Somnium

     Dragon’s vision had begun to clear and he looked up, wincing as the sharp jab of pain came again.  The buckled shoe of the person above him collided with his ribs for a third time.  The man’s teeth clenched, and he tried to lift his head, eyes still struggling to focus in the dim light.

      “Not dead?”  The shoe retracted as the question casually broke the silence.  Dragon squinted his eyes, brow furrowing.
   There was a smirk.
   “What’s the matter with you?”

   Dragon looked around.  He was lying in a dark alleyway, bits of light streaming through the buildings above and speckling the asphalt.  He lifted a hand to check for any other bruising, feeling the back of his head; his hair was matted and dirty.  His long face, once almost regal with its pale tone and faded tattoos, was smudged in dirt and ash.  The blue tattoos were almost invisible in the shadows.  Small cuts and bruises framed his cheeks and encircled his fingers.

   He shivered, confused, forgetting to keep his fear at bay.  He turned over onto his stomach and lifted himself up onto his knees.
        “What’s the matter with him?”  a friend of the first interloper asked, one of a few in the small group standing around the fallen man.  “Is he okay?  He’s got some pretty fancy threads there.”

    The dark blue coat made from an unknown leather, silver frogs holding it closed, and a silver cross pinned to the left lapel.  The pants tucked into the top of what appeared to be military boots, with the same cross drawn into the back of the heel.

     “Did you try asking him what’s up?” another suggested.  The first raised an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder for affirmation from his friends.
     “I tried,” he said, and turned back to Dragon.  “Hey, man.  You okay?  What’re you doing back here?”  
   
   Dragon stared at them.  He appeared confused, and instead of responding, only furrowed his brow.  He coughed out something unintelligible.

      “Hey!  What’s your problem?”
      “If you’re going to be an asshole, then forget it!” the second yelled.  
   Dragon tilted his head to the side.

      “Eh.  Just leave this crackhead alone, the pigs’re sure to find him,” another said, and offered one more kick to Dragon’s stomach, “and if we get out of here, they won’t blame us.”

     Dragon, holding his side, coughed again.  Something instinctual, something feral inside him, told him to get up.  He obeyed, and stood.  He was at least a foot or so taller than the group of teenagers, who immediately stepped back.

        “Oh shit, now he’s pissed,” one said, “shouldn’t’ve kept kicking him, you fucking morons.”

   The supposed leader of them fumbled in his pockets and drew a small gun in his shaking hand.

      “Get back, man!” he said, trying to sound threatening.  Dragon walked closer, eyes shining, almost amused by the sudden turn of events.  He raised his arms, palms facing the sky.

     “Don’t do anything stupid, man! We’ll call the cops!”
   “You can’t call the cops, they’ll think we harassed this guy.”
   “We DID harass this guy!  You kept kicking him, dumbass.”
   “Yeah, but he looks way more fucked up than any of us.”

   Dragon ignored him, and smiled, a warm glow emitting from one of his palms.

     “What the fuck is that?!”
    “Shoot him!  Shoot him!”

     A shot rang out, and the bullet cut into Dragon’s left side.  Dragon stared down at the wound, brow contorting in rage.  He looked at the cowering teenagers, his eyes slits.  He clenched his hands in fists, feeling the blood pour from his wound, and advanced towards them, slow at first, then faster.

   “Oh shit... oh shit…” was whispered like a hushed choir as the kids backed away.  Monstrous wings burst from Dragon’s shoulders.  With a roar, he lunged forward, and a ball of fire shot from the complete void in front of him.  It ate up everything in its path, and seeing this, the gang of kids tried to run away.

   They made it to the beginning of the street.  Flames consumed the alley and burst onto the street.  Cars swerved and passer-by ducked, and the kids barely made it out before it subsided.

     Dragon wheeled back around, catching himself on the wall.  He gingerly touched his wound, and tried to keep himself up, but sunk down to the ground.  Breathing heavily, he gritted his teeth, sharp canines squeaking against the rest.  Dragon knew shouldn’t be affected by such minor pain.  He’d been through worse.    

   Dragon rolled over onto his back, and gazed up at the small openings in the clutter that seemed to hover above him, caught in the space between the many buildings that stood on either side of him.  He closed his eyes, hoping that whatever had harmed him wouldn’t kill him.  He didn’t have time to think if he even wanted to.  As he drifted off into sleep, a light rain sprinkled down and sunk into his skin and clothes, and steam rose up around him like a veil.





     The Admiral had left the room to return to the snowy Kenaldrian bridges outside, leaving Dragon and Wyvern alone to have time to talk.  But the both of them were silent.  Dragon leaned against the wall, trying not to appear distressed, his hands clutching one another tightly.  Wyvern sat on Dragon’s bed, holding his book.  Dim candlelight illuminated the pages, and flickered over his black shirt and marred skin.  But even as he tried to read through his book, his mind couldn’t follow the words.  Against his will, tears mottled the pages and he clapped the book shut.  Dragon looked over and scowled, leaving his space by the wall to walk over.  He looked down, and Wyvern met his gaze firmly.


        “Why are you crying?” Dragon asked.  Wyvern didn’t answer.  He blinked a few times, his teeth clenched tightly, then answered,  
   “Why are they making you leave?” Wyvern began.  The tall man’s grey eyes narrowed.  ”Do you really have to go?”
   “Yes.”
   “D… do you know where you’re going?” the boy stammered.  Dragon shrugged.
   “They didn’t tell me.  No matter, it’s all the same,” he replied.  He stepped away from the bed, but Wyvern caught him by the arm.

   “They can’t do that!  That’s wrong!  They’re hiding something!”

   Dragon smiled sadly.
   “I’ll carry out my post as any professional should do.  Don’t sit there and cry.  I’ll be alright,” he added, “and I’ll take care of whatever they have in store for me.”  
   Wyvern sniffed, gripping his book tightly.

   “But you shouldn’t have to go!” he yelled, “Y... You’re safe here!”   
   “Safe?” Dragon asked quietly with a grin that hid his disdain.  He continued bitterly, “It’s what Eden wants.”  He turned back, “I’ll be fine.”  

   He went to his closet and opened the wooden doors, and took his old coat from its hanger.  He pulled it on, leaving the clasps open.  Then he turned back to Wyvern, and was about to speak, when from the door he was interrupted by the all-too familiar voice that sent chills down Wyvern’s spine.

        “Are you ready?” the Admiral of Eden’s armada asked from out on the bridge that lead to Dragon’s apartment.  His lilting voice, thick with confidence and grazed with a slight accent that rolled his r’s, was no more welcome to Dragon than the frozen city that lay beyond the doorway.

    “Yes, I am.  Where am I going?” Dragon responded as he begrudgingly opened the door.  Beneath the deep, wine-coloured hair that cleaved the other man’s face in half like a mask, Dragon could vaguely see him smile.

   “I’m not the one to deliver that message,” the admiral replied, brushing hair from his face.  For a second, his red eyes were visible.

   “Then why are you here?” Dragon asked, raising an eyebrow.  The Admiral held the door open for Dragon, inviting him into Kenaldria’s wind-dusted morning.

   “I am but your escort.  Walk with me,” the man said.  Dragon hesitated.  He looked over his shoulder back into his room.

   “Goodbye, Wyvern,” he called.  The boy didn’t have time to answer before the Admiral shut the door behind them.

     “I don’t suppose you know why we’re sending you off like this, do you?” the Admiral asked, descending the bridge down onto the main platform of the city.
   “I… can only guess it’s for Eden’s research and development,” Dragon answered.  He motioned to the arm band on the Admiral’s sleeve, the one that matched his own.  “But why would the armada be involved in this?  Or me, for that matter?”

   “If the council is interested, we are interested.  We all work for the same people, Mr. Grey.  You and I, the armada, the council.  Ein sof is planning something, and, although unexpected for us at the armada, you’ve been assigned to do some investigation for Eden,” the Admiral answered.  Their respective boots crunched through the snow recently frozen by rain.

   “Ein sof…” Dragon murmured.  ”It’s been a while since I’ve heard that name.”
   “It’s not so much a name, Mr. Grey, as it is everything.”
   “I know what ein sof is, or what you claim it to be, and it does nothing for me.”
   “Ah?  Is that so?” the Admiral asked with a smile, “I have to ask as to why one such as you, who’s apparently so educated on Silver Eden’s affairs…”  He stopped walking, and turned to Dragon.  “… would commit such crimes against it.”

   “What are you talking about?” Dragon demanded in a low voice.
   “I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” the Admiral said liltingly.  Dragon turned to where the man’s red eyes had rolled, and was thrown back by a gust of what appeared to be an invisible force..

      “One given the position of Guardian should know better than to step over their boundaries.  You should have been trained on conduct.  On respect.  On sanity!” a voice yelled, cutting through the cold air.  Dragon regained his balance and looked before him.  He saw a man with tanner skin and silver hair, whose amber eyes glared at him behind the metal rims of his glasses, and in that glare was more power and rage than Dragon had ever witnessed.

   “Phoenix?” Dragon marvelled, but his awe soon turned sour.  ”What do you want with me?”
   “As if you don’t know,” the god, Phoenix, answered.  His wings, feathers of fire dancing in the snow, melting away the blankets.  ”You’re no better than Cain.  Do you remember Cain, Dragon?  Cain was of your kind, with the silver eyes, as was Abel.”

   “I know the story.”

   It was obvious that the god could barely keep his eyes on Dragon, too much loathing in his gaze caused him to avert his vision elsewhere.

   “My council will punish you for your crimes.  But it goes beyond that, Dragon.  One should not have to murder their kin.  I should not have to look upon the face of a man who has slain a member of Eden.  A student.  My student.  Your brother.”

   A breath of silence whisked between them.

   “How…  did…?” Dragon started, stepping away, trying to stay calm.  He scoffed, “You don’t know anything, you pious Eden swine.”

   “Murder is murder.  Descend, Dragon Grey.  Ashes to ashes.  Dust to dust,” the god of rebirth whispered, and leapt towards Dragon, hands at the sides of his head, staring into his eyes.  

   The world fell past them and the god sent Dragon far away from Kenaldria’s bitter winters and those who had witnessed the sudden bout.  Somewhere, where the bloody hands of a second Cain would be too weakened, too hopeless, to kill again, to be left until his Judgment was decided.  And between Hell’s fires and Eden’s watchful eyes lay only the Purgatory known as earth.