He threw himself onto his bed, tired from all of the work he had to do as part of his ‘training’. No matter how he looked at it, it was not training but rather a form of sport for Bryjon and the others to just make him do their chores. It was true that he had learned a lot as part of this ‘training’, if one could call it as such, in particular the history of the Dragonnaires. But still, cleaning the entire castle? This place was only slightly smaller than the capital of Red, Alexasdra and cleaning just one part of it can take up one entire year.
But he had already been with the Dragonnaires for a few months. He certainly did not expect this when he dreamt of joining this famous group. Famous group. His thoughts went back to Tyriousel. His friend who could not be with him to celebrate his joining of the Dragonnaires. Why did it have to be like this? His dream was suppose to be harder to fulfil than Tyriousel’s. Tyriousel wanted to join the Army, and though his reasons for joining the Army were not very pure, he should not have been robbed of his chance like that. Without able to do anything, feeling so powerless. Even now, Deryke could not help but feel so powerless and filled with guilt.
He joined the Dragonnaires at the cost of his best friend’s life, and after joining he had to go through a training schedule from hell. But maybe joining wasn’t such a good idea? But it was too late to change the past. There was no going back. Now the only thing he could do was to train harder and become a full Dragonnaire to fight the ‘Dark Ones’. Maybe by defeating the ‘Dark Ones’, he could put his friend’s soul at ease. But was vengeance really the right answer? He did not know. He wasn’t the type to do such things. A soft knock came from his door.
“Huh? Who could it be at this hour?”
He wondered, seeing as how the sky had long darkened into the night. The only people awake would be the night guards. While the Dragonnaires are suppose to be with the Dragoons, it seems that the two groups do not interact with one another as often as they should, for an Order made to fight some dark evil. He walked over to the door and opened it slightly. To his surprise, standing there was the small figure of the White Wing. Shivylie Silvastern. Her long soft white silver hair was a constrast to her beautiful, yet stern looks. Her silver grey eyes looking at him intently.
“S-Shivy-… Lady White Wing.”
He bowed slightly. It seemed that to the other Dragonnaires, the Wings were people to be respected. And feared. Their powers were far greater than any other Dragonnaire and so they were made into leaders of their own Flights. Shivylie seemed to be slightly annoyed by his actions and words.
“… I apologise for visiting so late, but I wish to speak to you… Do you mind?”
She said after a moment of silence.
“N-not at all.”
He answered, slightly surprised by her words.
“Good. Follow me then.”
Without another word, she left. He was slightly unsure on whether or not he should follow but in the end, he grabbed his coat and headed out of the room to follow her. She led him down the hallway, pass some rooms that he had only learned about recently like the library, the medical room, the weapons room, and many others. There were some rooms that normal Dragonnaires were not allowed inside, and only the Wings could enter. And one such room was where Shivylie stopped outside.
“… In here.”
She said, taking out a small key and inserting it into the door. She turned the key and the sounds of rusting metals could be heard. The door had not been used in some time. She opened the door and stepped inside. Deryke was unsure on whether he should enter the room or not, seeing as how it was off-limits to people such as himself.
“What are you waiting for? Come in.”
Shivylie’s voice came from within the room. He shook his head to clear his doubts and walked in. The room was dark but slowly he came to see something quite amazing. The room was filled with jars and pots of flowers. Flower that glowed softly in the light of the moon. Rows and rows of such flowers lined the shelves and tables in the room, lighting the room softly with their glow.
“Teresian Flowers.”
Shivylie said, walking over to the end of the room where a single flower sat by the large window of the room.
“Coming from the Kingdom of Black, they take what light they can and during the night they glow softly.”
She held onto the petals of the flower lightly before turning to him.
“Do you know what are the Dragon Souls?”
She asked.
“B-Bryjon said it was a ‘blessing’ from the Ancients.”
He answered as he thought he should. Shivylie closed her eyes for the moment.
“A ‘blessing’, huh… It may be so… or it may be a curse.”
She said before large wings came from her back, surprising him.
“What is it that you see? A human being? Or a Dragon?”
Her white wings were certainly a sight to see as they folded themselves around her.
“As Dragonnaires, we are not bound to a single Kingdom. We do not owe them or their people anything. Even as war spreads across the land, we cannot step in. But even though I say ‘war’, it is merely a sport played by the people for land. To keep each Kingdom at full strength, we placed such rules into their ‘war’. In the event of an all-out war with the ‘Dark Ones’, we would need them to fight as well… but it is all a lie.”
“A… lie?”
He did not understand her words. A Lie? Why was it a lie? A lie to who? A lie about what?
“The Kingdoms knew that war cannot be stopped. It was something within them that told them they could not stop.”
“Is it because humans and Dragons were meant to be warring creatures? That fighting is our nature?”
He asked, but Shivylie shook her head.
“If only it were that simple…”
She sighed, looking at the flower. Her tone told him that there was something behind her question. As the moon light shone down through the window, he remembered something. Back at Alexasdra market, those silver eyes.
“… Pardon me for asking, Lady White Wing but… have we met before?”
He asked, making Shivylie turn to him.
“… Perhaps… Tell me… where are you from?”
“From Aleara village.”
“Not where you lived… where were you born?”
Her question surprised him. What did she mean by that? He was sure he was born in Aleara village. But wait… born in Aleara? Didn’t his village burn down? He had memories of it. Fire, people screaming, people dying. He was told to hide in the cellar under the floor. He rememered… darkness. Shivylie seemed to notice his own confusion.
“… Perhaps… not every thing about you is what you want to believe it to be.”
Shivylie’s words ended on a strange note, as though hinting at something.
“You say your name is of Verias. From whence did you recieve it? Surely a person of your upbringing shant be able to afford a Drane sayer.”
Shivylie stated, to which Deryke knew such a time would come to explain it. For long had he stayed in that village, and thus he need not explain it to the people whom he had called home. But now, he was away from that familiar scene, that familiar place called home. Such a question was bound to come.
“It is true, that an orphan child, raised by an innkeeper of a small village, would not be able to afford a Drane sayer to grant me my Drane name. And yet a Drane sayer did wander into my village, and gave me my Drane name without a price.”
“Without a price, you say?”
Shivylie was slightly perplexed by his answer.
“… Drane sayers do offer Drane names to others without a price, should they feel that the individual ought to have one. Such a fickle minded folk.”
Shivylie muttered to no one in particular.
“Why ask such a question, Lady White Wing?”
He asked, making Shivylie turn to him from her own musings.
“… I knew of a Verias, and at times I have to wonder…”
“A Verias?”
“It is not uncommon for people to hold the same Drane name but hold no blood ties with one another. However the Drane sayers often speak of how those who hold the same powerful blood tie with inherently lead to the same Drane name. At times a family or clan may hold onto a single Drane name to unite their people, thus I see upon you and… no, you look nothing of who I speak of. Forget what I had spoken.”
Shivylie hastily said, though to be honest, Deryke did not know if he could forget what was said by her. His own Drane name being the same as another? But who?
“… What is that?”
Shivylie suddenly asked, looking down at his hand. Was he figiting his hands again? He looked down and saw a strange mark on his hand.
“? What… what is this?”
He asked in turn, looking at the mark with some puzzlement. Was it a bruise from training? It looked a little bit like a bruise.
“It may be but a bruise, Lady White Wing. From training.”
He said, brushing it aside, but Shivylie was not convinced.
“A bruise it may be, or a scar from the Dark one you faced. Do not belittle even the smallest of signs. Well, even if it should be from a Dark one, your soul will not be uneased by it. At the very least, allow me to take a look at it.”
She said, walking over to him. She reached out and took his hand. The moment their hands touched, he felt something within him. A hard thump within his chest. Shivylie seemed to feel it as well as she pulled back her hand. She looked at her hand for a moment before heading towards the door. She paused at the doorway before turning to him.
“… It is getting late. You know the way back to your room. Good night.”
She said before walking out the room and leaving Deryke to himself in the room. He looked at his own hand. That feeling was something not he knew nor was it something he felt was unfamiliar. But now only more questions clouded his mind than answers. He looked back at the marking and saw that it had faded away, returning his skin back to its original colour. What he had thought as a bruise was perhaps something more than that. But now he would not be able to know since it disappeared. Shivylie seemed slightly disturbed by it, but she said nothing of warning. Deryke was now unsure of what was going on, and whether his life was now in danger or not. Hopefully, it wasn’t.
Training, as Bryjon puts it, was part cleaning the Castle, and part getting beaten around by the senior Red Dragonnaire. From time to time, other young Dragonnaire recruits would stand by the side to watch Deryke get beaten up. While Deryke expected them to start laughing at him, what they were doing was nothing of the sort. Rather, their eyes held pity, understanding, and strange sense of studiousness. They were studying his training regime, or as he puts it, Bryjon’s punching bag exercise. Yet none of the other recruits ever approached him.
He did not know why, perhaps it was some sort of lynching from the others? Or that to associate with him meant earning the fury of the Red Wing? Deryke did not know. However, what Deryke lacked in quantity of empathetic colleagues, he made up for it by social connections, through getting to know the rather important people. The Wings. Bryale was probably not on that list, but Deryke was considered to be close to Bryjon, and Shivylie. Bryjon, being the second highest rank of the Red flight, was more or else like a leader himself.
Shivylie would often be seen watching Deryke train, which in turn led to another Wing, Shizuka Winhalla, to be equally interested in him. It dawned upon Deryke quite early on that the Green Wing and White Wing do not necessarily get along. The Green Wing would often pester and annoy White Wing, much like how a younger sibling would annoy the older sibling by constant questioning.
The Green Wing, Shizuka Winhalla, is the sister of the current ruling King of the Kingdom of Green, thus it was no understatement to say her presence and appearance were that befitting of royalty. It was stated within the rules of the Order that the Dragonnaires do not interfere with the affairs of the Kingdoms, and the Green Wing was no different, as evident by the lack of any regal accessories or clothing. However it was still hard to deny that even in plain clothing, the Green Wing still had the appearance of a royal. Her personality, on the other hand, was another matter.
Besides her mischevious behaviour, in particular with the White Wing, the Green Wing was quite well known to be rather untidy and disorganised. She does lead the Green Flight as a proper leader, but her own personal life was infamous throughout the Order. This was a stark contrast to the White Wing, Shivylie Silvastern, who was calm, cool-headed and organised. The White Wing was a person whom many admired, not only for her beauty, but for her strength on the field.
As a Wing, her abilities and power are guaranteed, but even amongst the Wings, she was known to be the strongest Wing. Her strength as a Wing was not measured by physical strength, as Deryke found out sometime ago. Dragonnaires and Dragoons measure strength through bouts and duels. It was not always about brute strength, but also agility, intelligence and endurance. Shivylie was considered the strongest Wing not due to her excelling in one point, but rather due to how well balanced she was and being able to defeat any contenders who came to challenge her. Her stoic and seemingly cold personality lended credence to her strength as well, though to Deryke her words were not unkind, but rather held a sense of uncertainty.
It was as though the White Wing had trouble finding the words whenever they spoke, though the times they spoke were few and far between. But now would appear to be one of those times.
“Lady White Wing?”
Bryjon wondered, stopping the practice as Deryke was on the ground, trying to catch his breath after swinging the practice sword multiple times at Bryjon in his form of ‘practice’. Deryke turned his head and saw Shivylie walking out on the practice field towards them. The White Wing garnered the attention of all on the field with her presence as she crossed the field before stopping before Bryjon and Deryke.
“Lady White Wing, are you not without your Fangs or other members of your flight?”
Bryjon ask, lowering his head slightly to her.
“I had only just returned, and allowed those of my flight to rest. As for my Fangs, they have returned to the Dragoon’s keep to repair their weapons and armour, as well as to speak to the Lords of the Dragoons of a message I needed to be said to them.”
Shivylie replied his queries in a short and precise manner, which Bryjon nodded in some form of understanding.
“I see. And so what can I do for Lady White Wing at present?”
“Bryjon Fiera, I would ask to borrow-”
Before Shivylie could finish her sentence, a thunderous roar from the other end of the field made everyone turn. Stepping onto the field, with green flames flickering out of her breath, the Green Wing, Shizuka Winhalla, walked menacingly towards White Wing, her eyes showing a dangerous and mischevious glee.
“Ah, Shivylie, you have returned and not cared to bid me a hello? How you have hurt me so.”
The Green Wing’s voice obviously feined sadness in her mocking tone.
“… Green Wing. To end yourself with such a drunken state whilst the Sun is still highest is a mockery to the Wings.”
Shivylie chastised the other Wing with an irritated tone. However the Green Wing did not seem phased by the words, as she smiled, placing her hand over her chest. From her hand over her chest, came a light, and when she pulled her hand out, the light followed from her chest, elongating and materialising into a solid form. Drawing from this mysterious light of her chest, the Green Wing produced a long spear with an axe head attached, a glaive of sorts. Swinging the weapon expertly, the Green Wing gleefully looked to White Wing.
“I have not moved my body in days, and so I ask of you to allow me this little exercise.”
Without warning, the Green Wing charged forward, closing the remaining distance between her and White Wing in such a short time that Deryke could not react. But Shivylie pushed Deryke away as she jumped back herself to dodge the incoming blow. The weapons in Green Wing’s hand crashed into the ground, creating a large explosion of dirt upon impact. White Wing sighed, shaking her head, before turning to one of the trainees on the field.
“You there, your weapon.”
She commanded. The trainee was a little surprised, but ran over and knelt before Shivylie, presenting her with his sword. Shivylie took the practice sword, which was still made of steel, and looked back to the Green Wing, who had produced her wings from her back, her ladened breath igniting with green fire with each exhale.
“Do you not wish to bring forth your soul weapon, Shivylie? Would you not grant me that honour?”
Green Wing asked with her mocking tone. Shivylie twirled the steel in her hand as she looked hard at Green Wing.
“This steel shall be more than sufficient in waking you from your stupor.”
“So you say… Have at thee!”
The two Wings clashed, their weapons swung at one another either being parried or evaded completely. With Green Wing displaying wild, yet precise and controlled swings of her weapon, and White Wing twisting and turning her body in such a way that one would describe it as a dance. And yet their battle was anything but calm, as the force of their blows created violent winds.
“Sigh, there they go again.”
Bryjon muttered, walking up to stand next to Deryke, who was still on the ground.
“Are they always like that?”
Deryke asked, to which Bryjon scratched his chin in thought.
“Not all the time. But Green Wing has a tendency to drink and to throw wild parties. With White Wing being as she is, the two have conflicting ideas on behaviour, thus leading to them butting heads often. Green Wing, however, seems to enjoy the arguments she had with White Wing, and though she may not say it out loud, but I believe most people would agree that White Wing has also relied on Green Wing’s antics on a more emotional and mental balance.”
Deryke did not truly understand what Bryjon was trying to say, but kept silent about it. Still, there was another thing that bothered him.
“Lady Green Wing created a weapon from nothing… is that magic?”
Deryke asked, to which Bryjon laughed and shook his head.
“Magic? No, far from it. But I suppose to those who are unfamiliar with our ways or of magic would believe them to be the same. It is true that we, the Dragonnaires, are able to use magic. Those of prior magical training, such as Blue Wing, have magical abilities, but added to that, is Dracmag-ir, or ancient Dragon magic. As we hold the souls of Dragons, we are able to use this Dracmag-ir, although there is not much I can teach you of it if you do not understand what our soul is.
I will get to that when the time comes for you to face it. Now what Green Wing did just now, was neither magic, nor Dracmag-ir. Rather, it is the physical manifestation of that Dragon soul with us. To materialise it into a physical object, solidify it and then use it as a weapon. That… is our soul weapon.”
Imagination's fart 