrist then looked at me – it's okay. You may deny making presence on my traning, but you can't deny an opportunity to my friend here, can you?

— Good morning, Sir Ezekiel – I said, followed of Ezekiel leaving that chair, and only his to wonder how much time had he spent here in this room. Not even a minute passed soon I arrived in there. We holded hands, shaked it, and the only thing that changed is that I'm tall like his. And wearing of a Dragoon coat, other than standing near one.

— Good morning, Freya – Ezekiel seems tired. The windows are open, to let some cold air in, and the noise of rain as well – it has been a while since I've saw you.

— Not quite a while since you saw someone else, dad – said Hrist, who briefly looked to both of us, before she began to fil the rough edges of her nails. They used to be so sharp, and how tight were those holds of hands. The marks were gone with time, unlike the memories.

— So how had you been, Freya? – I don't remember anything that much of Ezekiel, other that he wasn't there most the time. This ain't a memory, because it's happening to this day.

— I'm fine, despite... – well, in a day you're healthy. On another, you get sick. Then you get better soon. You always get better, hope to be able to feel the scent of flowers, or any other gift received. Those where her last ones, that was the last day. No more hope left. Half a day spent on bed, another on a coffin. Once shy, now in silence.

— Sorry if I have not attended Lenneth's funeral. I was occupied, you see – yes, I see. I didn't wanted to attend it, only in the next day, when everything seemed to be empty, only the grass to grow and be feeded by what was left from mom.

— It's okay. Mom do not have anything else left to offer this world. That's why I came here.

— With my help – Hrist can hear well. She still have ears for eyes.

— Yes, of course – I said, before sitting on a chair, same for Ezekiel. As for his daughter, Hrist stood on the table, doing the same nails. She ain't included on the matter I'm about to discuss with her father – well, Ezekiel... that's it. Do you need something else? – I could only say these worlds. Like if they were trapped, or weren't thought at the moment. The moment where everything changes, the rise and fall of... what I'm talking about? A thing that means so much for you, and you don't know how to describe it.

— Other than your name? Yes – said Ezekiel, taking a piece of paper, filling in that feather of more ink – you seem to attend the basic requirements. We won't have to sew a new coat or forge a new helmet and blazon to you, that's fine. Given medical assistance, life insurance, damage insurance, age of consent, the acknowledge that each of your words are yours, but a Dragoon speaks for a whole, works for all, a Dragoon ain't above the law...

— It'll cost an eye, ya know.

— I need both – I said, looking to Hrist, who stood on her own corner, now doing her hair.

— Do you want a room reserved for you at the Jugend, Freya? – said Ezekiel, to whom I looked

— No, thanks.

— We could be roommates if needed, dad.

— Thanks, Hrist. But I already have my own home.

— Anyway, you'll have to pay for where you live. When will Freya's first wage come, dad? – shouldn't I had been asking for it? No, I'm not doing this to only get paid in money. Not only I am investing same on it.

— If good enough, soon. So, is that your decision, Freya?

— I already took it a long ago. Don't you remember?

— Of course. I'm sure that you know what to be a Dragoon still means.

— Uh... – you have forgotten, don't you? Improvise, at least. That's what you did before, right? – everyone wants to be different, wants to improve their skills from another, and that's the only thing we all share in common, to be deemed as same. Yet we still have a tendency to fight against each other. But a Dragoon doesn't fight against other people. It fights for people, all of them. To be a Dragoon means difference.

— Which kind of difference? – other than my own, there is one. Not that this is necessary, but it ain't correct to end a conversation by leaving another on vacuum.

— It's easy to say.

— Hrist... – briefly Ezekiel looked to his daughter. He couldn't see her face, only hair, despite the helmet laying over that table. Neither I could see Hrist's face, or knew what she felt. This before she spoke.

— I mean, everyone has a definition of what it means to be a Dragoon, dad.

— A Dragoon, no matter its strenght and power, ain't a murderer – Ezekiel began to look serious. By serious, I mean that he changed abruptly the topic of our prior talk, only to focuse in what Hrist said – yet, there are reports of someone disguised as such. The guy doesn't have a name, but its attacks are all written over these papers, Freya. It's a mess...

— That's awful – I said, not that I wanted to know more about that. I didn't came here to be told of news, or to be afraid – don't you think that it must be someone trying to tarnish the name of this institution?

— That's what others think. But these are isolated cases, and they aren't related to this academy in no way.

— I hope they aren't – then everything stood in silence, except the rain. And my teeth, who began to creak. As long as I am within this coat, I do not have nothing to worry about. Though this helmet is so cold, so do these hands. Better for hands to be cold than a heart. I can hear it beating, while Ezekiel writes on the paper, and Hrist combs that hair. She doesn't face her father, neither he faces himself. Only the paper, yellow instead of white. An old document, left in blank to this day, before the ink touched its surface. Ezekiel's hand moves, as if he was drawing instead of writing something important.

These minutes are boring, painful as well. It's worse when there isn't anyone to scream. Like a round table, when all you can hear are the chews coming out their mouths, and slurps of coffee to wake you up and listen to the symphony. Dissionance for a few who have lost control. When anxiety is gone, and arrive at instants of expectations, reality takes a turn to appear, or change at a minute. You can't swallow your spit with the hopes of hydrating yourself. Funny how someone living on a land it rains everytime can die of dehydration, or consumed by the fire. Things supposed to be ironic, but if they can happen on your thoughts, so they can happen, but who to be there to see them? Who to not be accused of have done any of them? If I had someone else whom I could talk with, at least. There is a clock hanging on the wall, that marks 9:00 am. When I leave this place, I wonder which hours will be marked there.

So, my mind slipped once again for a while, before – well, I've finished.

— ...and that's only the beginning for you, Crescent – Hrist followed the words meant to be said by her father. It doesn't matter, as I feel the flow coming out of my eyes. After a yawn, tears are left out of my sight, blurred unlike my hearing. My head hurts, but I feel better, that's what matters – better let tears of joy flow out of you than keep them within your eyes in moments of agony.

— Hrist, please... don't discourage the Crescent.

— I'm only telling the truth, dad. Besides, Freya ain't the type who gives up easily. And with a plenty of money invested on this dream, better not give up for real.

— Who said I would? – soon my eyes were washed by this cravat I took out of my neck, I can see again. A smile had been brough to Ezekiel's face, maybe the only one he shared to someone this day. Someone other than Hrist, who is standing in front of me, smiling on a way unlike her father's own.

— Nobody.

— Nobody harmed me. That's the only thing a cyclops could say, after having its eye poke out by a man who called himself Nobody – that's a thing father used to say, before I had been put asleep. One of the tales Voss told on its place. I'm sure that Hrist understood what this excerpt means.

— You've won. Tomorrow will be your first day, Crescent. Know that it won't be easy - even if dad knows you, or because you are the daughter of a Dragoon Knight, or so that look told me. And the way she said my surname meant something, alike that same smile of before.

— Thanks for offering me this chance, Ezekiel – I said, shaking those hands cold as mine. Only his hands are cold.

— Now all you have to do is offer what you're capable of, Freya. Have a good day.

— Have a good day too.

— Don't dissapoint us – then I left this room, but not before standing between the door, after hearing Hrist on my back.

— You know that I won't.

— That's why I said it, so you don't forget – And how can I forget? This day is another one of my achievements. Another day I'm alive, a day in which everything changed, for worse or for good.

The good is that there is an entire day meant to be spent, for others to hear of news coming out of me. For they to see that I am a Dragoon, not only someone disguises as one. Who dreamt to become one. Well, dreams are forgotten, turn into pitch black, so will do these clouds hours later. What should I do? I do not even known how to jump like a Dragoon. Heck, I've slipped on the floor each time I jumped rope. Those tumblings weren't funny at all. Jack laughed sometimes, but he knew when to stop. And I didn't knew when to stop kicking his knees. When you stopped crying, that gibberish of spit soaking your mouth, dried by your hands soon as you were able to understand that someone was trying to understand you other than mom... I was wrong to consider my brother the vilest of the kids. But that's all water under the bridge, depths that I'm not in the mood to be sunk at.

— Hey, Crescent – I heard Hrist, who followed me to the entrance. I didn't heard her footsteps hitting the puddles of water. Althought my head hurts, it'll pass. Too much happened in a matter of minutes. Too much is still meant to happen.

— What's up? I couldn't hear you approaching...

— Oh, that? It's called surface tension – said Hrist, equilibrating a single water drop with the tip of her index. Looking down, I saw her both feet barely touching the water – it's one of the first things a Dragoon learns while on training.

— Really? Doesn't seem that tough for a first try.

— Watch yer mouth. You'll see in which try you'll learn it – Hrist is putting too much of future tense in those words. No one is able to predict what will happen, though she have felt the experience of being a Dragoon in training prior me. Experiences that can't be same as mine.

— So you've only came here to show me the result of harsh training sessions, or – before I could talk anymore, Hrist grabbed and put a paper on my pocket. Carefully, I took it without wetting, and the words Aragon Street, 125, Brooklet Garden, were written on the face I looked at – what's that?

— Here is the adress of Fratley.

— Who's that?

— Oops, sorry. I mean, Sir Fratley Irontail. Dad is a friend of his, and he forgot to say that Sir Fratley will be your mentor, since you are new here.

— A mentor? That's fine. But why are you offering me his address?

— Because he is my mentor too. Also a good person. I gave it to you, before you get to know his rigid side – then Hrist propelled herself in thin air and dissapeared out of my sight, with a single jump. The water below her feet also 'jumped' and I got soaked, but under the rain, all things get soaked anyway. Don't know to where she is heading, but someday I'll be able to follow of a Dragoon's footsteps. Not only your own, mom, but to get the raw experience of getting above a building without climbing a ladder is something. It means something. Still I wonder who this Fratley might be, but that he taught Hrist well, sure he did. If people like Hrist got under its tutorage, he must be very good.

Only tomorrow to tell.

...