A/N: What happens when you stop role playing and get back into writing? That's right, you focus on new fanfiction instead of old. ... I'm just kidding; I plan on going back to my older ones. I'm just putting some of them off for now because they're two years old and I'm cringing thinking about going back to them without at least partially rewriting them. So! I hope you guys enjoy this prologue.
Disclaimer: I don't own DGM or anything that inspired Into The Fire.
Lavi had grown up around tales of dragons that went well beyond the bedtime story that children were told to keep them from misbehaving. He wasn't oblivious, even at an age where he still feared what lurked in the darkness. More than simple fiction, however, what was told in these parts was a recurring prophecy that had given Lavi horrid nightmares during his youth.
But his fear was microscopic when compared to his surplus of curiosity. Even before his parents' death, dragons interested him more than children's games or more "lucrative" fields of study. He'd determined early into his life that studying the beasts was his life's purpose, but it wasn't until he lived among the dirt and the filth that he met the man who would set him on the right path.
He was a draconologist: A historian that collected and protected what little they knew about dragons from being lost to time, compiling and passing the knowledge on to apprentices like Lavi.
Generations of his predecessors had dedicated their lives to this cause and the information gathered throughout the proposed twelve cycled of this prophecy barely filled a single volume. Some had left behind pages of information, while others had left little more than rumors about where they'd been seen last.
Most people called them stupid, thanks to the well-advertised occupational hazards.
But the aforementioned hazards had begun dwindling. With each passing day, their opportunities for discovery lessened along with the number of dragons. There was only one Great Dragon left alive and despite the power that Lavi was positive it had, the number of lesser dragons had dropped since the second to last Great Dragon had been slain.
That was why Lavi had ventured beyond the safety of town walls. Urgency drove him to do what most would call downright stupid—and several people had called him that. It was his damnable curiosity that led him to the alleged home of the beast he sought.
Rumors circulated in the nearby villages that disciples of the Holy Order often lurked at the border of this canyon, waiting for fresh victims of the dragon to stumble from its home and be welcomed into theirs. Given what he knew of the Holy Order and what made their disciples who they were, the idea of calling that castle a home was enough to send a chill crawling up his spine.
But arriving here, Lavi knew without a sliver of a doubt from the intimidating atmosphere that it would've been wiser to seek out a disciple of the Holy Order and request their guidance—their protection—through this canyon. Alone and unarmed, anyone else would've deemed this a foolish endeavor, but Lavi claimed to be anything other than a fool.
As if to spite the air in the canyon that exuded a feeling of foreboding that made him want to curl into a ball and roll out of this place, Lavi wasn't crippled by it, pressing onward for the sole purpose of finding the dragon that no one had managed to kill.
The threat of death loomed over him, but the threat of being made a disciple was even greater. How often, after all, had this thing killed its victims upon their first meeting?
"Better alive and heartless than dead, right?" Lavi said aloud, as if spoken words might quell the overwhelming reminder that this was a graveyard to many disciples and the bones littering the ground served as his constant reminder of that.
Men, women and children alike had had their lives stolen away here—sometimes twice.
It was these obstacles and awful reminders that made traversing the canyon even harder than it otherwise would've been. The rumored resting place of the dragon lay well beyond twisting paths and steep drops that would deter anyone, save for a draconologist.
Ten minutes into navigating his way through this maze and he comes to the conclusion that an accidental death has a higher probability in this place than being burnt to a crisp. That chance only rose when he had a dated map in one hand and pen in the other, trying to sketch out the trail that had been long altered by elements both natural and unnatural.
The further in he walked, the more obvious it became that the rumors were true about the canyon's current resident. The charred stone wove an intricate enough story and the blackened bones supported it.
"Maybe this is how it greets guests," he muttered, pausing only to write a few details on the transition from bad to worse and mark it on his makeshift map.
"Wonder how it's gonna greet me."
If Lavi had a companion, he might've laughed then to dissolve the fear pooling in the pit of his stomach. Every step he took made him regret not bringing along a warrior with more experience. It wouldn't have taken a dragon slayer to help him put on a brave face, though. Anyone would've made this easier.
So few draconologists there were in this world and here he was risking life and limb to find a dragon that was more apt to chew him up and spit him out than answer any questions he might have—if it would even understand him.
That was one of many questions that had remained unanswered. Then again, he didn't know many people—draconologists or otherwise—that would go find a dragon to ask how its day was.
All things considered, that might as well have been his plan, too. Maybe it would throw it off long enough for Lavi to make his escape.
No matter what, he had to make it out of this canyon; he had to make it back to the home he didn't have. After all, how could he learn something new and die before relaying fresh information to the other draconologists? It needed to be shared with his fellows.
"They'd wanna know this wasn't some fake rumor. And no way the old man is takin' any credit for my finds."
Even if it was just a signature scribbled at the bottom of a page, Lavi had no intention of dying before he could sign his new title for the first time.
And to get that title, he needed to escape here with something they didn't already know.
When he comes upon a tunnel that leads into the canyon's walls, he can't help the overwhelming curiosity that bids him to step inside what was clearly not created by nature. The walls, ceiling and even the floor is charred black, as if a dragon's fire had been strong enough—hot enough—to melt through earth and stone.
Though the tunnel's architecture provides a haunting aura that he can't shake off with ease, more concerning is what he sees when he turns the next corner. Lurking in the shadows of what appears to be a dead end is a person.
Someone no older than himself stands there, still and silent, little more than their silhouette visible to him. Apart from the few wisps of light hair he can make out, their features and even their gender is a mystery to him.
"Uh, hey," Lavi says, watching as the person tilts their head towards him. It's the only indication that they're acknowledging him at all, much less that he's speaking. Though he can barely see the shift in the silhouette's movement, it makes clearer a strange... protrusion on their head. Was this person okay?
"Should ya really be here? This is supposed to be home to a dragon, ya know."
"You should be worrying about yourself," they say with a pleasant lilt in a melodic voice, devoid of any fear. It was a stark contrast compared to the quiver in Lavi's own voice.
How calm they were unnerved him more than the atmosphere.
"Are you a disciple of the Holy Order?"
It's the only solution he can think of and his heart jumps into his throat when they laugh at it. It's long and loud, drawn out like they don't feel the looming threat of a dragon crashing down on their heads and devouring them.
"A disciple?"
They repeat Lavi's words with a note of incredulity that has Lavi's brows furrowing. This person, he's already decided, is an enigma. How can they punctuate words with laughter when standing in the lair of a dragon?
Lavi doesn't know whether to say they're brave or stupid, but either way, they put every draconologist he's met to shame—and he'd met plenty of arrogant apprentices that wound up absent at the following year's gathering.
"I'm the opposite of one of your precious disciples," they say, amusement still evident in their tone, though it's dripping with bitterness that Lavi can't hope to understand. Their complacency proved more terrifying than the dragon ever had been. Something about this stranger has his guts twisting into knots and the overwhelming sense of dread settling over him made him wish he'd never made the effort to warn them out of harm's way.
A single green eye squinted against the darkness, trying to see past the shadows that obscured his vision to find even a single detail about this person that might hint to him who they are. But it was impossible to discern any details, their form hidden away by the unlit torches mounted on the walls.
That was weird... What did a dragon need a torch for in such a small corridor?
The realization hits him just before he hears their sharp intake of air and the exhale that coincides with the corridor filling with smoke. Finally, it dawned on him who this person was, why they were here, what their purpose was. He opened his mouth to speak their name—
"E—"
He's thrown backwards before he can finish, the word is pushed from his lungs, along with every breath he had left. Where he collides with the wall, the stone chips and breaks, his body already aching from the impact. With no oxygen left to inhale, jumping up and doing what he should have to begin with verges on impossible.
And what prevents him from even making an attempt was the feeling of something sharp touching his chest. Through his shirt, he can feel the cold sting of a long claw too large to belong to the hand of any human.
He cracks open a green eye and through the smoke that causes it to sting, he can make out scales and a set of eyes the color of molten gold.
What stood before him was little more than a death sentence. The single claw sinks into his flesh, tearing through his skin that was paper thin compared to its tough scales. He opens his mouth to scream against the pain, but the smoke only smothers him. He watches through tear-blurred vision with horror as the claw jerks back, taking a part of him with it.
He can feel his heart pounding in their hand as the smoke begins to clear, revealing a familiar silhouette that morphs, lips becoming disfigured and forming a maw that snaps shut around his heart.
And as his vision fades to black, lungs finally failing him, he croaks out the name that he had been kept from saying a mere moment ago.
"Exitium."
A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed that and will stick around to figure out more about our dragon in the next chapter! Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated!