Eyes dominate the battlefield.

Ears are a close second; instinct is a dark horse in the race, but when it comes down to truly reigning supreme in battle, eyes are king. Scanning, seeking, scouting, scouring the world for anything and everything that can give you an advantage, or take it away from your opponent. The more eyes you can have, the more your supreme dominance can be asserted, and those that have less will naturally fall behind. In draconic training, combatants are taught, beyond everything, to keep their eyes open at all times for the best chance at victory.

At the current moment, the dragons are down a set of eyes; the professor shuts his own to strengthen the Knowledge Link between himself and the berserk dragon.

This brings them down to two…

“Go keep the professor out of harm's way, Number Eleven.”

… But her choice brings them down to one.

Of course, whilst the number of eyes present is important, the quality of those eyes is equally so. It’s a saying that one dragon with perfect vision can spot a detail faster than ten dragons that are near- or farsighted even whilst facing the opposite direction. This is hyperbole, created as a proverb to represent something entirely unrelated; something about a person that is pure in their intentions, reaching the truth, their goal, faster than those corrupted by greed or envy... Well…

“Don’t bother looking. You’re not going to catch whatever hits us before I do..”

The proverb is wrong. A person corrupted by greed and envy can reach the truth before one who is pure…

The proverb is right. Gala can rival a million dragons in spotting a detail, even if she’s facing the wrong way…

The monster continues to kick about, tearing at the ground around it as its mind suffers incomparable recoil. Loose pebbles shiver amongst their feet as the Knowledge Link slowly forms, a funnel between a calm mind akin to a lake and a temperamental psyche that roars like the sea at high tide. He hopes he can at least shoulder some of the ocean's wrath to lessen the burden. With Gala looking upwards at the ascending path of the mountain, the professor and Viktor are left to calm the mythical beast. The tears of the lamenting creature, the blood from the professor’s previous attempt to help, and their shared sweat spray in every direction, all painting the dirt as the moment of struggle seems to stretch on forever, with no end in sight.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It's as if the immaterial is clawing at the material, as if the brain is eating at itself to discover the self that is already lost. It uses the shards welded together as proof that it can be fixed and throws its hands into the furnace ungloved to continue, to find more pieces that fit. It burns. It shouldn’t, but it burns. The ashes of its mind that had already been used as fuel for its great flame had ignited once more, and in response, all it could do was cry.

It wails.
It wails to be heard.
It wails with no regard for its own voice.
It wails for a mother that it cannot remember.
It wails for a child that it could not have.
It wails for a friend that it could not save.

In response, the darkness of those scorched memories can do nothing more than shiver in her mind like a sort of death rattle.

Woe for a memory remembered. Woe for a memory forgotten.

The only one that can truly bear witness to the lunacy of the frenzied dragon is Viktor. Tears of leaking sanity from a vessel that should have burnt all of that already… Was this the professor's tinkering or the creatures' nature on show?-

SWOOSH- CRACK-

There wasn’t even a moment to consider which side the truth lies on. The beast's bucking rampage disturbs the environment, and only Viktor’s spatial awareness prevents a plummeting stalagmite from penetrating its body; he leaped towards it and, with a single punch, shattered the falling death into a thousand less dangerous pieces. In response to his kindness, the berserk dragon launches the shrapnel of the shattered stalagmite in each and every direction. The small shards of stone aren’t enough to harm Viktor beyond the surface, simply being blocked by his forearms, but regardless, their impact stings, tears pricking the corners of his own eyes. This situation was miserable… But beyond the harm being done to him, or the professor who’s barely able to hold onto the beast's body, or Gala, who has to swat away shrapnel every time the beast bucks whilst looking out…

The Sword of Damocles lingers above the mind of Viktor.

Even if they were successful in restraining the beast…. No. He couldn’t consider that possibility. If it happened, it did, but as they were right now, they were near the base of the mountain where no other dragons should come scouring. They were safe from outsider interception as far as he should be concerned. Concluding the current predicament was their number one priority, and he should be focused entirely on that alone.

SWOOSH- CRACK- CRACK-

Another set of descending stones are shattered with a single strike each.

The string is tense, but the sword can be held.

Viktor’s fist reddened slightly in response to the amount of power he’d output in that instance. Something akin to opening a walnut with a sledgehammer. His breathing was still stable, his confidence still fir-

“Viktor. Gala. I’m going to take a more drastic measure.”

In an instant, their attention is locked onto their mentor who still struggles with the raging beast; his fingers grip into its flesh, unable to penetrate its ceramic scales, yet holding on still. His eyes open ajar, concentration still lacing the red veins that swim across his sclera as his words, trembling yet firm and resolute, find the students.

“I have no time to explain, but I need you to protect me until I reawaken.”
“I will soon become unresponsive until I’ve completed the knowledge.”
“I trust the two of you can do this.”

…

Thump-

…

…

…

Stillness settles over them as the berserk dragon and Professor Auctoriotas both fall to the ground, their eyes completely glazed over.

“So much for responsible adults…”

… And then there were two.

It takes a few seconds of looking down upon the pair of bodies for Viktor to be able to react suitably, or at the very least in a way he assumed was suitable. Their bodies are motionless, though their chests rise and fall rhythmically like the effortless sweeping of the waves. If their bodies' subconscious functions were still active and the professor seemed to have a plan, there was no reason to worry. Therefore, Viktor didn’t worry. He simply slumped beside the unconscious pair, releasing a tense breath as he prepared to wait for… the foreseeable future. In an unknown environment without your guide, it’s a more daunting prospect, though at the very least, he wasn’t alone.

rustle rustle rustle

“Gah! How useless.”

Perhaps being alone was a superior alternative to this.

A glance back at the professor’s body reveals his teammate, who is currently fist-deep in their mentor's pockets, sequentially pulling objects out and returning them with a sigh.

“I don’t even want to ask what you’re doing but I feel like I have to.”

Gala grumbles for a moment as she puts everything back into their previous compartments, standing up before she answers… Or comes close to an answer, at the very least.

“Can ya start a fire?”

“Why?”

“Because I wanna smoke?”

The shaking of Viktor’s head tells her enough about his answer, as well as his opinion on her; if not already at rock bottom, it was rapidly descending towards it. Naturally, she didn’t care. Unlike her teammate, who was content waiting for something to occur, Gala continues to meander around their location. She doesn’t travel too far from those they’re meant to protect; watching over them simply becomes a second priority. There wasn’t a first; the vacant spot meant she’d revert to her base initiative of doing whatever she wants, which, at this point, is kicking rocks in a literal sense.

Seconds pass, and she’s already bored enough to go back to bothering her classmate.

“D’ya have any idea what the professor is up to?”

From staring at the remaining stalagmites overhead, the gaze of Number Eleven falls to Number One, who sat cross-legged in front of him; her sharp yellow eyes locked onto him as if she intends to drill a hole through with vision alone. Unsettling, though he was sure answering her would break the stalemate soon enough.

“Why do you think I would know?”

“Earlier he was explaining some ‘Knowledge Link’ stuff.”
“Thought you’d be able to figure somethin’ out with what he told ya."

Viktor’s head tilts to the side as he does admit, internally at least, that her path of reasoning makes sense. The only reason he wouldn’t be intrigued enough to think of what the professor’s ‘drastic actions’ could be is that either he doesn’t care or it doesn’t matter… A choice that sounds unchoice-like when said out loud. To simplify the options, not caring is a personal burden, not mattering relates to the broader scale.

When the choice is presented like this, it’s obvious that for him it doesn’t matter. His knowing the professor's plan of action isn’t going to magically speed up the process and isn’t going to offer him any way to help, so it doesn’t matter. That’s reality. He obviously hopes for the best for the professor and trusts his ability beyond all else, but he is a removed individual from what’s going on inside. His role is to hold down the outside, and that is what he will do.

Gala seems to have the ‘doesn’t care’ side of things covered in spades; she’s only asking what he’s doing out of boredom rather than intrigue. The professor's methods are inconsequential to her and are probably super boring, so she doesn’t give any thought to them, lest she rot her brain any further.

“I’m… Not too sure. All I can assume is whatever he’s doing now requires a lot more than what he was doing before.”
“He did say something about becoming a medium… Maybe he’s doing that right now.”

“Ugh. Boring. How long d’ya think it’s gonna take?”

“If I knew, it’d be the first thing I told you.”

Gala’s head tilts to the side as she does admit, internally at least, that his path of reasoning makes sense. With that, they were at a stalemate, returning to their previous silence, only fractured by the occasional whistling of the winds and the beating of wings off in the distance, rustling like waves upon the seaside. Alongside the beautiful view of the island’s expanse, the sounds help alleviate the absurdity of the situation for the pair; Gala spends an uncharacteristic amount of time eyeing each and every corner of the verdant canvas. A saffron outline blends with the deep blue expanse, spots of mocha and hickory, a blotch of colour like a concentrated kaleidoscope where the image seems to move with life, a streak of aqua that carves through it all, touched by light and heat yet still not dry… It was underwhelming, if anything. Yes, it was beautiful, all nature was, but when reminded that this was all of it, she couldn’t help but feel like there was so much missing. This was by no means exciting, and thus, it would fail to keep her attention for too much longer. What she needed wa-

…

“Hmmm…”

A sound, a sight, the air itself, or maybe just instinct. Something sets her mind off for no longer than a moment... Nothing there, apparently, though in a place like this, ‘nothing’ meant ‘nothing yet’ rather than ‘nothing at all’. She stands, clearing strands of darkness from her face, and returns to scouting, waiting for a conclusion to the professor's work.

It’s strange, though. She could have sworn something was there.

“Did you spot something?”

“Hope I did. The alternative’s that my mind’s playing tricks on me.”

… And losing her mind in a place like this would be the worst luck ever, or at least that’s what she thinks as she continues to scan in every direction. As much as she lambasted Morrigan for being a voracious beast, the sharp turns of her head likened her to a predator who’d gotten the faintest sniff of a trail yet knew not what direction would lead to prey… It jus-

…

There it was again.

“Ok, looks like I’m not losing it,” Gala muttered, no more audible than the wind that was subconsciously silenced as she searched for something within it. Viktor opens his mouth to question her once more and is greeted by a shushing finger as her eyes show evidence of more concentration.

…

And again.

A sound. A sight. The air itself. Or maybe just-

BOOM-

The string snaps.

A wave of nothingness crashes into the spot Gala had been standing in a fraction of a second ago… No, nothingness, whilst a reasonable description wasn’t entirely true. It seemed like nothingness as the ground was destroyed by a force that was invincible at creation, invisible as it traveled, and invisible once it dissipated, but the force was not nothing. The way the force tore at the girl’s eardrums as she avoided the attack by the skin of her teeth felt like the ripping of nothingness against the world, but the force was not nothing. The way her vision, and the very world itself, shook in the presence of the attack felt like the heresy of nothingness, but the force was not nothing. It’s better to say that it was…

“I knew I saw those vibrations, you sneaky bitch!”

… Everything.

A sound. A sight. The air itself. Vibrations, simply put. They are the force of the world's particles being moved in unison. A single flap of the beast's wings had created the sonic wave; a few more flaps would send it flying back towards the students' path. Its targets. Its prey. Gala’s gaze meets it as it reengages. It was a wyvern-type dragon since its wings were part of its arms as opposed to being attached to its back independently, though more importantly for her, it was an ugly fucker, and a big one at that. A spectrum of industrial colours coats the beast’s body from head to foot; steel grey and softer smoke across its scales, charcoal black on the fleshy inside of its wings, the only spot of real colour being the glowing red of its eyes. Weren't they green a minute ago? She couldn’t be too sure, but it was a minor detail at best. It wasn’t too many orders of magnitude larger than the painted dragon they were with, but even that made it almost three times taller than the girl… That being said, size wasn’t her biggest concern - that would be its archetype.

The beast needed multiple flaps to move, yet was able to create a sonic attack with a single one? Every time she saw Nature Energy applied, she became more and more excited about what her own capabilities would be. That much was enough to kickstart her heart straight into high gear, alongside the adrenaline, of course.

“Viktor! Show time! Least you can do is watch!”

 

---

 

“Vi---r! -h-w ti--! L--st --- -an -- -s w-tch!”

Through the miasma that surrounded him, only scraps of sound can be made out. Shards of his classmate’s grating voice, the muffled sound of a beast's cry, and its beating wings that slowly disturb the dust, dirt, and debris created by its assault. What the hell had just happened? It’s as if the world itself had erupted nearby, the aftermath of its tearing force ripping through the surroundings and shaking Viktor’s very soul to its core. His vision still trembled, his eardrums felt like the smallest tap would cause them to burst, he was hacking up a lung as his body tried to force out any dust he may have inhaled, and worst of all, this is just the beginning.

Imagine just how simple his life would be if the first attack was enough to knock him out, sent into the depths of unconsciousness, forcing him to face the darkness until either the confrontation ends… or forever, if Gala was unsuccessful in fending off the beast and they met a much more gruesome end. It would be so simple to sleep or to die. It would be so little effort.

“Huuurgh-”

Sadly, life seems to be hardest for those who care the least about it. Does caring less make tasks more difficult because of the perceived effort, or does it simply bend karma in ways that force difficult situations onto you?

The answer doesn’t matter, not that Viktor doesn’t care.

Lifting himself up to his feet, he blasts into action. His gaze sits steadily upon the steel-winged beast that’s cascading directly towards Gala; whilst he’s not close enough to get between her and the creature's open maw, he’s definitely close enough to take advantage of the window she’d create. Gala wasn’t going to let anyone take a piece out of her, no matter how sharp their teeth may be. She’s smiling. In a situation less serious, Viktor would scoff and roll his eyes at her flippantness, though at a moment like this, it’s comforting, if anything.

 

---

 

CHOMP-

She’s never fought a berserk dragon before. There are so many questions she’s going to ask. How much can those scales endure? Are your bones just as dense as mine? How much stronger are you physically? Are you faster than me? Is your reaction time better? Are those teeth as sharp as they look? How hard does that tail hit? Can you bleed? How much will you bleed? Can you die?

Of course, none of these would be asked by tongue, especially when the fist is so much more efficient.

The girl's body sways backwards, her forward arm, typically used to gauge distance against humanoid opponents, is retracted mere moments before the beast's jaw closes where it previously sat. Its eyes flash with ferocity. An empty bite. She’d give it something to chew on. The air fills with the sound of a SMACK as she launches an upwards kick to the bottom of its jaw. The creature is moved by her strength, but beyond simply being shifted, the attack's effect is negligible, and, worse still, once the creature’s eye comes back into Gala’s view, its bright red glow is replaced by a shimmering orange, with fragments of green slowly transitioning in. Her legs burst from where she stood as she slid under the creature, standing back up at its rear and grasping onto the scales of its tail. Even she realised that being in front of a creature like that is beyond bad news. Perhaps she’d overestimated her strength since her next course of action was attempting to swing the beast’s body around; the likelihood of being able to do so normally is debatable, at best, but when the creature is actively resisting her power, it swiftly becomes impossible. Then it counters. Its tail acts as a finger, a single flick enough to launch the girl tumbling away… Just in time for its eyes to turn green-

SQUELCH-

Its eye turns red. Flesh is pierced… Well, it depends on whether you count the eye as a piece of flesh. Even then, it’s far more valuable. Using the creature’s distraction, Viktor can target the most vital and vulnerable point on an armoured beast like this, and do so with his environment nonetheless. The same stalagmites that teetered on the edge of descending would be plunged into the creature’s right eye as Nature Energy swelled between its wings. Naturally, its reaction was…

“SKRAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

… Dramatic to say the least. Its initial shockwave was powerful, of course, but it was restrained, refined, targeted at a single point, and thus, not reflective of the creature’s full destructive potential. This was. Its green eyes glow with feverish fire as its scream shakes the very world around them. The smaller beast's rampage from earlier seems little more than a childish tantrum in the face of this explosive wave of pure power, one that sends both students flying in the same direction, tumbling across dirt and skidding to a stop.

Gala was in the process of reengaging after being launched away by the dragon's tail, a spot of luck that reduced the damage she’d taken from the sonic boom. Even then, the world becomes muted, her eyes shudder within their sockets, her whole body convulses from the internal and external toll of the attack. It takes two attempts to stand; the first fails as her legs falter beneath her for a moment, and even as she stands on the second, her center of balance is yet to return. The worst part…

“Viktor. Got another in-... Ah shit.”

… Is that the fact that of the two students, she was better off. The only way for Viktor to have been closer to the epicenter of the blast was to be inside the dragon’s mouth; only a second or two separated his attack from the dragon's reaction, and that was nowhere near the time needed to clear its immediate range. The result is a condition far worse than his superior's. Streams of red from his ears, nose, and mouth as every orifice seems to cry in pain. Gala’s words fall on deaf ears; his left is completely silent, his right sounds like talking through a layer of concrete. Something in his abdomen is broken, at the very least, though he’d be surprised if it hadn’t been shattered into a million pieces. Worst of all, he felt like he was going to throw up everything in the lower half of his body, intestines and all-... On second thought, that’s untrue. The actual worst part was the fact that he was still awake and still alive… He was awake and alive…

“This is… anything but ideal…”

So he stands once more, shakily at first, eventually with all the fever that life demanded of him. He was a tough bastard, compared to Gala, at the very least; that attack would have probably put her down for much longer, if she could even get up….

He envied her. It would be so simple to sleep or to die.

“But… we don’t have much choice, do we?”

He won’t. Not yet, at least.

“Are you scared?”

Even as the world is coated in a dulling foam, his words pierce the veil as the morning does the night; Gala’s eyes briefly turn towards her classmate, noting the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. She’s not even a fraction as restrained, showing the full range of her pearly whites towards their opponent, who is still recovering from losing one of its eyes, squealing and writhing under the pressure of pain and the loss of something so vital to its existence. Once it realises it's still in a fight, it's going to be mad, beyond mad, it's going to come down on them with the fury of a cornered beast…

“Sure am… I just can’t stop shaking.”

… Of course, the students are also cornered beasts in this scenario. Without claws, without wings, without scales, without a giant form, without an archetype, a dragon is still a dragon. Equally as ferocious, equally as powerful. Viktor takes a moment to flick blood from his face to the ground ahead of them. Gala rolls her shoulder, taking slow steps towards their opponent.

“That being said, I don’t really have a choice but to do it scared.”

The beast’s roar rips through the world as both sides advance to clash.

 

---

 

…

A space.

A blank canvas.

Surrounding it on all sides are pieces.

And for the pieces, a pair of hands.

They aren’t his. They’re pristine, unmarked by the world. No scars, no calluses. No proof of existence beyond existence. These aren’t the hands of a scholar, let alone a warrior. They’re an engine by which knowledge can be ethereally indexed or repaired. They’re a means to an end, and with that as a metric, they’re good enough.

He’s good enough.

So he starts the process once more.

This time, he won’t allow dead ends to stop him.

Though, strangely enough, there are no dead ends in knowledge. When attempting to reform a snapshot, you find yourself missing vital pieces of evidence and understand this as a roadblock. You either lament through pieces for days on end until you find that which fits or move onto another memory in a fit of insanity, praying for a different result. Suffering is simply a byproduct of engaging with knowledge in a disingenuous way.

Knowledge isn’t a photograph. Knowledge is a film.

A frame means nothing without that ten before, and the same frame is integral to hundreds of frames into the future. Attempting to dissect the contents of a single frame without knowledge of the reel of film it's part of is a waste of time. A frame that looks like a smile may simply be a fragment of a word, a hand could turn into a wave or just as easily into a balled up fist, a tear rolling down a cheek has an entire spectrum of emotions that could stand behind it. A frame in isolation is as worthless as the shards that coagulate to form it.

So he works from the beginning.

The very beginning.

A shard that's burnt to a crisp yet still resonates with the warmth of life.

The beginning of that fire.