“Sure. Entertain me.”
Fire has always been enticing enough for us to ignore the obvious danger of its flames.
“I haven’t even told you what this research entails.”
It shines with the beautiful colours of life and warmth, flickering as if it were gentler than a feather... Yet it devours all with an unceasing voracity: buildings, forests, people, even reality itself. It illuminates the way forwards, yet burns everything in the path that it’s already tread. It cradles us against the sheer cold of the night, yet the very hands that hold us can strangle us with a violence as intense as its love. It is life, and at the same time it is death, a tool that can cost everything at a moment's notice…
Don’t fear the price.
You may be devoured. You may be suffocated. You may be incinerated. You may fail.
Don’t fear the price.
If you’re a living creature that fears fire, then extinguish your own, steer clear of everyone else's, and die in the cold where you belong.
“I know you’re not stupid enough to ask for my help if it’s gonna be boring.”
“Plus, that look in your eye tells me this is serious, and I want in.”
The people who really want to live will chase that flame to the end of the earth.
A brief nod breaks eye contact between the professor and Gala, and his gaze then turns towards Viktor. He isn’t left awaiting an answer for long, however.
“I’ll help too, but I’d like to know with what exactly we’ll be helping.”
The professor smiles softly as he walks back behind the desk. His fingers shift feverishly between sheets of paper, and he responds without raising his eyes from the tips of his fingers for quite a while.
“To keep the details brief, my research on berserk dragons has reached a standstill.”
“It has been an incredibly long time since I’ve made contact with one…”
“And crafting theories can only help move towards the truth, rather than reaching it outright.”
Viktor’s head tilts backwards as the accursed beasts are mentioned. Berserk Dragons. Was the professor perhaps overestimating their abilities? After all, they’d yet to awaken their own abilities, and he was mentioning working with beasts of legend, or rather, of horror stories… No, he was too logically sound and mentally sane to put the pair of them up to something too unsafe. If there was a large enough chance of facing death, uncontrollable elements notwithstanding, this request wouldn’t have been placed on the table in the first place… At least he assumes that’s the case. After a few seconds, his head lowers back towards the professor, who stands with a few sheets of paper nestled between his fingertips.
He’d like to ask a few more questions. What did he wish to learn from their encounter? Why were students being asked to help with this rather than True Dragons? Were they going to fight or just observe? Would they have to kill a berserk dragon, or at the very least attempt to? Was this a test? Was this a lesson? Were they chosen for a specific reason or was it simply up to chance?
What’s the chance that they die?
None of these questions leave Number Eleven’s lips. Instead-
“Okay. I’m ready when you are.”
Even if he were to ask, they were questions of curiosity rather than judgement. No answer, or lack thereof, would affect his willingness to cooperate on this expedition. Just as Gala did, he’d seen the ardour in the professor’s eyes. An intense flame, and where one existed, he believed it an obligation to stoke it however he could. It helps his own ideals burn all the more intensely, and dreams are the only things that matter in this world.
In opposition to the nihilist, Gala has no questions for the professor. The questions are instead for herself.
Would it be fun? Probably. Would she be home before sunset? Hopefully. Could her life be at risk? Impossible. She could never lose her life to some unchained beast. Their ferocity would have to overpower her own, and that’s a reality that could never come to fruition.
All in all, she’s a lot more prepared than he is.
The professor, of course, has already made these calculations in his head.
“Good. Then we’ll set out immediately in order to finish before the sun sets.”
…
The pair of students exchange looks. It seems they were unprepared for an immediate departure, even if they acted otherwise.
Draconic Evolution can take two possible pathways depending on the circumstances they face.
As a baseline, in order to experience any sort of evolution, a dragon must have a soul used to the sensation of Nature Energy… It’s about as vague as it sounds, but from what has been tried and tested, it requires ample meditation and combat experience, both centred around increasing how accustomed your soul is to the stimuli. There is no quantifiable measurement for requirements; most dragons are simply trained until they’re able to harness and utilise nature energy passively, enhancing their physical abilities without any conscious effort at all times. By that point, it can be assumed that the soul is so used to having Nature Energy flooded into it, or encasing it, or however you believe the soul utilises Nature Energy, that it draws it in without a thought. Only then can the gate be opened to the paths of order and chaos.
A flame can either be tempered by a disciplined hand or allowed to burn uncontrollably, consequences be damned.
Becoming a True Dragon requires a flame tempered to near perfection. It doesn’t ask for a dragon to follow a mould that others fill. It doesn’t ask for them to suppress their flame. It doesn’t ask for their frenzy, their fever, their ire to be expunged. It, in fact, asks the opposite. You must use your will, your desires, your essence, to fold the flames over themselves like the steel of a blade. As the flames compound, as you continue to use your will as a pair of hands to cradle that fire against the elements of the world, they burn brighter and brighter until they reach their upper limit. Only then will your soul take on a new form, and alongside it, you will be moulded into a ferocious creature who can express the desires of their flame as physical phenomena. A dragon who’s remained true to themselves through and through.
But not all flames can be tended as carefully.
Sometimes the elements become too much. The rain, a torrential flurry, threatens to smother your well-tempered flame. The wind, a violent gale, attempts to extinguish your ardour in one fell swoop. Your hands, gentle yet firm, feel unable to guard your sparks for even a second longer. Your flame, burning brighter than ever before, will flicker and fade in the face of true adversity.
Then, a question.
It may be proposed by you. It may be proposed by a voice in your head. It may be an unrecognisable urge. It may simply just be your natural instinct. But a question will be proposed.
What if…?
What if I stop restraining it?
In the face of a challenge that you may not see the other end of…
What if I create an inferno that swallows up everything, including myself?
So you let go.
And in turn, you, as a person, become the first bit of fuel for a fire that burns brighter than a supernova.
That is what it means to go berserk.
Your soul explodes outwards as you allow your flames to take control, and it moulds your form into what many will recognise as traditional dragons. Flying beasts. Some with four legs and two wings that command the air with each flap. Some with no wings that slither through the sky with ease. Some between both of these. Some outside of these. Wyverns. Drakes. Wyrms. Hydras. Kirin. Whatever the soul's true form may be…
This, however, isn’t all that is meant when you become fuel for the fire.
‘You’ begin to burn.
Your consciousness, your personality, your memories, your dreams, all either corrupted by the great devouring flame or simply left as a passenger to the flames' will, a will that your body will act upon beyond all else. Hundreds of years will be spent in a void of perpetual fire until you are lucky enough to die… or lucky enough to break free.
Cases of berserk dragons returning from their frenzy are so rare the possibility may as well be zero, but there are recorded cases of these taking place… The only recorded instance in recent history of this occurring is at the hands of Sole and Vertia Auctoriotas almost twelve years ago.
They were able to save her.
Maybe he’s trying to recreate that magic. Attempting to read him is a fruitless endeavour.
The dirt crumples beneath each of his steps; the pair of students are left looking at his surgically angled back in silence, following along with only a fraction as much conviction. They were relieved, at the bare minimum, that their leader’s investment wasn’t a point for concern. He was a competent adult, a True Dragon, a man of science and logic and whatever else made him seem reasonable. He wouldn’t allow excitement to put their lives at risk and all would be fine if it went according to his plan…
Concern arose regarding each other.
Gala is a narcissist. If a choice is given between following her own will and that of someone far more qualified than herself, she will, without consideration for anyone else around her, choose her own path of action. She’s been blessed by fate and uses that as evidence that anything she chooses to do will be the correct answer no matter how close she toes the line between success and failure. If a path is more entertaining or more thrilling or more intense or whatever she’s seeking, she’s going to sacrifice the guarantee of safety for it any day of the week and regret nothing. She forgoes all the teachings of being the camel and decides that it is her role to be some grotesque hybrid of the lion and the child for nothing other than ‘fun’. She is an unequivocable terrible match for a scenario like this…
At least, that’s what Viktor believes.
Viktor is pathetic. A man who follows the path of strength and yet never attempts to overtake his rivals is one of two things. Either he’s a pitiful whelp who's accepted his position at the bottom, or he’s dead weight that refuses to interact with the inherent competition involved in their path of life. In either case, there is no justification for a man like him to still be climbing, taking teachings and strength from his allies and offering nothing in return like a vagrant. He’s resigned himself to fate, as his soul desires, but in a way that’s all but interesting, and it leaves a miserable taste in the back of her mouth. He’d be better off returning to the rabble of common society and leaving the pursuit of strength to those who want to fill the world with extravagant colours and sparkling excitement. All he brings is his apathy and a stale shade of beige.
At least, that’s what Gala believes.
“Haaa…” “Haaa…”
In an instant, they both look sideways at each other. Gala is shocked by how uncharacteristically emotive Viktor’s sigh is, letting out a bit of a chuckle and resting her arms on the back of her head as they continue onwards. Viktor, on the other hand, looks at her with an unusual indifference, not one that talks of any disdain towards her… It’s as if he’s looking through her rather than at her, and she can’t help but roll her eyes in response. Wrestling their issues would make this slightly more troublesome than they’d initially thought. Despite their shared exasperation, tensions seem to be slightly high already, and they continue to move in silence.
Civilisation doesn’t stretch far from the main city of the island. It only takes a few minutes of travel at a brisk pace for cobbled pathways to be replaced by beaten trails and wooden homes to be replaced by a landscape of verdant and umber. A unique smell of humid forestry replaces that of civilization at a pace that’s slightly jarring, if not for the journey being made repeatedly within a dragon's adolescence. The sun reaches them in fragments, the limbering limbs of trees wavering above as Gala slightly squints beneath. Without any conversation to fill the air, all that can be heard is smaller creatures scurrying, foliage being crushed underfoot, and the occasional cry of birds and beasts alike… As the distance increases, however, creatures become increasingly scarce, be it because the forest thins or because the environment is hostile at this point. Hostile is probably not the best word, actually…
Perilous… much more fitting as the sun’s supremacy is slowly overshadowed by the majesty of Dragonscale Mountain.
They reach the foot of the mountain. This is the furthest that most will travel. This is the furthest point at which safety is guaranteed.
Obviously, they continue. Discoveries aren’t made in safety, but rather in the unknown.
The earth that’s previously even til this point grows in gradient, which naturally slows their pace; they slow further as danger becomes more and more likely. The mountain’s structure is something akin to a drill at the lower levels, a constantly curving path that swings around the mountain. At times, you may be at the mercy of the sun’s ruthless rays without protection, and at other moments you’re left within the giant’s abyssal shade; neither seems particularly appetizing, though it’s not as if you’re coming here to relax. Its inhabitants make sure of that.
The hostility between Gala and Viktor is interrupted, thickened by their change of environment; even if they were to call a ceasefire under these circumstances, it wouldn’t do much to alleviate the tension. It seems to sweep up the mountain as if riding the winds. It begins to feel like they’re being pushed. It begins to feel like they’re being pulled. The professor slows down to pull closer to the pair. It doesn’t do much to alleviate the feeling of walking into something’s lai-
“Proceed slowly. You’ll know if I need your assistance.”
By now, they’d noticed how rubble slightly shifts along with the ground they lay upon. Something rumbles, and everything around them shakes under its influence. The tension that had previously felt like a weight upon them converted into a million knives in an instant, pricking their consciousness. Under pressure, the pair maintain composure, though they don’t remain even half as lackadaisical as moments ago. Gala’s arms lower from behind her head to her hips. Viktor’s stance rises from its slouched position in preparation for whatever might come.
It’s not a guarantee, but under this pressure, a chance above one percent feels like a hundred…
It only takes a few more steps for potential to become reality.
“... Woah…”
… And reality was already prepared for them, as it always is.
Pure majesty, even in its slight imperfections, lies in the path ahead. A berserk dragon is not always one that exists only to thrash out at the world; it is simply one that has lost its way. At times they are wrathful and ruthless, but they are tragic and beautiful in whatever form they take… At least, that’s the professor’s belief. It’s hard for anyone who doesn’t have as much passion for the subject to view the mythical beasts with as much awe and reason, though there’s no confusion as to why they see things that way. Tales are told of their destruction. Both adults and children are forbidden from approaching the mountain. At times, the sky may be darkened by a winged beast blotting out the sun…
A different reality presents itself.
This creature leaves them speechless, not in fear of its ferocity, but in awe of its majesty.
Just looking at it felt strange; becoming a berserk dragon was supposed to be an explosion of the soul, with the body morphing as a result, yet the creature looked as if it were made with deliberate brushstrokes. It stands upon four legs, a body covered in pristine alabaster, scales stretching across its flesh as if wearing the clouds themselves…. No, not like the clouds, Gala feels, even from this distance, that its body is more akin to a piece of paper or a canvas. It then makes sense why, across its body, with all the intention of an artist, hair is illustrated, as black as ink. As its chest rises and falls, as its tail sways aimlessly, as its mane flutters in the wind, the creature becomes a living painting of sorts. Its eyes, a mercurial silver, track the professor with caution as he begins to slowly approach; he’d already appraised it from a distance, judging its artistry as peerless under heaven.
He wasn’t simply here to gaze upon its beauty. If only he could preserve it exactly how it stands.
As he draws closer, step by step, it gives Gala a clearer sense of the painting's sheer scale; the professor is just under two meters tall, which is impressive, but in the face of this monster he seems to have shrunk. She can gauge that the professor would need another half of his height to match the beast, and that's without its horns, a soft, ceramic brown like bristles extending from the back of its head… They drip with the same black that's painted on its body. Its eyes glow a low silver. A growl develops at the bottom of its lungs. Even then, the professor advances. His steps, slow and measured. From behind, she wonders what look his eyes hold. Are they filled with sympathy for this creature? The prospect seems alien, especially for a man whose stoic gaze never cracks, even in the face of adversity, for better or worse.
A wave of nausea ripples over her; her gaze flickers between the subject and the scientist rapidly as they draw all the closer. It isn’t fear or anxiety; it's simply the weight of the moment. She lives for excitement; the jittering of cells and nerves in her body as if shocked by lightning brings her life, but tension is another thing, a sickening sensation, especially as it fails to dissipate. An instant turns into a second, a second multiplies like a rot that feasts on her mind. All she can do is control her breathing and be ready at a moment's notice, and that's what she does.
A step. A moment of silence.
A step. A moment to gauge intent.
A step. A moment to measure risk.
A step. And another. And another. And another…
“We’re going to be here all day at this rate…” Viktor sighs, slightly hushed as he watches on.
Gala had forgotten that her classmate was even here alongside her… Maybe it was the tension that had caused her vision to tunnel in a situation like this; it was equally as likely to be her writing him off as a non-factor if combat actually were to start. Either way, his words help dissipate the tension slightly. She responds hushed enough to barely reach him as her words ride the winds between them, though her disdain is more than evident.
“Would you rather be alive in an hour or dead in five minutes?”
Viktor’s lack of response is enough proof of what side he’d prefer, and with that exchange over, their attention focuses back onto the professor. He’s now only a few steps ahead of the Kirin when he begins to speak; his voice is firm but travels with serene grace.
“Please… Regale me your tale.”
Confusion mars Gala’s brow. It seemed there wouldn’t be as much preamble as she’d initially assumed. There was no ‘I’m not here to hurt you’ or ‘Can you understand what I’m saying’; he spoke to it as though it were an esteemed elder, and in response its temper settles, its head raising slightly…
“I’d like to know who you were.”
… And a moment later, the professor places a hand onto the creature's cheek. From behind, the pair get a clear view of his horns; the world itself frames the golden spirals, their perfect ratio, which shimmer with energy as his will is brought forth into the world.
It only takes a moment for the creature's eyes to regain their light, physically and metaphorically, as they glow the same celadon hue as the professor's. Once his influence was asserted on the beast, he would release his grasp and begin to lower himself to the ground, the pair of students behind him watching in awe as the beast did the same, its swimming black mane settling on the stony surface below it. With the tension having dissipated, the pair subconsciously relaxed; even then, they didn’t approach, knowing that whilst peace exists, its stability is still not confirmed.
“Of course… That’d be five or so hundred years ago.”
…
“Interesting… So, I assume you’ve never seen a human before, or know what they are?”
…
“Well, humans are… Interesting creatures, from what we know of them.”
“They have given us everything but their presence… We cannot complain.”
…
“What do they look like? Well…”
…
It seems like the professor has lost his mind.
He obviously hasn’t, but when presented with the evidence of him having a one-sided conversation with something that shouldn’t be able to understand or answer him, there are few other conclusions the pair can come to. Gala’s eyes slowly shift towards her classmate… Only to see that he’s had the exact same reaction… And they both turn back towards the game of charades taking place in front of them. Gala knew that the professor's Draconic Archetype, related to “Knowledge”, had a part to play in their communication beyond language barriers; even then, the number of questions answered by that was eclipsed by the number created.
Her arms crossed. Her eyes squint.
‘What an odd guy.’
Perhaps sensing her judgement, the professor turns towards them, a warm smile painting his face. The beast does the same, raising its head and making eye contact with Gala specifically; like most animals, its emotions are basically indiscernible, which leaves her feeling vulnerable in comparison. Their mentor gestures for them to approach. Neither student is hesitant to do so. Viktor is the closer student, who reaches a hand towards the creature’s majestic mane, resting his palm on its surface with his fingers swimming between strands of solid darkness. The living painting is treated with a gentle touch as if handling the most antique of artwork; his eyes shine in spite of the darkness that faces him as he strains to appreciate the beauty of every stroke. It’s odd how similarly it feels to the hair of a regular dragon; he expected something more ethereal, though that's probably because he chalked berserk dragons to be akin to deities.
Gala, on the other hand, is much less invested. At best, she’d offer a tilt of her head as she sizes up the Kirin, but even then, her interest isn’t close to that of her mentor and classmate. She rests a hand on the smooth surface of her cheek and watches from a few steps away.
“So what’s this guy's deal?”
“She’s a girl, not a guy…”
“... Okay? What’s this girl’s deal, then?” Contempt drips from her tongue even as her words are directed at the professor. The beast tilts its head backwards, turning up its nose at the girl, and Professor Auctoriotis chuckles for a second before he responds.
“Her ‘deal’ is that she’s a dragon who was distorted five hundred years ago.”
“Her memory is unclear, which makes sense for someone who’s lost their mind for so long.”
“We’re slowly attempting to help restore her memories, if possible, to begin the process of restoring her from this state.”
“It’ll prove helpful research at the very least…”
While the professor speaks, the beast continues to tilt its nose up at her repeatedly, which proves very distracting whilst she’s concentrating on his words… The one speaking also finds himself slightly distracted by the dragon’s antics, and he, a few seconds after finishing his explanation, lets out an amused sigh. It’s the kind you’d expect for a parent trying not to succumb to the wishes of a crying child, made more amusing for him due to how much younger he was than the creature.
“... She wants me to tell you that even though she can tell you’re strong, you reek of arrogance.”
…
For a second, Gala is caught off guard, though she doesn’t spend long in this state before she scoffs at the creature’s audacity, responding with a sneering smirk, her arms crossing over her chest.
“Tell her I don’t need lectures from old farts. I already get enough of those as is.”
“You don’t need me to tell her your messages. She can understand you well enough.”
… And after a few seconds of the beast nudging him with her hooves, the professor would continue, begrudgingly.
“...Also, she wants me to tell you she can tell that you’re an asshole.”
While Gala spends a few moments scowling at the monster, looking more ferocious than it, somehow, Viktor releases its mane, turning towards the professor with curiosity in his eye.
“Professor, do you mind if I ask how you can understand what it’s- sorry, what she’s saying?”
“I’ve created a Knowledge Link between her and myself.”
“It allows me to give her the necessary knowledge to both understand and communicate her thoughts in English.”
“However, since her mind is too fractured to allow her to speak, I’m using the link to allow her to send her thoughts to me.”
“I can only assume the fact you haven’t included us in this link is proof you’re unable to.”
The professor shakes his head slightly, an odd smirk playing at the corners of his lips. It only seems to leave Viktor more confused, or rather interested, in his abilities.
“I am able to create Knowledge Links between myself and multiple people.”
“Those, in turn, can allow them to communicate via the exchange of knowledge and thoughts using me as a medium.”
“However, it turns me into just that - a medium. I cannot interact with others during this process for the sake of clear communication.”
“And as much as I’d love to allow you to communicate directly with this subject, you’re going to have to forgive my selfishness.”
“Opportunities like this don’t come about often. I’d like to take advantage of this as much as I can.”
The student’s eyes slightly widened at this admission. Viktor never thought of the professor as one to act selfishly in any capacity; he always struck him as the kind of person to act for the good of those beneath and around him, as you’d expect from a researcher or teacher. He spends a bit contemplating what he knows about the functionality of his Draconic Archetype whilst in the background, Gala and the berserk dragon are engaged in a growling match. It’s surprisingly close considering that the participants are a woman standing at about 170cm tall and a mythical monochrome beast of legend that stands at almost double that. If Elio were here, he’d feel vindicated. If Elio were here, he’d probably be a little scared.
It only takes a moment longer before the professor places himself between them, though it doesn’t do much to stabilise tensions. He turns back to the creature, his voice becoming serious once more.
“... Can you tell me how you became like this?”
…
…
…
Silence falls. It isn’t the silence of a story being told. It’s the silence of one that can’t. The professor's eyes glow with maddened intensity, the beast's body rumbling slightly. It’s as if they both share the burden of wafting on their hands and knees through shards of glass, looking for the pieces that fit into each other, wincing through each cut and stab. He grimaces, grasping onto the creature's neck whose eyes seem to slowly be losing the green light shared between them. Every piece of knowledge comes through their connection and swims in the professor's mind as he attempts to recreate the pictures without knowing what piece comes next.
He sees a child… Maybe an adult. They’re holding something. It's indescribable. Bigger than the world itself. Smaller than even a drop of water. He’s missing a vital piece of the picture. He saves it to come back to later.
He sees a teenager. Something lies at their feet. Someone stands beside them. Something rolls down their face. Nothing exists except them. Another dead end.
drip.
He sees an egg. He sees the light. He sees the darkness. Is this from inside or outside? It scorches their eyes. They can’t see a thing. They can feel the heat. There’s nothing here.
drip. drip.
He sees shapes. They’re forms. They’re cold. Everything is painted red. Everything is incinerated. Everything is painted black.
drip. drip. drip.
Another dead end. There’s nothing here. Everything is painted black.
Another dead end. There’s nothing here. Everything is painted black.
Another dead end. There’s nothing here. Everything is painted black.
Another dead end. There’s nothing here. Everything is painted black.
Another dead end. There’s nothing here. Everything is painted-
“Professor!”
A grip shakes his shoulders as the fragments part, paint is washed away, and reality brings itself to the forefront once again. His breathing struggles to settle as crimson ichor falls from his nose to the ground below him; if not for the interruption of one of his students, he’d probably have spent quite a bit longer in the fathoms of broken memories. Last time this was a seamless process, though last time the dragon’s mind wasn’t fractured as absolutely as this one. Creating knowledge from fragments that small was a task that would take more than a few minutes, let alone a few seconds, and that’s before he even began paying attention to the dragon’s state…
“RAAAAAAAUUUUUGGHHHHHH!”
Without even properly recalibrating, the professor turns sharply, the dragon centering within his shaky vision once more. Beyond trembling, it shakes with the force of all those fragments falling to the bottom of its consciousness. If it were simply shards of nothingness as they were before, there’d be no issue, but having that knowledge, those memories, haphazardly glued back together, is enough to send the mind into shock.
Right now it was reacting as expected. In fact, this was slightly better than the professor would expect; it could be thrashing around, attacking haphazardly, kicking about, yet it simply roared in pain as its mind convulsed.
He needed to stop it.
It was his obligation as the one who caused this pain…
“Gala. Viktor. Pay attention to your surroundings. If you see anything abnormal, notify me immediately.”
… And if this went on for too much longer, one berserk dragon would definitely be followed by another.
