A/N: In high school, I had a couple friends named Dylan and Libby, who were in a relationship. Being the socially awkward dumbass I was, it took me a while to catch on, and they joked around with me about it, calling themselves cousins. Somehow, someway, I became the third wheel comic relief in their relationship, which I didn't mind, because I... had a girlfriend at the time. To say I squandered that chance is an absolute understatement. Anyway, they joked around with me, called me cousin in turn, and even acknowledged the fact when Dylan 3D printed me a Dragon skull from Skyrim for Christmas, which I still have. I was fine with being a third wheel, because it was a joke. What I am not fine with is being relegated to that position and it not being a joke, because of one particular fuck up that I am now shouldering all the weight for. As soon as this is published, I'm going drinking, because I am not dealing with that fact sober. I get it Myah. I fucked up. But the difference is is that I have to shoulder it all my own, feeling guilty as fuck because I'm not Michael.
...
Loss
"Once upon a dark night, beneath a broken moon, stood a lone figure, staring up at the scattered cosmos…"
"Hmm." Draconian grunted, tapping his chin with his pen. Unsure of what to write afterward, he simply put the pen in his journal, snapping it shut and storing it in the pocket of his suit's jacket.
Draconian sighed wearily, lifting his head to the sky, inhaling the clean scent of Respite and its forests. Warmth, calming and wonderful, beat down on his back through his cloak, feeling the warmth in a detached sensation through his invulnerability.
It was a clear day in Respite. A rare event, unless a Dragon with power over the weather decided otherwise. But no. This was a true, clear day. And quiet, especially for the city of Darastok. Usually a bustling city, full of trade and commerce for the kingdom of Dansaden, Darastok was, for whatever reason, quiet today. The few people that were out sat on the wooden benches or conversed with vendors, browsing wares or buying food.
It was warm. Quiet. Peaceful. It made Draconian think of the sensations he remembered from the summers of his previous life. All he needed was some Elixir and he would be good. Elixir was a drink made by fermenting Moonblue leaves in magic, drawing out the sap from the leaf that would otherwise secrete an incredibly toxic liquid, the poison being the same color as the smaller moon, Vedir. Hence its name, Moonblue leaves, due to the bright blue color of Vedir's surface.
Elixir itself was a valuable drink, and one of the best coincidences Draconian could ask for. It tasted exactly like his favorite drink from his previous life, Mountain Dew Baja Blast. The only difference was is that it was now alcoholic, which was also quite coincidental for Draconian. It helped him to forget.
Yes. He thought to himself. Elixir would do me some good. Not to forget. Not this time. But rather to reflect. At the moment, it seemed like the better option.
He leaned back on the wooden bench he sat on, reveling in the warmth of the day. As he learned every time he disabled his invincibility, a wave of exhaustion hit him, and depending on the severity of how hard he pushed himself recently before disabling it, could simply cause him to be tired, to pass out entirely if he had been under a lot of physical duress.
As it were, times had been calmer for him, so his eyes fluttered as he tried to keep himself awake through becoming more human than Dragon and disabling his invulnerability. Letting the warmth suffuse him in whole, he closed his eyes, clasping his long, smooth fingers across his stomach and leaning back.
"Eeeeeeeeyah!" Draconian cracked one eye open, knowing that voice of joyful yelling. In the middle of the square, a young woman in a black and red dress with gold engravings stood facing a young, lithe man with shiny black hair and glowing aquamarine eyes. She held a sword with sharp engravings woven into the blade, and a long graceful powder pistol Draconian had seen in the hands of the Paleblood Hunter only once before.
The young man was unmistakably a Dragon, due to the glow of his eyes. In his hands was a huge black axe, double headed and almost sharp enough to cut just by looking at it. The two circled each other, a small crowd gathered to watch the young woman and the Dragon spar. The young woman launched herself toward him, her force of momentum forcing the Dragon to slide back along the ground. He swung his axe, huge mighty swings slamming into the ground as she danced lightly around the massive weapon. It was elegant, graceful, and deadly, the two a whirlwind of death on any battlefield. But in the end, the young woman was not to be denied.
The battle ended when the Dragon surged forward, the axe trailing along the ground, poised for a savage uppercut. As he swung upward, the woman raised her pistol, staggering him at his point of lowest balance. She dropped it suddenly, her hand filling with red fire as she thrust it at his chest. The flame connected, a fiery explosion blasting against his chest. The small crowd cheered and dispersed, Draconian looking on through half lidded eyes.
The Dragon, who Draconian knew was Onizir, coughed, using his axe to hold himself up. The woman extended a hand, helping him stand fully. "Ugh." He coughed. "Lucky shot Pascal."
She smirked. "Nope. Just skill."
He coughed again, clearing the last of the flame from his lungs. "Okay, Chikage and Evelyn I get, considering you're a Vileblood, but Sacred Flame? Are you Lady Maria now?"
"Nope, just full of surprises."
Onizir scoffed, looking over at Draconian. "What did you think?"
Draconian cracked one eye open again. "Not bad. Was resting though."
"Resting?" Pascal said. "Why?"
"Some days it is good to be human, Pascal." Said Draconian sagely.
She nodded. "Yeah, I guess…" She frowned, looking over at him then back at Onizir. "Rematch?"
"For as long as I decide to stay in Darastok." He said. "I'm going to sun myself on that parapet." He nodded at Draconian, who acknowledged him in return, turning from human to Dragon and flying to the castle, where he perched on a spire and curled around.
Pascal grinned at him, her eyes shining. "You should have taken part, Draconian! A Black Knight Axe is a good challenge!"
Draconian nodded, lost in thought. "Yes. I imagine so Pascal."
Pascal, sharp as a blade, noticed his trepidation. "Hey, you okay? You look worried."
In truth, Draconian was far beyond worried. He was sickeningly anxious, knowing enough of his previous life to know who this woman had been, what she meant to him. But he couldn't tell her. Not now. Not ever. So he focused on life as it came, which was not easy, being half Dragon and half human. And her position, having been a Vileblood of Cainhurst from where the Paleblood Hunter came, meant she was immortal and could never die.
Which meant Draconian was cursed to never tell her of her previous life.
He nearly broke down in tears, anxiety tearing at his insides. Pascal looked at him, clearly worried, and Draconian stifled the tears with a stoic expression, despite him feeling frail as new spring grass. "I'm fine Pascal." He said, standing up straighter. "Tell you what. Let's stay in Darastok a while. I would like to visit the library and rest here."
She nodded, smiling once more, which tore at the brittle heart strings of Draconian. Those smiles had gotten rarer in the days before the first Change. He loved that smile. More than he could ever convey, and they hadn't changed in Respite. Not once. Nor would they ever.
I'm so sorry love. He thought, the force of his will keeping him on his feet.
They walked side by side, through the quiet markets of Darastok, a whole bazaar spread out before them.
"Do you want anything to eat, Draconian?"
Draconian looked over at her in curiosity. "I don't need to eat Pascal."
"I know, but I know you like good food." She said, smiling happily.
"I'd rather not, Pascal." He said simply. His guts knotted in anxiety. God, humans have it so rough. Anxiety. Depression. Self loathing. "All traits of me." Whispered Draconian under his breath.
The warmth helped Draconian carry on. Had it been raining he would have cried freely, letting rain drops mix with the tears. But the warmth would make it too obvious, and crying in front of Pascal would make a mockery of the mythical golden eyed half Dragon warrior who was only rumored to exist. His eyes right now were the same shade they had been in his previous life. A nondescript shade of brown, hidden by a deep hood from his magic cloak.
Pascal hummed softly, a soothing lullaby of wholesome music, easing Draconian just slightly as they approached the grand cathedral of the library. They entered as one, but Draconian drifted apart, wandering the aisles of leather and parchment that crackled underneath his touch. Pascal was over by the fountain in the library, through which prism stones glowed, illuminating the surroundings from beneath the water. As Draconian watched, she fished out a gold coin, handing it to a small child, who gleefully tossed it in the fountain as a prayer for good luck, as opposed to wishes.
He turned away, reading the book in his hands.
'Yes, indeed, it is called Lothric,
Where the transitory lands of the Lords of Cinder converge.
In venturing north, pilgrims discover the truth of the old words.
The fire fades and the lords go without thrones.
When the link of fire is threatened, the bell tolls,
Unearthing the old Lords of Cinder from their graves:
Aldrich Saint of the Deep
Farron's Undead Legion, The Abyss Watchers
and the reclusive lord of the profaned capital,
Yhorm The Giant
Only in truth the lords will abandon their thrones
and the Unkindled will rise
Nameless accursed undead,
Unfit even to be cinder.
And so it is,
That ash seeketh embers'
Draconian scoffed. Of course they would have an almost perfect word for word copy of Emma's prophecy from Lothric. He wasn't surprised. A lot of the books in Respite, especially in fiction, almost perfectly matched scenes Draconian had partaken in himself. He remembered reading about a great, fiery beast trapped in a nightmare, killed by an immortal Hunter. Gah, fuck that guy. Thought Draconian. Laurence had been a giant dick when he and the Paleblood Hunter killed him together. The Hunter had used the Beasthunter Saif, lending Draconian the Threaded Cane. Even with all that serration against a beast like Laurence, he had still been a massive pain in the ass to kill, inducing rage even in the calm and composed Hunter, who whacked Laurence's corpse several more times with the Saif for good measure.
He continued wandering the library, losing track of time, and himself, and his feelings. He felt better. More whole.
"Hi." Pascal hugged him from behind, her strong arms gentle even for a Vileblood. Draconian tensed, feeling all the sick and anxiety come rushing back.
"Pascal." He said, struggling to keep his voice even. "Please remove yourself from me."
She frowned, but did as he asked, looking up at him. "Hey, the library's about to close and its almost night time. Want to find a good place to sleep?"
Draconian mulled it over. "That sounds fine. Any place in mind?"
"I was thinking the Scale. It's a pretty well established hostel and well to do. Serves a good meal too!"
Draconian nodded, eager to put his mind to rest at a place of rest. "That sounds fine." He moved away, silent as a specter as Pascal frowned again, perturbed by Draconian's silence. Usually he would make a quiet joke or observation, but this passiveness was unlike him.
The sun was beginning to set on Darastok, the moons of Vedir and Miriza bright and pearlescent in the sky. Above the city a Dragon flew, likely for their own amusement, its orange scales reflecting the purple light of Miriza. Pascal watched as Draconian seemed to drift listlessly through the city, a silent specter of thought.
"No, this way hon." Said Pascal, leading him down the street to the Scale. From inside the Scale was music, laughter, merriment. Pascal smiled excitedly. A good time. She thought to herself. Draconian's response was a polar opposite. Upon drawing closer to the door he drew up his hood, hiding his face deep in shadow.
They walked in together, meeting the matronly barkeep who had a tray of ale in her hand. "Room or food, dears?"
"Room, please." Said Pascal, handing over some gold coins.
"Separate or together?"
"Together."
She nodded. "Right this way dears."
She ushered them into a clean and stately room, the sheets freshly washed and the room smelling of lavender. Pascal took off her sword and hung it on the wall, removing the belt that held her pistol as well. Draconian sat down on one of the chairs, sinking into it with a deep sigh.
"Hey." Pascal leaned down in front of him as he drew back his hood. "What's wrong?" His eyes remained closed, as he didn't trust himself to open them without crying.
"Nothing, Pascal." He said quietly, amazed that he could keep his voice steady.
"I've known you for a long time Draconian. And I know when you're lying." Draconian felt her hands cup his face. "Draco… Please. Tell me what's wrong."
Any other person who called him Draco would have been given a scathing response, but Pascal was an exception. She was always the exception…
"I'm just tired, dear. World weary, you could say. I feel at a loss…"
Draconian could sense her smile. "Again, I know when you're lying sweetie. And I know the mythical Golden Eyes that is a rumor across Respite better than that. All that you do is worthy of merit hon. Its something else."
Draconian opened his eyes, another sickening lurch of anxiety spreading through him, a memory flashing through his mind.
He was younger. Mortal. Human. The past month had been rough, for reasons he couldn't remember. Likely school. Or family. But that wasn't important now. He had made it to her house. He couldn't remember what it looked like, or how he had gotten there, but he was there, and they were out hiking in a forest. Just like one of Respite's. Her face was blurry, so long ago was the memory, but he remembered. Her. And the peace and joy she brought.
He gasped involuntarily, standing up quickly as he shook off the memory. No, not here. "Draco?" Said Pascal, looking exceedingly worried. "Please, tell me what's wrong."
"I'm sorry Pascal." He strode toward the door, needing air. Needing peace. Peace that didn't exist anymore. "I'll be back."
"Draconian, wait!" She called after him, reaching out, but his stride lengthened, and in mere moments he was gone.
...
The night air was cool and pleasant on his face, and his heightened sense of smell could detect rain on the horizon. Wasting no time, he ducked into a quiet bar, which was so unoccupied as to appear not open.
"Drake. Been a while." The barkeep said, cleaning out a glass mug.
"Hello Jerome." Said Draconian. "So it has been a while."
"You still haven't aged either I see."
"Nor have you, but vampires always have a youthful appearance." Draconian said, chuckling.
Jerome smirked. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Gonna be a while before I have to fake my death and find another city to barkeep at. In the meantime, I take it you want Elixir?"
"Yes." Said Draconian. "Distilled strongly please."
Jerome raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"
"Pascal."
"Oh right. That can't be good."
"No." Said Draconian. "What is the saying? So close yet so far? So it is with her."
"You're going to want privacy then?" Said Jerome.
Draconian nodded. "That, more Elixir, and then I'm going to get blackout drunk and wake up in an alley or until she finds me."
"What then?"
"Same shit." Said Draconian, knocking back a swig of the neon green liquid. "Tell her I'm world weary, depressed, when I can't tell her about the past. What she meant… to me…" He swallowed, emotion surging through Draconian like Dragon fire.
"This may sound ignorant Draconian, but why not tell her?"
"Because…" Another drink. "I saved her… She doesn't remember… the terrible childhood. What she endured. I can't make it go away, but I did make her forget… I remember the smiles of when I knew her. Smiles that Solaire would call a sun all their own. And they were… and she is… so wonderful."
Jerome set out six more glasses of Elixir, the neon green liquid bright in the dim candlelight. "I'm closing up shop Draconian, but by all means, stay here and work out the kinks. Come back as often as you need. I think tonight will be rough for you."
Draconian nodded, grabbing another glass. Tears ran down his face as the night wore on, the loss ever so much more keen as he became more and more broken.
And as his vision became more blurry, so too did the memories, until he remembered nothing except a peculiar wetness on his face.
…..
Pascal was searching high and low for him, to no avail. Her face furrowed in frustration, she employed the use of magic to help find him, a floating red orb appearing in front of her. She followed it, until it hovered at the entrance to an alleyway.
She walked down it, coming face to face with a young woman with raven black hair, dressed in beautiful traveling robes of teal blue and royal purple, accented in silver, almost glowing with color and beauty.
"Hello Pascal." She said calmly.
"Jareneya…" She whispered.
The Dragon smiled. "Indeed. You never had a chance to meet me, but I was old even before I joined Draconian's family."
"You've aged pretty well then." She said.
Jareneya chuckled. "Oh indeed. Dragons as a rule often do."
"Why are you here?" Asked Pascal. "I mean… I thought you usually prefer the forests to cities."
"I do." She said sagely. "But in this particular matter, my calling was greater." She leaned down, effortlessly picking up what looked like a body. Pascal's blue eyes widened as she beheld it.
"Draconian?!" He was passed out entirely, his body draped over Jareneya's arm, his hair disheveled and his cloak half hanging off. "What happened to him?" Pascal angrily demanded.
"Drink." Said Jareneya simply. "Manual forgetfulness."
She looked over at his limp form, the smooth hands covered in small scratches from the cobblestones, his legs dragging on the ground.
"Pascal." Said Jareneya, noticing where her eyes landed. "Draconian is a broken man. Not in deed. Not through Dragons. Not through you. But the past. Draconian wants to tell you, so very badly of what life was like before Respite. But he can't. He cares about you too much, and losing you wouldn't just kill him but give him a fate worse than death."
"Wh-why?" Stammered Pascal. "What did he do?"
"It is not what he did." Explained the radiant Dragon. "But who he lost. The person he lost was an incredibly strong person, who endured a childhood none should. When the first Change happened, and Dracirir came into being, Draconian broke himself, but was dissatisfied with the person he had grown to become. So another Change began, and hence came Respite."
"Wait!" Demanded Pascal. "Who was this person?"
Jareneya smiled, her clothing begin to change to scales and her form elongating as she lowered Draconian to the ground. "You know the answer Pascal. It would be redundant for me to say it." She took flight into the night sky, her form blending with the light of Vedir and Miriza, before she simply disappeared.
Pascal picked up Draconian, who was surprisingly heavy for such a thin man, carrying him back to the Scale. She glimpsed his face as she propped him up, surprised to see tears falling from his eyes. Such a sadness, to cry even when not awake. She thought.
She returned to the Scale and put him one of the beds, wrapping his cloak around him as a blanket. Watching over him, she sat down in the chair, her thoughts racing as Draconian lay passed out.
…..
I wish I remembered.
But then I don't.
I remember only sensations. Of what once was.
But I fixed her, didn't I? Thousands of years removed from a tormented childhood and now a powerful immortal warrior in her own right? With no memory of that selfsame childhood.
But I never had a chance before the world changed. First once. Then twice. And twice is when she came, found in Cainhurst, of all places.
I wish I could tell her.
But a broken man sings a broken song, and a broken song makes no sense. Best to keep silent.
Maybe one day I can fix things… After all, Dragons, too, are tenacious and persistent beings.