A young Wyrmkin stands concealed behind imposing dragonwood doors, making a futile attempt to remain unnoticed. His vibrant scales betray him, displaying a radiant mix of fiery red and orange hues. He yearns to lean closer, pressing his ear against a narrow crevice in the wood to eavesdrop more effectively, but his ornate horns obstruct his efforts. Eventually, he settles for sweeping his red and white hair aside, allowing him to peer cautiously between the partially open doors.

Within the room, the boy recognizes a familiar study. Weapons adorn the walls, appearing ornamental at first glance, but upon closer inspection, a distinct glimmer hints at their deadly nature. A large wooden desk is scattered with parchments, some bearing maps worn from frequent unfurling, while others remain sealed and unopened, concealing messages that could be days, months, or even years old. Half-written letters, etched with both dry and wet ink, are scattered about. Three figures huddle around the desk, engaged in a hushed conversation.

Behind the desk, an Ethereal by the name of Chaos reclines in a chair that seems too large for him, yet he exudes an air of comfort that marks the space as his own. Despite his youthful appearance, his sky-blue eyes betray an age far beyond his years. His achromatic hair slips through his fingers as he expounds on what lies ahead.

Before him, two Dragonkin stand, rapt.

Drake, the taller of the two, dwarfs even the towering chair occupied by Chaos. Patches of forest-green scales radiate beneath his formidable armor, casting a pale sheen upon it and his tanned skin. A single horn protrudes from the right side of his head, piercing through his spiky, viridescent hair. A long blade rests on his side; the only visible sign of his readiness for battle.

Beside Drake stands Hydra, who comes up just a foot or so below him. Lightning sparks along the crevices of her black-scaled hide. Her armor, an ebony vyderhide embellished with golden trim, mirrors Drake's. A horn emerges from the left side of her head, partially obscured by her unruly yellow hair, now tamed and tied at her back. Her war claws rest at her hip, completing her formidable appearance.

As Chaos concludes his discourse, a heavy silence hangs in the air. Drake swallows hard, his grip tightening next to his blade's hilt. Hydra's arm brushes against his, both Dragonkin exuding deep concern.

"And you're certain of this, father?" Drake inquires, though cognizant of the answer. "Is there truly no other alternative?"

Chaos's piercing gaze sweeps over him. "Yes, my child, I am certain. It has been foreseen across all timelines."

Drake and Hydra exchange a somber glance, their determination unwavering. Hydra's eyes harden, and she straightens her posture. Drake follows suit, turning back to face Chaos.

"Very well," Drake declares "I have no intention of facing this fate without a fight."

Hydra echoes his sentiment with unwavering resolve. "Let that witch, Nocteria, come and try it. I shall deny her the satisfaction."

Chaos nods, and as the pair turn to take their leave, he raises his arm to halt them.

"But, my dear children, one more matter."

Turning back to Chaos, Drake inquires, "Of course, Father. What is it?"

"While I will always respect your freedom to choose, I humbly request that you safeguard this information from your younger siblings." Chaos's gaze shifts to the dragonwood doors and then back to Drake. "I fear they might act recklessly if they learn of it."

"Understood, Father," Drake replies with an acknowledging bow.

Hydra leans in, her arm encircling Drake's. "Although, you might find a spot of difficulty on that front," she whispers, gesturing toward the study’s entrance.

Chaos exhales a heavy sigh. "Yes, I am aware," he says, his fingertips meeting his forehead before dismissing Drake and Hydra with a wave. "I will address them separately. You two are free to leave."

"Yes, Lord Commander," Drake and Hydra respond in perfect unison. They perform the High Etherian bow with flawless harmony before exiting Chaos's study.

Drake pushes the door open, the dragonwood acting as a barrier between him and the child. The youngling watches with timid admiration as the duo continues down the hall, seemingly ignorant of his presence behind the door.

"Best of luck, kiddo," Drake whispers under his breath as he walks away, with Hydra casting a teasing glance back at the boy.

Sticking his tongue back out at her, the child’s mockery is interrupted by the beckon of his patriarch.

"Don't be shy. Come out from your hiding place, child."

The Wyrmkin cautiously emerges from behind the door, inching toward Chaos's desk. His eyes fixate on the fiery pattern adorning Chaos's robes, finding it more captivating than the man himself.

Chaos's eyes seem to shimmer with amusement as his offspring approaches. "Ah! Ignis! What a delightful surprise."

"Didn’t you know it was me behind the door, Father?" Ignis questions as he strides towards Chaos.

"Yes, I did," Chaos says, pausing for a moment. "And no, I did not."

"That doesn't make any sense, Father", he puzzles.

"Allow me then, to elucidate," Chaos offers, closing his eyes.

Ignis stares at him, momentarily perplexed. Suddenly, Chaos reopens his eyes, and a dense blue Mana begins to permeate the room.

The young dragon’s eyes alight in wonderment as his gaze fixates upon the waves of mana shimmering and flowing throughout the study like a wintry aurora. He traces his hand across a strand of mana, which dissipates into a puff of dancing wisps as his fingers make contact. His trance of amazement is broken only by the sound of Chaos clearing his throat, redirecting Ignis’s attention.

"My eyes grant me the ability to perceive all that is and all that is yet to be, all that exists and all that shall exist," Chaos explains. He blinks slowly, his gaze unwavering. "However, as you are aware, sometimes, when we open our eyes, they become blurred. Sometimes, it isn't you hiding behind the door."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes I have this conversation with your younger brothers, Aeronix or Titanus," Chaos responds, locking eyes with Ignis, "or your sister Eloquines, whom I know you care about deeply."

Chaos gives him a teasing smile as Ignis’s nerves get the better of him, forcing the youngling to avert his gaze.

"However, this time, I am genuinely relieved to see that it's you, Ignis," Chaos continues. "Tell me what troubles you."

Setting aside his embarrassment, Ignis begins.

"Are Drake and Hydra truly destined to die?"

Chaos sighs, his tone heavy. "Yes, my child. It is the path they have chosen to follow."

"Can't you do anything to prevent it?"

Chaos leans back in his chair, contemplating. "What would you have me do to defy Fate itself?"

"I... I don't know," Ignis admits, his frustration evident. "But– but you’re Chaos! You’re supposed to be the strongest!" Flames spark from Ignis's horns as tears well up in his eyes. "How can you not be strong enough to protect your own children?"

"My dear boy, even with all my strength, there are some things I am powerless to stop," Chaos replies solemnly. "This is precisely why I have my children, whom I cherish and love dearly: to learn from my mistakes and succeed where I may fail." Chaos leans closer to Ignis, soothing his rage with a gentle tone. "It's the very reason we are having this conversation."

"W-what?" Ignis stammers as he wipes away his tears.

"Have you a guess as to why Iftrit chose to bestow upon you the power of his Sacred Flame?" Chaos asks.

"No, sir..."

“Well with all the fires I’ve had to put out since your hatching, surely you must have some ideas about the power you wield”

"N-no, not really…" Ignis replies, his talon-like nails scratch his skull in uncertainty.

”You don’t think Ifrit always bestows his favor on boys whose favorite color is red, do you?” Chaos teases.

Once more, Ignis shakes his head.

"Then what could it be, my dear child?"

"I am... unsure, Father," he replies, defeated. Insecurity wells up from within him, streaming down his face like a forlorn waterfall. He looks to his father with pleading red eyes, begging for an answer that will bring some sort of comfort to his splintering heart. Being met only with silence, he buries his sobbing face into his arms, trying desperately to staunch the flow.

"It's because of trust."

"Trust?" Ignis's look of funereal confusion shifts to curiosity.

"Yes, trust indeed." Chaos rises from the chair, the room's ethereal glow emphasizing his regal presence. He begins to circle the intricately carved desk; steps echoing softly on the polished wood floor. "You see, Ignis, flame is one of the most powerful and volatile elements that inhabit our world. With it, you are given a choice: to burn away all that stands before you or to warm the hearts of those in need.

Ignis stands frozen, his draconic eyes fixed on Chaos, who approaches with deliberate grace. "Ifrit entrusted this power to you with the belief that you would know when and where to utilize your gifts. It is the same trust I have in you and all my children – the trust that you will make choices in harmony with your convictions."

With a fluid motion, Chaos kneels before Ignis, the mere span of an arm between them. His voice carries the weight of ancient wisdom. "And every single day, I am convinced that the Great Planetary Wyrm smiles down upon you, knowing that he made the right choice."

Tears once held back now glisten in Ignis's fiery eyes. He rushes forward, burying himself in Chaos’s comforting embrace. His Father’s hand, a soothing presence as it glides through his own crimson hair.

"There, there. In time, all shall be well. I only ask that you place the same trust in me and your elder siblings as Ifrit and I have placed in you." Chaos withdraws, but not before a parting touch on Ignis's shoulders. “Can you do that for me, my Sun?”

Ignis responds with a sullen nod, allowing the remnants of his tears to dry.

Chaos stands tall again, regarding Ignis with a raised eyebrow. "Now, is that any way for the future Captain of the Vanguard to respond to his Lord Commander?"

"No, sir," Ignis mumbles, his shoulders slumping momentarily.

"What's that?" Chaos teases, beginning his return to the ornate chair.

"No, sir," Ignis's voice gains strength as he straightens his posture.

Chaos shakes his head, taking his seat once more. "Still can't hear you."

Ignis stands at his full height and bellows, "Sir, no sir!"

"That's my boy! Now run along," Chaos chuckles warmly. Ignis bows respectfully and turns to leave.

"Don't forget our conversation, Ignis," Chaos calls out.

Ignis halts at the dragonwood doors, his claw resting on the handle. He turns back toward Chaos, his eyes ablaze with determination. "Trust me, Father, I won't."

As the doors to the study slam shut, Chaos returns to his desk, unfurling one of the many scrolls strewn about the dragonwood structure.

“Now where were we…” he starts as he scans over the scroll.

“Ah, yes…”

In The Beginning.