Disclaimer: I really don't own any of the characters or anything, so... yeah don't sue!

Journal

The moment I opened the door, I could tell you were here. Damnit all, you smartass ghost writer, one of these days I'll catch you. As I look around my room nothing seems out of place, the window is not open, nor are my bed sheets rumpled, though that is where I had laid the journal down. How you managed that will only make my suspicions grow, but I'm sure you know that already. You probably did it just to play with my mind... after all that is what you're good at, ne?
These last few days have been nothing short of hell, I'm honestly glad to have a reason to hide from the world if for only a few more moments. As I write this, I am continually reading and re-reading your entry of only a few short minutes ago. Seems that you got me talking, or at least writing straight again. I suppose I should be grateful, for that and the reason you know I was outside for... the rain.
It finally came back, in a roaring, destroying, ravaging storm. It flooded the town, and killed some of the kids, raged through the gardens and utterly tore the plants to oblivion. And I... I was the only person who enjoyed it all. I guess the part of my mind that was most influenced by my mazoku nature never really left me. Or it could just be my subconscious rebelling against the Red Flare Dragon. You've squabbled with him too, you say? Well, that just narrowed down who you could be to a very few people.
My turn for a question: How is it you seem to understand Lord Cepheid so well? Look at that, I wrote "Lord" again. I really am pathetically loyal. I really wish Gaav-sama hadn't died: despite what the others say about him, he really was a good master. I can tell I'm smiling though I have no way of knowing for sure, I just saw the lightening bounce off the pink skyline: it reminded me of the first spell Gaav-sama ever taught me.
I can still remember the fire, the power, and the pain. The agonizing screams of the people who came in contact with it. What little batches of Gold Dragons I could manage to find I would kill with his power only, except for that one priest... He died from what little power of the Ancient Dragons I still had left in me. His blood ran clear from the amount of magic I suffused him with. And I know that you're probably enjoying reading this, so I'll stop on that subject.
The thunder boomed again, shaking the walls of this small, but sturdy enclosure Filia has made into a business and a home. Poor Filia, I really do feel bad for her: she's so upset about this storm, probably upset that I'm enjoying this so much too. I should go comfort her, when I'm finished writing of course. Even though, or maybe because she is a Gold: when she brought me up, I really began to love her. It's more of a respect-based love than I had for my real mother.
Wait, someone's at the door...

It was Zelgadiss; I wonder what he's doing around here. All I know is I opened the door, with Filia walking up behind me, and... he just walked in drenched in the rain but not really seemingly to care. He glanced at me, bit it felt like there was something more to that glance than I got. Then he just asked Filia for some tea, and coughed a bit. The stubborn fool wouldn't admit he'd gotten sick out there until Filia dragged him to the guest bedroom... He's been in there for twenty minutes now, talking with Filia. I know it's something to do with me, because they won't let me inside.
Damnit, I hate it when people keep secrets from me, especially when it concerns me, and it's by the people I'd actually admit to caring about. There's something about everything that just happened that really rubs me the wrong way. I know something's up, but I'll have to wait until morning to find out. What about you, though, are you apart of all of this? You probably are, stupid bastard: reading what I used to consider my only private thoughts. And yet, I know I'm going to leave this downstairs tonight, hoping you'll reply that much sooner.
I hope my soul lands soon, I don't think I can take much more of this.

-Valgaav Aira

He taught me fear, he taught me gratitude.