Chapter 3: Dual Dreamscapes
Lana belongs to her owner, AdmiralCole22
A/N: By the way, in this story, dragons can be described as being able to fly without the prerequisite of rain. They can walk off the water vapor, but it consumes much more active energy to stay afloat.
Tarloc's focus remained fixated on the ominous knife, his entire being resonating with an intense aversion to its presence. The mere sight of the weapon ignited a deep-seated fury within him, a reaction shared by his disparate personalities. Despite their usual discord, they found a rare consensus in their shared distrust of this malevolent artifact.
Virana, observing his reaction, probed cautiously, "Are you familiar with this object, Tarloc?" Her question hung in the air, laden with curiosity and concern.
Tarloc shook his head, his eyes never leaving the knife, as he replied, "No, it is completely unfamiliar, but that knife is setting off every instinct I have. It is literally emanating hostility and violence." He had instinctively erected mental defenses, wary of the knife's possible potential to overpower his mental state. The overwhelming malevolence it exuded seemed to target him specifically, leaving him grappling with an unseen force that threatened to consume his very essence. The concerned gazes of those around him reinforced the gravity of the situation, emphasizing his isolation in this peculiar experience.
Breaking his silence, Jagan, a figure of enigmatic quietude, spoke up, his words measured and wise. "I expect this reaction ties into your ability to sense things beyond our understanding. That knife, while inert to our perceptions, resonates with your unique awareness, allowing you to perceive its 'intentions' as I might put it." Jagan's insight shed light on Tarloc's extraordinary sensitivity, highlighting the complexity of his connection with the world around him. As the group grappled with the implications of Jagan's words, the enigmatic fog around him seemed to emphasize the mysterious nature of their predicament, shrouding the situation in an aura of uncertainty.
"Yes, Jagandatu," Tarloc responded, his tone formal as he addressed them by his surname, "That knife is emitting signals of unfiltered violence, but in an unconventional manner," he explained, aware of the confusion etched on the faces of both humans and dragons. Emotions were typically perceived in straightforward ways, so this revelation left them perplexed.
Pranee, with a furrowed brow, inquired, "If I may ask, Tarloc, how so?"
Tarloc met their curious gazes and continued, "You know that my personality can be influenced by the emotions of others, correct?" There was a collective nod of confirmation. "Well, this knife conveys violence, yet it doesn't sway any of my personalities one way or another."
A shared glance passed between Pranee and Jagan, an unspoken understanding passing between them, leaving Tarloc feeling excluded from a secret he sensed was crucial to his predicament. His frustration surfaced, and he questioned, "Beg pardon, but do the two of you know something about this...object?"
Pranee hesitated before replying. "We will tell you later, but first, we need to determine if there is any way to reverse the effects. Do you have any ideas?"
Virana, her voice marked with uncertainty, chimed in, "Perhaps it's because of the blood binding Kuvo to the knife?" As they examined the blade once more, they noticed dried human blood on its surface, oddly merged with the knife's mineral, as if the two had become one.
Jagan nodded thoughtfully, raising an important question. "Well, if human blood merged with it, would dragon blood counteract the effects?" His gaze shifted towards Tarloc, who understood the implication all too well. They intended to use him, to harness his unique nature for their experiment. His indignation surged; he refused to become a mere test subject, a pawn in their plan. Anger boiled within him, and he firmly resisted the notion.
"No, absolutely not. You want me to risk becoming like him? Do you hear yourself?!" Tarloc yelled, growling in anger. He had just gone on a tirade about how dangerous this thing was, how it was mentally tearing him apart by its mere presence, and now they wanted him to be stabbed by it?!
"No no no, Tarloc, you misunderstand me." Jagan said, putting aside Tarloc's outburst, knowing exactly how it may have come across. "We don't intend to stab you with this thing, heavens forbid it! We simply are going to prick your finger, and see if your blood has an adverse effect. It had an adverse effect on you, suggesting that you and this item are polar opposites. Wouldn't your blood then cancel out this object's effects?"
Tarloc, while still undeniably ticked off, was unable to find an appropriate rebuttal. Sisu grimaced at the hostile look he had on his face, and he shifted back, filling himself with Sisu's constant aura of optimism. He took a few quick breaths, worried that his other self was more easily able to hold a sway on him this time because of the presence of the knife. He stumbled over a chair in his state of panic and crashed to the ground. He let out a hiss of pain as he cut his finger on a splintered piece of said chair. "Well, may as well try it. Coincidences exist, and they may be conspiring to make this happen."
Having Virana bring the knife over, now held with a cloth to avoid skin to skin contact, put it underneath Tarloc's wounded hand, and he watched as a single drop of his dragon blood fell, and splashed onto the knife.
Almost instantaneously, he felt his skull split in almost indescribable pain. It felt as if every vein in his body had erupted into a hellish blaze and was incinerating him from the inside out. He let out a roar of pain, and immediately, he heard yells of concern as he began to froth at the mouth. He felt as if he was dying, and quite frankly, he would take the sweet release of death if it meant an end to this torment. Blackness creeped around the edges of his vision. The pain that was his own body faded away into the conceptual level of nothingness…
In the void of blackness, Tarloc found himself suspended in a state of nothingness, one with a profound absence of sensation and purpose. Questions plagued his thoughts: Why was he here? What was this strange, formless realm he found himself in?
Attempting to make sense of his surroundings, he attempted to move his gaze, although there was nothing to see. Yet, an inexplicable awareness persisted, a consciousness in the void. As he raised his hand, expecting to see the remnants of his previous wounds, he was met with a bewildering sight – his hand was miraculously healed, devoid of any scars or signs of injury. The inexplicable nature of his surroundings only deepened the mystery. The vast expanse around him remained an impenetrable black, and despite his efforts, he found himself immobilized, as if bound by unseen forces.
Suddenly, a glimmer caught his attention, drawing his focus to a colossal replica of the blade that had been stained with his blood just moments before. To his horror, the blade was descending upon him with alarming speed, slicing through the emptiness with a sharp, merciless edge.
A desperate surge of fear gripped him as he tried to evade the impending strike, to scream out, to do anything to escape this relentless fate. Yet he was rendered motionless, an unwilling witness to his own demise. Time seemed to stretch and distort, elongating the moment into an eternity.
The blade met his face, and the searing pain felt like the very essence of the sun cleaving him in two. The agony that followed was beyond comprehension, an eternity of torment as he was torn asunder, his two halves screaming in unison as the knife sliced him from head to tail. The two severed parts of him fell to the side, their gazes locked in a surreal dance. Despite the dismemberment, he could still see through each eye.
In the midst of excruciating suffering, he witnessed the unimaginable. Both halves of him began to regenerate, a gruesome spectacle unfolding before his eyes. One emerged as a pure cyan entity, while the other took on a dark violet hue. The only distinction between the two was a sinister, dark crimson veil, a macabre residue left behind by the blood-stained blade that had cleaved through him. The two newly formed entities stood tall, their gazes locked, an eerie testament to the bizarre and horrifying nature of his existence.
He saw both perspectives, different opinions. From one side, his left, he saw himself reflected in the blood, tainted by rage and blood, his pure cyan coat becoming dark and dangerous. In the other perspective, he saw through his right side, his purple one. He saw himself, again, seemingly reflected in the veil, but without the bright red blood, the liquid in which life cannot exist without. It was pathetic. What a weak….spineless creature he was, unrestrained like him.
As the battle between his two conflicting selves raged on, their voices merged into a desperate chorus. "THIS... IS... WRONG!" they exclaimed in unison, the words hanging heavy in the charged atmosphere. The very essence of their being seemed to split, the crimson liquid veil collapsing into a mighty river that separated their two halves on separate platforms.
The purple Tarloc, fueled by a primal fury, emitted a menacing growl. He was determined to purge his mind of the perceived weakness that bound him, craving the freedom to live unshackled, finally aware of his true identity. On the other side, the cyan Tarloc let out a weary sigh, burdened by the knowledge that he had to defeat this adversary to prevent further harm to others.
With a powerful surge of determination, the purple version propelled himself across the river in one gigantic leap, crashing down upon the cyan version. In the blink of an eye, the purple Tarloc's claws closed around the cyan dragon's neck, tightening their grip with every passing moment. The 'evil' version pushed harder, a relentless force that left the cyan Tarloc gasping for air. Weakened, he kicked out futilely, struggling against the vice-like grip, but the air grew thin, and darkness edged the corners of his vision.
In the midst of the struggle, the evil version of himself unleashed a deafening roar, his voice reverberating with a sinister conviction. "Do you see? I am everything you should be. Everything you could be. Everything you deserve to be! Just die! LET US BE FREE!" The words hung in the air, dripping with malice and disdain. It was a chilling reminder of the constant battle within, a struggle for dominance between light and darkness, virtue and malevolence.
This was the familiar refrain, the relentless cycle that seemed to define their existence. The evil version, driven by raw power and unbridled ambition, believed himself to be the embodiment of everything his counterpart should aspire to be. To him, the good version was a feeble hindrance, a weak creature stifling their freedom, choking the life out of their shared existence. The irony was palpable; the very act of seeking freedom had become a suffocating ordeal, an internal conflict that seemed unending and merciless.
In the heat of the moment, the good version of him stood his ground, a fierce determination blazing in his eyes. "No... I WON'T LET YOU HURT ANYONE ANYMORE!" he bellowed, his voice echoing with a mix of defiance and desperation. He gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of the struggle coursing through him, a battle between light and shadow.
With every ounce of his remaining strength, he lunged forward, his fingers gripping the malevolent version of himself. The evil doppelganger snarled, resisting fiercely, but the good version was fueled by an unyielding resolve. With a primal roar, he propelled his sinister counterpart toward the nearby river of blood, their bodies entangled in a violent dance. As they thrashed and grappled, the river below them seemed to come alive, churning with an eerie intensity. Their roars echoed in the air, mingling with the sound of rushing water and the phantom pain that rippled across their skin.
Amidst the chaos, an unexpected realization washed over them both. Despite the animosity and the vicious struggle, the river seemed to possess a strange, otherworldly power that took no notice of their meaningless battle. Gradually, they became aware that instead of driving them apart, the crimson currents were pulling them closer together, forging an inexplicable connection between their warring souls. It was as if the river itself held the key to their reconciliation, weaving a thread of understanding amid the madness.
In the midst of their internal turmoil, Tarloc's two warring personalities clashed relentlessly, their conflict reaching new heights, yet their battle was abruptly interrupted by a blinding light at the end of the river. With twin roars of agony, they struggled against the searing brilliance that engulfed them, their eyes burning from its overwhelming intensity. The light wrapped around them, forcing the two conflicting entities to merge, compelling them to reunite into the singular dragon they once were.
In the aftermath of this merging, Tarloc found himself adrift in an ethereal realm, a state of uncertainty where reality blurred into unreality. He floated in the void, his senses numbed, unsure of what was genuine and what was illusion. He blinked, attempting to make sense of his surroundings, his movements reduced to mere twitches. Overwhelmed by an unshakable fatigue, he felt the encroaching darkness at the edges of his vision, a creeping void that threatened to consume him whole. Amidst the disorienting silence, a distant voice called his name, reaching out to him through the haze of his exhaustion.
Tarloc's first sense was comfort, a definite plus from the hell he had experienced in whatever the hell his dreamscape had become. His eyes twitched as he rolled over, and he felt from the way the ground sagged under his movement that he was in a bed. As he gradually began to regain consciousness, he became aware of a soft, warm weight draped over his legs, the gentle rise and fall of his chest accompanied by the rhythmic sound of his own breathing. The soft embrace of the sheets cocooned him in a gentle warmth, soothing the frayed edges of his mind. With a faint sigh, he allowed himself to sink deeper into the plushness beneath him, relishing the relief of having solid ground under him, a stark contrast to the shifting, nightmarish landscapes that had haunted him before. The touch of the bed against his skin felt almost foreign, a luxury he had long forgotten, bringing an unexpected tranquility that enveloped him like a comforting embrace after years of battling relentless tides of uncertainty and fear.
"Tarloc!" came a voice from above the empath dragon. He wanted to smile, if it didn't hurt to move his face. It was seizing up from phantom pains. He peeked his eyes open and saw his father, Kanjo, and his mother, Firingu. Their concerned expressions etched with deep lines of worry softened at the sight of his semi-conscious state. Kanjo's proud, yet weathered eyes glistened with unshed tears, reflecting both relief and an undeniable paternal love that had endured even the most trying of times. Firingu's gaze, intense and fiercely protective, radiated a mother's fierce devotion, a blend of tenderness and an unyielding determination that Tarloc had always found solace in.
Their voices blended into a gentle murmur, their words barely registering as Tarloc's mind grappled with the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. A surge of gratitude washed over him, mingled with a sense of bewilderment at the sight of his parents' unyielding presence. The reassurance of their proximity offered a semblance of stability, a lifeline to cling to in the midst of the turbulent uncertainty that had become his reality. Despite the lingering ache in his body, the warmth of their collective presence enveloped him, a familiar embrace that anchored him to the familiar sense of belonging, of being a part of something greater than himself.
With a strained effort, he managed a weak smile, a feeble attempt to convey his gratitude for their unwavering support. In that moment, the room seemed to hum with an unspoken understanding, an unbreakable bond woven through trials and tribulations, a testament to the resilience of familial love that transcended even the darkest of nightmares.
"Tarloc, it's going to be alright. We're all here for you," Kanjo reassured, pulling his son close in a tight embrace. Tears trickled down Kanjo's weathered face, revealing the depth of his worry. Tarloc found solace in his father's embrace, but confusion gnawed at him. What had happened to warrant such intense concern? It had only been a day, or so he thought, since he had lost consciousness.
As Tarloc struggled to piece together the fragments of his memory, fleeting images danced at the edges of his mind like wisps of smoke, elusive and intangible. He remembered the searing pain, the suffocating river that threatened to swallow him whole. Yet, the details remained shrouded, the events leading up to his current state a hazy blur. He longed to voice his questions, to unravel the mystery that seemed to envelop him, but the heaviness in his chest weighed down his voice, rendering him momentarily mute in the presence of his concerned parents.
"Mother…Father ... .how long was I out? Only a day or so right?" Tarloc asked. He expected them to agree soundlessly, and things could go back to normal. What he didn't expect, and quite dreaded seeing, was the frightened look that passed between his mother and father's gazes. His heart started beating faster. Then he realized something, the last thing he knew of his parents was that they had been down in Spine. They could not have came back here in a single day, even disregarding the time it would take to send that message.
"Tarloc…I…don't know how to say this..but…you were unconscious for over three weeks. This is the twenty-fifth day you were comatose.."
Tarloc's lungs shriveled up at that sentence. He felt like a looming shadow had just pulled him into the ocean's deepest abyss. Twenty five DAYS!? He looked at his form, and it looked incredibly malnourished. Granted, dragons could survive long without food, about five weeks, but those that did were incredibly weak and took more weeks to recover. His eyes looked around the room he was in, and it was definitely the structure from the palace of Heart. He presumed that it was judged too dangerous to carry him to another location. His parents wound their bodies around him, which did well to calm his nerves.
"Oh, by the way, there's someone who wants to talk to you, Tarloc," Firingu informed him. Tarloc tilted his head, wondering who it could be. Could it be one of his friends? "Don't worry, we will be with you," Firingu reassured.
"Okay. Bring them in," Tarloc relented.
As the door creaked open, a flash of purple caught his eye. A surge of unease rippled through him, momentarily clouding his vision with darkness. The image of a purple dragon strangling him flashed vividly, sending a shiver down his spine. Yet, as quickly as the memory surfaced, it dissipated into the recesses of his mind. He then realized that the dragon who had entered was not the same one from his vision, but he still knew this dragon, and quite frankly, he wasn't happy.
"Jagan…" Tarloc sneered. The sight of Sisu's brother, who was looking genuinely remorseful, was almost startling. "Why would you want to see me?"
Jagan's voice was laced with genuine regret as he responded, "Listen, I understand your anger, and you have every right to be furious with me. But please, let me explain. If it's necessary, I won't trouble you again."
Tarloc's initial urge was to unleash his fury, to yell at Jagan, to make him feel the hell he went through, but his compassionate side, fueled by his parent's love and compassion, nudged him to listen. Attempting to speak, he found himself silenced by the compassion he unexpectedly felt for the dragon before him. With difficulty, he managed to choke out, "Fine, speak."
Jagan's head bowed, and his tone was filled with sincere contrition. "I am deeply sorry for what happened, for your unconsciousness. I should have been more rational, more cautious. The thoughtless pursuit of my theory nearly cost you your life. I can't apologize enough. Whatever punishment you seek, I will accept it."
Tarloc was taken aback. Here was a dragon from one of the most esteemed bloodlines, practically kneeling before him, pleading for forgiveness. The situation was unsettling, and Tarloc realized he no longer desired to inflict harm on Jagan. It felt inherently wrong. He conceded that Jagan had taken precautions to ensure his safety, avoiding direct contact with the dangerous knife. It was an unforeseen turn of events.
The decision weighed heavily on Tarloc's mind. Allowing this incident to pass without consequence was out of the question. It wouldn't just undermine the significance of his suffering, but also create the impression that he had forgiven Jagan entirely, which he hadn't. But what action would serve as just retribution, yet not cause irreversible harm?
"Well, what did you do while I was unconscious? Answer that first, and then I will make my decision," Tarloc asserted, maintaining a composed demeanor.
"I assisted in caring for you. You were essentially under my observation, as callous as it may sound. I had to take responsibility for the consequences of my actions," Jagan responded, his tone noticeably calmer. Tarloc arched his long neck, surprised that Jagan had been actively involved in his care, not just offering apologies.
"It's true. He dedicated himself to your well-being every day," Firingu interjected. "Initially, he was consumed by guilt. If it weren't for the faint heartbeat, he might have spiraled further. We had to call Sisu to help calm him down."
A flicker of warmth blossomed within Tarloc. It seemed Jagan had genuinely felt remorse and cared for his safety. Tarloc almost considered leaving it at that, recognizing the weight of Jagan's guilt, but his sense of justice demanded some form of resolution. He pondered for a moment, trying to find a suitable middle ground.
"Hmm, I would let you off, but I can't. My other side insists on administering some form of punishment, and I cannot ignore it," Tarloc declared. Jagan nodded in understanding as Tarloc continued, "Until this matter with the knife is resolved, you will remain by my side. Not only will you assist me in unraveling its mysteries, but my darker side will find solace in knowing that your presence constantly reminds you of your actions. Is that acceptable?"
Jagan nodded solemnly. "Yes, and honestly, I am surprised that's all. I won't leave your side until this is resolved. I was hoping to delve deeper into this matter, so our objectives don't clash."
"However, for now, I need time to rest and recover. Please, leave me be for now," Tarloc concluded, feeling the exhaustion seep into his bones.
Jagan silently retreated from the room, yet Tarloc could sense he hadn't gone far. Instead, he remained stationed by the doorway, waiting for the moment when Tarloc would be well enough to leave his bed.
Kanjo and Firingu, although initially perturbed by their son's distress, recognized the significance of their support. They stayed by his side, engaging him in conversation for hours, catching him up on everything he had missed.
"Raya's ceremony is in THREE DAYS!?" Tarloc exclaimed, his voice reflecting his astonishment. Realization dawned on him; it had been twenty-five days since he had lost consciousness, and now only three days remained until the ceremony.
"Yes, and she actually said that she would postpone it if you could not attend it, considering how much you helped her get over her apprehension about the whole thing." Kanjo said. Tarloc did feel a nice wave of contentment, knowing that he would be able to attend such an incredible event for one of his friends."
Meanwhile, a plate of food was brought in for Tarloc, since he had not eaten in several weeks. He found the food very satisfying to eat. It was to be expected. His stomach had been silently growling since he had woken up. He sunk his teeth into the pork, and then darkness clouded his vision as he felt his teeth dig into a dragon's neck, blood pooling at the points of entry, before again, it left his vision.
What had happened was that Tarloc's recollection of the dream world experience was fractured. He remembered bits and pieces, but since he had been separated, there were two memories that happened at the exact same time, which made them harder for his brain to process. Henceforth, the feelings of the event were there, which was why certain events triggered those memories.
As Tarloc grappled with the disjointed fragments of his recollection, the realization of the simultaneous existence of two parallel occurrences coiling within his mind felt like an intricate puzzle with elusive pieces that refused to fit together. Flashes of discordant images cascaded through his consciousness, intertwining in a tangled web of conflicting emotions and sensory impressions that defied logical comprehension. The dissonance of experiencing divergent events in the same temporal space left him reeling, struggling to discern the boundaries between what was real and what had been intricately woven into the fabric of his dreamscape.
Sensory triggers, subtle yet potent, lured these fractured memories to the forefront of his consciousness, threading a delicate balance between the past and the present. The echo of distant whispers, the faint scent of smoldering embers, the haunting melody of a long-forgotten lullaby—all conspired to pull him deeper into the labyrinthine depths of his subconscious, unraveling the enigma of his fractured recollections with an unyielding persistence.
With each passing moment, Tarloc grappled with the paradoxical nature of his existence, the weight of conflicting experiences converging into a singular point of undeniable truth. The duality of his memories became an intricate tapestry, woven with threads of longing and despair, of hope and disillusionment, each strand contributing to the complex mosaic of his identity. Amidst the chaos of his fractured recollections, a sliver of clarity beckoned, a beacon of understanding that illuminated the path toward reconciling the irreconcilable, and to find solace in the uncharted territories of his own fractured psyche.
"I think it is time that we go for a walk. I don't think it would be a good idea for you to simply remain here. You'd probably get bored just laying around and doing nothing." Kanjo said, unwinding his serpentine body. Tarloc did agree. He stretched his neck, getting a few cricks out from remaining stationary for so long. His body felt like an empty riverbed, and was slowly filling up with the stream of his thoughts. He felt his limbs stretch, and that was a surreal experience. They groaned at moving, and he noticed it did feel harder to move, but he was only now getting up. His heart was practically beating in his ears as he forced his body to move. He put a paw on the stone, the cold feeling shooting up his arm. He took a small breath and gently moved forwards.
He felt like a newborn, taking their first steps. It felt shameful, feeling so weak, but he knew that it was to be expected. His mother and father walked beside him, guiding him and saying that if he needed it, he could lean on them. He appreciated the gesture, but remained firm. He needed to do this on his own. He took a few more steps , and now he was fully off of the bed. He took a breath to calm himself as he moved in a circle to get things moving and his blood pumping. He walked slowly and carefully, until the chill of the floor faded away and he felt confident in his ability to move again.
With a simple nod to his parents, Tarloc signaled his desire to leave the room. Understanding his unspoken request, they swiftly opened the door, allowing him to step outside. As anticipated, Jagan lingered nearby, stationed just outside the doorway. Their eyes met in that fleeting moment, and Tarloc perceived something beyond the realm of misery and guilt within Jagan. It was a sensation akin to a tether tugging at his psyche, a force that felt not only warm but also strangely comforting. Unlike the weight of despair and remorse, this sensation bore the brightness of a sunlit day in Heart. Returning Jagan's nod, Tarloc followed as he was led toward the main room, where he presumed the rest of his friends were anxiously awaiting his arrival, their concerns palpable as they drew closer.
"Alright then, time to set things to rest." Jagan prompted.
"Indeed it is, Jagan. Indeed it is." Tarloc said as the door opened. In the room were Lana, Raya, Sisu, and Benja, all definitely worried, but they gave smiles and sighs of relief as they saw their friend recovered and upright. Sisu waved to her brother, who gave a tentative wave back. She probably enjoyed that Jagan was no longer beating himself up over Tarloc's condition. Raya ran over and gave Tarloc a hug, which he returned.
"I am so glad to see that you are okay Tarloc. And in time for my ceremony! I would never forgive myself if you had missed that!"
"Yes, Raya, I heard about your proclamation that you would refuse to be made Chief as long as I was comatose."
"Well, I also kinda wanted to see how you'd react with all the positive emotions at the celebration." Raya sheepishly replied.
Tarloc gave a laugh, "Agreed, Chief Raya of Heart"
Hello to you all. Yeah, I am not that good at keeping a schedule. Mainly focusing on not dropping out of college atm.
Ooh, looks like Tarloc isn't doing too good. Thankfully he has his family, and someone else potentially.
Drama!
See ya next time!