Dragoon's Fate

Dragoon’s Fate

After leaving the lockdown kingdom of Ishgard, Agront has been constantly having the similar dreams. He lights a fire, and from it, broken screams and rivers of blood emerge. He looks at his hands, stained with the remnants of dragons, green venom, white frost... These hands are all too real, and he cannot bear to throw them into the flames. 

Yet Avalonian mountains, the land that should be filled with sorrow of loss and fate, has been bathed in sunlight for several days. Under arid sky, there is not a whisper of man, nor a shadow of dragon, nor the faintest echo of Avroix his lost commander. 

If the astrologers in the distant snows have to accept such an ironic fate of human, he would soon make himself accept it too. This is very different from what the family tutors taught the children and what he learned at the academy. In his distant childhood, before he had even known a lance, the Furair family used all connections to hire astrologers from all “traditions” for the new generation who were the hope of many. 

One astrologer, eyes alight, spoke with a grave certainty, “Observations show a major, devastating shift in the climate, the celestial paths are in upheaval, clashing with the untamed lands, the star that guides the Goddess of War trembling in these troubled skies, casting shadows of conflict where survival turns vital for the young... ” Before it could go any further, a green feather fan sliced the air, silencing the prophecy. “The star guiding the Goddess of War will never move,” snapped his mother. There were astrologers who played their cards in unexpected ways that could make his mother laugh with joy, all because they talked about the relationship between the climate and the people in a way that made sense - forming a loop - and came to the conclusion that by remaining still, sending no more young forces to lances or knights or battlefields, Ishgard could finally reach everlasting peace between human and dragons. His mother's face was filled with smiles, as if returning into the long-lost spring breeze. 

Once, he stayed behind and asked his mother why, and she just bent down, knelt, embraced him, trembling all over. He panicked, just about to hug her back when his mother staggered away, her increasingly fierce hair even sticking to the felt on his shoulder. 

Agront vaguely knew that he once had two brothers who was over twenty years older than him. The brothers went as knights for the dragons, their broken helmet and lance returned to his mother’s hands. When the days were not yet cold, he had sincerely dreamed about joining his brother at banquets, on hunts. He called to his brother, and his brother smiled back at him. An arrow whistled through the sky, calling forth the cry of eagles. 

In his dream, in a haze, it was as if he was struck in the brow by the melting ice above. A fierce black shadow climbed the entire ice wall, the rocky cones above stood on end, turning into the spiky edges of dragon wings. At that moment, he cautiously made a hypothesis; now, if his brother was still alive, he might be among the people captured on the same mountain as commander Avroix, or he might be among the dragons gnawing at Avroix. 

“Cough, cough, cough!” Then, Agront woke up coughing, seeing that the smoke from the pile of branches had already dissipated. Suddenly feeling a churn in his stomach, he pressed his right hand against his abdomen and covered his throat with his left. It was like the first time he had gripped the throat of an alive dragon, strangling until his frostbite bled. After a forceful cough, he relaxed, gasping for breath. He smelled the odor of half-cooked meat being digested and the aggressive scent of wild herbs. He was indeed awake, he hadn't killed a dragon, he had saved himself. In some sense, he felt as if he had rehearsed being thrown into a dragon's stomach and chewed to pieces. 

If only the group of human-dragon hybrids he had bumped into in the morning, who were fighting over a brown bear, had been kind enough to leave more! Agront’s face twisted, yet he pinched himself again. Dragon meat cannot be eaten; it's filthy, vile, and obscene, touching it is a defilement of the Goddess of War, and eating dragon meat will turn one into that fallen hybrid, and ten thousand thrusts would not be enough to cleanse the sin. He clenched his teeth. His teeth were finely grown, the Furair family took good care of them, he loved to smile, but now brown and red covered them, mixed with crushed leaves and sand, hardly any white could be seen. 

During the day, he tore off one by one the layers of his winter clothes, then used his teeth and hands to wrap his legs carefully. At night, the bizarre ancient mountains of Avalonia were never short of rugged caves. Every night before sleep, he would light a fire, watching the weak flame pushed inward by the wind outside, even the sparks being fanned out. He closed his eyes amid this tug of war. Still, against advice (or prophecy, as deemed), he made his mother shed tears for the only time in his life, picked up a new lance, and joined the Knights. 

The catastrophic decimation of the Dragoon order five years ago and the following selection were not only unprecedented events for the Knights but almost shook the entire Ishgard. Overnight, they mourned in the morning and became frenzied in the evening. That was the only time he escaped from the Knights' barracks without permission. He cradled his mother in the hallway, embracing her pale nightgown, carefully helped her back to the bedroom, and turned off the light. 

“Stay...” her voice a tremble, “Please...” 

He held her tighter, with a silent vow in the dark. “I must. There are others who need me too.” 

Then he returned to the quiet study, flipping through all the books related to dragons, knights, and astrology. He really couldn't remember what he read. He just thought that he was so calm he was almost going mad. When he returned, he swore to himself that it would also be the last time. 

And on the way back to Ishgard, he met Avroix de Gunieu, the Azure Dragoon, first of the twelve. 

He was surprised by the answer but would never have thought that in the currently chaotic kingdom, this person, calm enough to stay awake until dawn, would become his future commander.

“Commander, excuse me, I have a question. Do you believe in hope?” 

“It would be negative. ” Avroix shook his head at that time, glanced at the night sky, then looked at Agront, in those deep blue eyes. “But rest assured, my comrade, in this avalanche-like era, we will still fight for our own path.” 

“Yes, my apologies, commander.” Agront, immersed in embarrassment, bowed his head, hands reaching to the back of his neck. The night sky was filled with heavy snowfall. “I... I will participate in the Dragoon elite selection in two days. Also, please forgive me for having breached the lockdown regulations, I have said goodbye to my mother at home.” 

“No next time.” Avroix smiled at him. “In other words, next time you can come to me. When duty calls, we rally to Ishgard; but when it’s call of a kin, seek me out.” 

Now I am coming for you. Even though you are deemed the apex of human strength, and even though you possess the mightiest Dragon Eye - rumored to annihilate entire battlefields and even end the war between human and dragon - fellow dragoons say after these years such an Ishgard no longer lacks for your presence... “Nor mine”, I did not argue in the end, falling silent. 

“Will this war ever cease? He’s mistaken, so terribly mistaken to seek for the new ‘hopeful’ power within the unknown ancient Avalonian mountains. I mean, he’s but a human, feel the biting cold! Can we even survive the year?” 

Regardless of it all, now I am again through the breakdown and now I seek you out. 

This path deep into the Avalonian mountains, seeking Avroix, feels like an ascendance, resting each night in a new cave, yet it feels more like plunging into a chasm beneath layers of ice. The campfires within. At the end of this abyss lies nothing but darkness. 

Suddenly came a faint human voice. Yes, Avroix disappeared in these mountains. 

And suddenly, the roar of a dragon. Yes, that target was his last mission, assigned before his departure. 

Agront still felt dreamy, until both sounds intertwined, fiercely clashed like swords, gradually becoming clear. 

“Mother, help me, help me!” Far came the desperate screams. 

With the cave's fire extinguished, shouldering his lance, Agront charged forth at a dash. The feeble moonlight revealed chaotic footprints, he scaled the rock face swiftly, reaching the plateau above in a few strides. 

“Clang” as the crash went, heat passed through his lance into his palm. Agront’s spear clashed hard with the dragon's claws, holding back the charge of the beast. Meanwhile, a figure curled and lay on the ground, almost rolling behind him, burying into the snow, crouched like a small grey bump. 

“Stay there. And take care.” Agront grunted, forcing ahead to thrust. The dragon went backwards, its flanks carving trails in the snow, as wide as two arms spread. One of the smaller dragons of the mountain, fierce as they may be, yet not a significant threat to Dragoons. 

Waving a torch, Agront took a few running steps, shouting to draw the dragon away from the fallen figure. However, the dragon showed no interest in the flame. It roared in fury, and again darted towards the lying figure at an astonishing speed. 

Agront swung back for a swift rescue. In an instant, blood sprayed. The dragon, in a screech, fell silently onto the snowy ground.

“O great Goddess of War, I was granted a second life. My gratitude is boundless, mighty defender.” 

With his lance drawn back, Agront stared at his once-again stained hands, and replied in a sigh, “Military instincts.” He did not kill the dragon with bare hands, not any one of them. Though it suddenly came to him that when he first thrusted his lance into a dragon’s head - swift and accurate - his fellow Dragoon complied in a startle, “By the mightiest, you are born for this!” 

The fire in the cave was rekindled, gradually warming the air. The relentless pain in his stomach continued to torment him, yet he placed his arms around himself. It was a rare moment of gentleness for his own spine, with his face relaxing, ears filled with kind words. 

“My mother’s work,” Gryt said, fingers brushing against his clothes - a patchwork of gray, wrapped in strips, “A long time ago. Cozy then. Worn thin now.” 

Agront nodded. Then, Gryt reached into the fold of worn cloth, and pulled out a dragon egg. Round, and snug, mirroring the warmth. “Found this beautiful egg of a hatchling from a - seemingly deserted dragon nest. Should keep my belly full for a good while.” 

“And you, Agront? What brings you all the way up here, inside this bloody mountain? After your... mother? A lost kin?” 

Agront hesitated, framing his response. “Perhaps. I am after the Azure Dragoon, my leader. Disappeared during his last hunting mission atop this mountain.” Unaware of Gryt’s widening eyes, Agront softened his tone. “Worry not, Gryt. I shall accompany you to the top of the mountain, and we’ll find your mother.” 

“Fate can be so cruel. The hope is all too faint, good sir.” 

“Best not believe in hope. Believe in me.” 

Gryt’s face twisted. “Oh, one of the twelve Dragoons, eh? ‘Tis not where you should be. Damned bare mountain’s nothing compared to our grand Ishgard. How’s it though? Still in lockdown? Flooded with dragons, or burnt to ashes already? Whatever, by the god, you should be inside there!” 

For a moment, Agront was at a loss for words. “Yeah... used to be there. Though now I fulfill my duty by saving people within my reach, keeping them with hope. Anyway, what’s past is past. Come on, you can make it.” 

“I shall make it, good sir, if I my belly can withstand the trial.” Gryt smiled, and reached his hand for the dead dragon’s remnants in the frozen shade of crimson which Agront did not notice when they returned to this cave. Perhaps the cold has masked the odor. 

With a forced smile, Gryt suddenly drew a dagger from layers of tattered cloth, deftly and expertly beginning to skin the dragon. The light from the fire danced in his intense eyes as it faded in the blade. Agront’s eyelids were nearly closing. The scent of dragon meat began to permeate the air. Suddenly, the smell intensified, a piece of the meat passed in front of him, presented with a delighted grin and eager eyes. 

Agront waved a hand, forced a smile, and closed his eyes. “I’m not hungry. Serve yourself.” 

The last word he heard before drowning into another dream was, “Good sir, you are most dutiful and gracious. You must be tired. Now with ample supply, allow me to stand guard tonight.” 

In the murky depths of Agront’s sleep, tranquility seized him. 

Then, he felt the numbing bite of cold, not just upon his skin, but creeping, seeping into his bones. 

The once-fatal wound on that dragon's neck began to mend. The tip of his lance, once embedded deeply, now seemed to merge with the creature’ s scales. The dragon rose, maw wide. 

It leaned in, claws dancing on his throat. Then, its teeth, found a delight in his flesh. Each bite searing his sinews and muscles with a precision that seemed to burn rather than tear. 

Agront, infused in tranquility, felt a sense of calm that had drowned out the instinct to fight. There was as if this vessel of flesh was fated to feed the monstrosity that he had become part of. His arm throbbed with the web of pain, the pulse aligning with his heartbeat. It was not merely being devoured, it was melding, his human sinews melding with draconic scale, his blood a mixture of man and beast. 

Heavy snow and howling blizzard buried Ishgard, pale white heaping to mountain heights. The Astrologer’s prophecy echoed high in the azure heavens. The stars fell from the heavens, azure fragments scattering in their wake. At the very last, only the whisper of a believer’s last prayer lingered. 

“Please, Agront. You are the guardian and my only hope. Save me, serve me.” The voice was muffled, a far cry from the one he had saved, now twisted by hunger and desperation. 

Half in delirium, Agront witnessed the vile transformation - the man’s form distorting, his spine, arching with growing grotesque scales. 

Agront made an instant attempt to resist, as the figure clung to his shoulder recklessly. He pushed back, but his sinew still felt haunted, losing function. Teeth, once human, now resembled those of a dragon, gnashed into Agront’s skin. The man he had saved was feasting on the dead dragon’s remnants, and on his own defender’s arm. Drops of blood fell to the ground. 

“Hm...” The man uttered, his growl in a light tone. 

You cannot kill me by that. In an icy gaze, a notion flickered through Agront’s mind. 

All in a sudden, Gryt’s hand disappeared, and drew the dragon-skinner dagger within a flash. It was as if the glint of metal served as a call to Agront’s instincts, screaming to life in the beat of a battle drum. Not a second before the blade could taste his flesh, his fist fired straightforward with the force of a warhammer. Acid, vomit, spilled across the cave floor, and amidst them, a sharp crack of bone echoed. 

“Military instincts, I said. Literally invincible to any weapon. ”  

I wasn’t born for this. I was taught for it. Any weapon, as I was taught and trained. But nobody ever taught me how to cope with a man’s bite. 

Just within one blow, the hybrid figure fell, as a feeble wooden watchtower, snapped into three segments of dry branches and rotting leaves. 

In the arid light of day, Agront awoke to the cool breeze, the sky outside the cave starkly blue. He made himself up, forcing his body to stand. 

Stepping into the sunlight, he noticed the dragon's eggshell had already cracked open.

...Dragon meat cannot be eaten. 

Despite this, and despite the hollow ache in his stomach, Agront dismissed the thought. 

The dragon hatchling's eyes were covered with a sheen of crystal brightness, its deep eyes swirled with a hint of blue. Agront instinctively crouched down. 

Yet the creature was not yet as big as his own palm. 

“Your mother left you alone, little one. No man’s here, they left us alone.” 

From the blue scale at the brow to the icy spine at the tailbone, it measured barely the length of a small arm. Agront stayed still, as did the frost dragon, their gazes reflecting each other until an unexpected gust from the mountainside broke the trance. 

“Now I am with you. Come. Let's go and find our family.” Agront extended his arm for the little dragon to see. The blood from his wounds had clotted, to which the hatchling sniffed, edging closer. 

Then they turned and continued the path deeper into the mountains.