Author's Note: Just in case you were wondering what Draga looks like, you can see her here: http://sorablue/deviantart/art/Draga-and-Naga-59894305 . Yes, I drew that, and that is my deviantart account. I have a few character note pages for Draga there, as well. And she's got a bit of a comic. First page is here: http://sorablue/deviantart/art/Survivor-Audition-Page-1-63779363 . Anyhoo, enjoy the story!
Once upon a time there was a little girl. This little girl loved to laugh and play and tumble, just like any small child. But when she was still quite young, the little girl was in an accident and lost her sight.
This new, dark world was so different from the brightness she had known. The girl was scared and unhappy, and as she grew older, she began to forget how bright the world once was, and remembered only the darkness around her. Even worse, her dreams became as dark as her waking world.
It is quite lonely in a dream when only you can get rid of the darkness and you do not know how. The girl (now not so little anymore) began to dread the emptiness of her dreams, and would often cry, alone in the cold, black world she could not escape.
One night, when her sobs were particularly terrible and the dream particularly empty, she was startled to feel a warm, light presence close beside her. The way the presence felt, and the way she heard it move, reminded her of the sound of a flute, airy and free.
Then the presence spoke to her. It did not speak as you or I would when we are awake, but as we would in a dream. The words were felt, and understood, with perfect clarity. And the words that the girl felt from the presence were: "Why are you crying?"
And the girl felt back, "I am alone, and blind. Everything is so dark, and I don't know what to do."
She felt the presence look at her, trying to understand what was wrong. And then she felt a great anger from it.
"Someone has stolen your yellow Ideya." It said.
The girl was very confused. In dreams, we tend to understand everything that happens, because dreams come from your own mind. But the girl did not understand at all of what he had said. "What? What is a yellow Ideya?" She asked.
"Let me explain," the presence said. "All dreams are made from Ideya, and there are five different kinds; red, yellow, green, blue, and white. Each person has different Ideya to dream and live with. Yours is yellow, hope. Or it was. Someone has stolen it from you. This is why you fear, and why you do not dream."
"But...but who would steal it from me?" The girl said.
The presence was very still. It was very angry, but at the same time she felt sadness beginning to grow in it. When it finally spoke to her again, it seemed heavier than before. "A very bad person did it. And I know who."
She reached for the presence and felt smooth silk. Very gently, she tugged at the cloth.
"Will you get it back for me?" She asked.
There was a great rush of air, and the presence began to float up, pulling the silk out of her grasp. "I will try," it said, determined and angry in a different way than before. The feeling was righteousness, and the sense of justice leaked from the being as from a river.
As the presence drifted farther and farther away, the girl began to cry. Without her new friend, her dream was growing as dark and cold as before. "Wait," she said, "please, don't go! I don't even know your name!"
It did not pause, but she felt its voice once last time, fading away into the far reaches of dream.
"My name is Nights. I will return."
The girl woke up shortly after. She did not forget Nights, though dreams often fade so quickly in the daylight. She could not forget her dream friend, for he had made her feel stronger and lighter than she had for a long time.
But Nights did not return, and the girl did not feel her hope, the yellow Ideya, return. She thought that her friend had forgotten her, and her world became even darker.
And then one night, quite suddenly, she felt a bright warmth inside herself. Her dream began to lighten, and blots of color began to appear. Her Ideya had returned. Nights had done it!
How wonderful if the story could end here. Wouldn't it be grand if we could leave the girl in her happiness, content that nothing else of interest will happen to her. But something did happen to her. And so we continue.
The girl grew older, and her dreams were bright and warm and filled with color. Her time awake was as dark as before, and Nights still had not returned to her dreams, but she was content. The years passed, and the girl grew into a young woman.
One night, as she entered her dream, she noticed that the colors were not as bright as before. She felt cold here, the same cold she had felt years before. Night after night, the darkness crept further in, and the chill dug deeper into her skin.
And then came the night when she could bear it no longer, and she broke down and cried, cried like the girl she had been. Was it not enough that she could not see in her waking hours? Must she be denied the brightness of her dreams as well? And Nights...she thought he had been her friend, had returned her Ideya, but now she knew it was gone again. It must be the fault of Nights.
As her soul spiraled into hopelessness, she felt a hand of ice, even colder than her dream, settle on her shoulder.
"Why do you cry?"
The young woman started; it was not Nights, she knew. This dream voice was much darker, deeper, the sound of rocks in hollow places. "Who are you?" She asked.
"I am Wiseman. I seek the one called Nights, and his presence lingers in your dream, still. Tell me what you know of him."
She told him all, for he was there to listen in her time of need. She told him of her blindness, of meeting Nights, the brightness of her dreams, and the return of her despair. When she finished, she felt the Wiseman smile. He felt pleased.
"Forgive me. I am Night's creator, and his mischief is my responsibility. I thought I could trust him to restore the Ideya, but I can see that his heart is filled with greed and malice. I would go to control him myself, but my defeat at his hands has left me quite weak."
She hesitated only a moment before asking, "Is there anything I could do?"
Wiseman looked at her, and she felt his hand pass over her. "Yes. I will make a deal with you. I have not enough power to create a new helper from nothing, but transforming human into maren is well within my grasp. I will give you power, sight, and a guardian to aid you. In return, you must swear loyalty to me and use your power to destroy Nights. Know that if you accept, you cannot return to the waking world. A maren lives only in Nightopia."
What was she to do? She could live in her dark dreams forever, without hope, without happiness. Or she could relinquish her blindness forever and live in the dream world, fighting the evil of Nights. Really, there was only one choice to make.
"Let me join you, Wiseman," she said. "Let me fight for you. Let me punish Nights for what he has done to me."
"A wise decision."
Pain ripped through her as her soul was torn from her body. Her muscles tensed, coiled, and seemed to disappear. Her face burned, and silk slithered over her skin. She felt light, unreal, insubstantial. And then the power filled her, burning and freezing and stretching her, making her ache and crave more. She had no need of Ideya now. She was far stronger than she had ever been as a pitiful, blind human.
The change ended. Her world was dark until she flexed her hands and realized that that was where she would see from.
"Welcome, my new maren." Wiseman said. "Cast your human self aside. Now you shall be known to all of Nightopia as Draga. Very soon now, I will send your guardian to aid you. Go, and do not disappoint me."
Draga flew away, relishing her freedom in the world of dreams. Wiseman had given her a great gift indeed. And she would repay him in any way she could.
Beginning with the destruction of Nights.