This is…beyond late. I'm sorry! Been preoccupied with the holiday season, not to mention that school absolutely kills me before winter vacation. But I promised myself I'd update before the year ends, so here it is!

Thank you all for your comments! For those of you who added this story on your alert lists, I really appreciate that you're following along! Happy (belated) holidays and also have a happy soon-to-be new year!

Oh, and I've been notified by Billie the fourth sage that Rachel is actually officially named Raetsel. I'm sorry about that! But I think I'll keep it as Rachel for consistency's sake. Thanks for letting me know for future reference, Billie!

Happy reading!

Curse of the Dragon Chapter 8
Manipulate: To manage or influence skillfully, especially in an unfair manner.

Ah…

Ahiru tried opening her eyes, finding it similar to lifting mountains. Splashes of color flashed along the backs of her eyelids, her head felt as though it was being crushed by a lead block, and there was a strange ringing in her ears that she knew shouldn't be there.

Where am I?

"I think she's waking up." The voice was distinctly female; it was young, soft-spoken, and very sweet, but it did nothing to soothe the irritating jingling Ahiru was hearing.

"Freya, Hermia, I think she's waking up."

"Oh, Malen, dear, you're right. Hermia, please bring the basin over," said another, musical voice that was vaguely recognizable. In the back of her mind, Ahiru identified her as a beautiful, warm, golden-haired woman, but could not muster to strength to remember when or where or how they met.

What…happened?

Something soft and moist, perhaps a cloth or towel, rested gently on her forehead, easing a bit of the ache that attacked her senses. Ahiru attempted once more to open her eyes.

Immediately, she slammed them shut once more after feeling the burn in her shocked retinas from whatever light that was in the room. Again, all she could see was an onslaught of colors behind her closed lids. The weight she felt in her head escalated into a rough pounding, and Ahiru couldn't keep the groan from slipping from her dry lips.

"Oh, dear, don't strain yourself," whispered the musical voice. She felt cool and smooth knuckles brush against her cheek, and the moist cloth shifted a bit on her head. "Take all the time you need. There is no rush."

"…Ack…" Ahiru's throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. "…I…what…ack…"

She couldn't focus. Everything was so muddled, and when she tried to recall any memories or thoughts, the throbbing in her head only increased.

"We were worried," a third voice murmured, this one slightly higher than the other two, but still as melodious. "Your head was hurt, and then you fell unconscious…"

Unconscious? Why would I…?

Then, everything flooded back to her, crushing her under the weight of all of the panic and fear she experienced.

There was her Prince, and her kidnapping, and a hidden village, and dragons. And there was destruction and confusion, hearing cries and screams, being thrown through the air, shielded by the body of an emerald-eyed, dark-haired dragon…

And blood. His blood.

Oh, no…

Ahiru's eyes flew open and she lurched herself upward in alarm, the damp cloth on her forehead flying off. She immediately regretted this action when the world swirled around her. She tipped over, her view flipping sideways, and another groan rumbled from her parched throat.

There were three startled gasps before a pair of gentle hands caught Ahiru's shoulders. The redhead felt her head loll to the side and rest over someone's chest, the collarbone pressing against her temple. Something long and silky, perhaps someone's hair, brushed against her cheek. "I told you not to strain yourself," the same musical voice lightly reprimanded.

Ahiru squinted against the light in the room. She struggled to mumble with her scratchy throat and dry mouth. "…Bright…"

"Perhaps we have too many lamps lit. Malen, please blow out the ones on the table."

A moment passed, and the glowing light behind Ahiru's eyelids gradually dulled. She chanced a peek at her surroundings.

In the dimness of the room, she was able to make out a few lit oil lamps hanging on the stone walls of the hut, and the unlit ones on a small round table in the center. She was sitting on a low bed, a thin but clean sheet covering from her waist to her legs. A blonde curtain of hair obscured the rest of the room. Slowly, Ahiru looked up to see the person holding her.

A gentle smile greeted her. Ahiru was right; it was the gorgeous woman who had taken Uzura down to see the sunflower fields earlier that day…

…That day…wait, what day is it?!

Despite her dizziness, the throbbing pain in her head dulled considerably, and Ahiru lifted herself from the blonde woman's embrace. With a clearer mind, she looked around, yearning to find her bearings.

The room was no different from the other stone shacks of Wyvern Village. Scantily-furnished, cold, and dim. The beautiful, golden-haired woman continued to hold her arms out to steady Ahiru. Behind her, two other girls watched with concerned gazes.

From what Ahiru could tell in the darkened room, the tallest of the girls sported of head of bobbed, bouncy brown curls, framing a pretty and thoughtful face. Her brown eyes flickered with relief. The smaller one, with very short mint-green hair, gray eyes, and round, thin-framed glasses clasped her hands before her, staring almost shyly at Ahiru.

A cool hand rested itself on Ahiru's cheek, and she turned to the blonde. "Dear, are you alright?"

Ahiru swallowed and licked her lips. "…Yes," she mumbled, wincing at the hoarseness of her voice. "I think so…"

But what about…?

"Aaah, the dragon…and the village…and…" Ahiru instantly tensed when she recalled the blood trickling down her palm, "…Fakir?" She glanced at her hand, and relaxed a bit when there was no sticky, dark liquid.

The spectacled girl turned and padded along the cobblestone floor to the circular table and poured water into a stone cup from a pitcher. She then turned back and gently lifted it to Ahiru. "Please drink this," she requested, and Ahiru recognized the voice as the young and soft-spoken one.

"We'll tell you everything you need to know when you feel a little better," said the taller one's higher voice, "For now, it's probably best that you take a nice little breather."

Ahiru gratefully accepted the cup and gulped down the water eagerly, reveling in the feel of the cold liquid running down her dry throat. The ringing in her ears stopped, and Ahiru took a deep breath. "Th-thank you," she mumbled, biting her lip and clutching her pendant.

The blonde placed her hand on the back of Ahiru's head, and the braided redhead finally registered that bandages were wrapped all around her crown. "Do you remember me? I'm Freya. We met briefly before."

Again, the previous events flashed through her mind. The words flew out like a series of quacks. "…How long have I been asleep? What happened to the village? And Fakir! Fakir was hurt badly! Is he alri-"

The taller girl placed a reassuring hand on Ahiru's shoulder. "Calm down, Miss Ahiru. It's only been a day. The village is being repaired and the villagers are safe."

Ahiru sat silently, waiting for the tall girl to answer her last question, but began to squirm uncomfortably when the three Wyvern dragons kept quiet.

"Is Fakir okay?" He saved me…

The green-haired girl stepped forward. "He…hasn't woken up yet."

Ahiru's breath hitched in her throat, and she felt as if claws were threatening to tear her heart out.

He's not okay?

A small gasp came from the tallest girl's lips, her brown hair bouncing about her face.

"Hermia?" whispered Freya. The tall one, Hermia, shared a brief, but seemingly meaningful glance with the other two dragons, a silent message passing between them.

Ahiru raised an eyebrow at this exchange. "What's going on?"

"Mm, nothing, dear," Freya comforted with a smile, "Perhaps it's best if we let you rest for a bit longer."

"No!"

The three dragons blinked at Ahiru's outburst. "Aah, that is…I'm feeling fine, really, I am…but I cannot bring myself to rest until…" Until I know he is alright.

She was unaccountably frightened for him. Why should she care? He was rough and rude and arrogant and insensitive. He insulted her countless times and held nothing but contempt for her background and expected her to eventually die. Never mind the fact that he saved her at the expense of his own safety…

Nothing made sense anymore. He put himself in danger for her, and yet, he obviously wanted her dead. What did this village really want? What did it have to do with her?

The confusion welled in her heart and burst forth in the form of quiet tears. "I…I just don't understand…!"

Another comforting hand gently lifted her chin. The green-haired girl's glasses glinted and the gray eyes behind them met with Ahiru's blue.

"Perhaps…we've kept you in the dark for long enough." As if asking for silent permission, the girl looked to Freya and Hermia. They were silent for a moment, then nodded their heads.

"It's best that she knows everything. Maybe then she'll see why…" Freya's eyes overflowed with sad regret. "Miss Ahiru, Malen will take you to see Autor. He will make everything clear for you."

Ahiru took a deep breath and allowed herself to be steadied by Malen. After regaining her footing, the two girls left the hut.

After a moment of silence, Freya spoke. "…You must have felt something powerful, Hermia."

"…I did."

"Is it…is it serious?"

"I can already tell…that it will be very inconvenient."

"Who is Autor?"

Malen pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "He's our self-proclaimed historian of Wyvern," she replied with a slight roll of her eyes and absentmindedly smoothing out her peasant skirt. "But I suppose the job was made for him, given his special power…"

Ahiru almost stumbled at that. "Special power?"

"Yes. I'd tell you all about it, but I'm certain that Autor would much rather show you himself."

They walked across the square of the dark village, two pairs of bare feet padding on the stone floor. Ahiru noted with silent amazement that there seemed to be no sign of the destructive dragon rampage that plagued this village only a day before.

The Wyvern villagers must have amazing skills.

They came across another hut, slightly larger than most of the others, but smaller than Raven's home. "This is our library. Autor spends most of his time in here, despite it being small, and outdated by a couple of centuries…"

"Centuries?"

If Malen heard the mumbled question, she showed no sign of it. Instead, she simply pushed back the cloth entrance and gracefully gestured for Ahiru to enter.

With all of the shelves of scrolls and books, Ahiru couldn't even see the stone walls. But her eyes immediately were drawn to the only light sources in the room, which was a single oil lamp and three smaller candles sitting on a wooden desk. Stacks of paper, quills, and inkwells littered the surface, and a man sat before them, writing furiously. She recognized the spectacled purple-haired man as the pianist that had scrutinized her to the point of discomfort.

Ahiru clutched her pendant and bit her lip.

Autor heard their entrance and sighed heavily, never ceasing his writing. "Whatever it is, it can wait."

"Autor, Miss Ahiru is here."

At this, Autor's eyes drifted upward and his hand stopped all motion. The quill fell from his ink-stained fingers onto the paper he was writing on. Adjusting his glasses, a smirk tugged at his lips. "And to what do I owe this visitation?"

Malen took Ahiru's hand in her gentle grip, easing her gently forward. "We…need her to know everything."

The purple-haired dragon stood, smirk growing. Again, he adjusted his glasses, the glare from the lights on his desk reflecting off the lenses. His eyes were not visible. "Well, why come to me? I am a very busy man."

Ahiru heard a heavy sigh from Malen. "Well, we need your power to show her exactly what happened to us. And…" she paused, "well, you're the only one with that kind of skill."

"Well, yes, you're very correct," Autor admitted with a smile, "I am the only one who can enlighten her, aren't I?"

After a moment, Autor's grin faded. "How's Rue? And Fakir?"

"Distraught. And unconscious. Respectively."

Ahiru swallowed at the thought.

"I see." He moved from behind the desk to sift through the shelves, as if looking for something in particular. He carried one of the candles with him to see. "While I'm working with Miss Ahiru, please look after them."

"…I will." Malen, turned away, but not before leaving Ahiru a comforting hand on her shoulder and soft smile. "Everything will be clear soon. And then…maybe you can understand why we need this."

Ahiru watched silently, shifting her weight from one leg to another as Autor shuffled through the many documents and manuscripts within the confined and dark space. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Autor let out a soft cry of victory, pulling a rather large book from a bottom shelf. He hastily moved the scattered papers and quills onto a pile on the floor before plopping the book onto the desk.

"Miss Ahiru, will you come here please?"

Clutching onto her pendant harder, she stepped forward, closer to the light. Autor licked his index finger and began flipping the pages, scanning the words quickly as he did so.

"I have a special ability that no one else has in this village," he said to her, though never taking his eyes off of the words on the pages. "I'm the historian for a reason, you know." He stopped at one of the pages. "Ah, here it is."

He finally looked up at her, but the glare on the lenses obscured her view of his eyes once more. "I keep track of all important events, dates, and people. I have recordings of every person, every family, that has ever been a part of this village. I have them all written down, in my own penmanship.

"And if I so wish, I can go back to any important event, date, or person, and allow people to see it right before their eyes."

Ahiru stared at him in confusion. "What does that mean?"

Autor rolled his eyes and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the glare disappearing and revealing his exasperated expression. "It means I can show anyone any historical moment that I have written about, as long as what I have written is a real event. Must I spell everything out for you?"

The redhead's eyes widened. Powers like that existed? Something that could make people able to relive incidents in the past? "How…how can you do that?"

Autor seemed pleased with her awe as his smirk returned to his face. "How can I do it? Well, Miss Ahiru, that is actually part of the history that I am about to show you. We all have something about us…"

Something in his expression changed. His smile turned a little more ironic, and his eyes lost it's glint for a little longer than a second. "Everyone you've met so far…me, Rue, Fakir, Elder Raven…even little Uzura…all of us. We haven't always been down here…and we haven't always been dragons. But we've always been…different."

Ahiru's eyes widened.

"We used to live on the surface…in our own, quaint little enchanted village, out in the sunshine…" At this, Autor paused for a long moment, as if being taken back to a time long since passed.

"We had our magic. We had our health. We were happy. We didn't need more.

"…Except for one…and…" Autor stared intently at her pendant. Ahiru clutched it reflexively. The slightest bit of anger glowed in his eyes.

So…I really do have something to do with this…

As if remembering where he was, Autor snapped his gaze away from her and took a deep breath. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

He straightened up, and smirked once more. "So, allow me to use my power, to bring you to that time. Three centuries ago."

They've been…alive for more than three centuries?

Autor placed his palm onto the pages beneath him, and Ahiru found herself engulfed in a flash of blue light.

The Prince Femio of Rungholt pranced happily through his gardens. His three-pound crown never budged, even as he twirled about his favorite lily pond.

In the corner of his eye, he caught his reflection in the water and knelt by it, hands clasped in front of his heart. "Ah! Such perfection should be a crime!"

A knight trudged into the garden, face stern, his mouth set in a grim line beneath his beard. "Your Majesty."

"Aaah! Yes, General Dominic?" inquired Prince Femio, not daring to tear his gaze away from his face.

"We need to prepare for the war that you yourself initiated, Your Majesty."

Prince Femio froze, then slowly turned to the general. "The war?" He launched himself to his feet, one hand over his heart and the other raised in refusal. "But battles are so…filthy! And the clean up will surely stain my breeches!"

Suddenly, Montand appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and released of flurry of rose petals that swirled about the Prince in a sparkling show of beauty.

The Prince Femio sniffed at the wonderful, sweet aroma, and twirled. "Ah, the war! Have every man over thirteen drafted, won't you, my dear General?"

"Thirteen? But…so young…?"

"Oh, no, no, no, no, not at all! Besides! How can this face that has been sculpted by angels be wrong in any way?"

General Dominic bowed low, but his voice held the utmost uncertainty. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Before the knight left, he sent a very suspicious glare in Montand's direction, who was still spreading the rose petals with his paper fan.

Hope you all enjoyed! Any comments will be greatly appreciated!