At the Altar of Dragons

Session 28 | Chapter 6

As I begin to wake the following morning, I burrow into the lumpy mattress, wrapping the blankets around me tighter. I focus on my breathing, letting it lull me back to sleep in the cocoon I’ve created around myself. The scent of the linens waft around me–dusty, stale fabric mixed with…flowers? Not brimstone or fire like I’m used to. My body aches as I reach my hand out, stretching and searching for the familiar form of Goose laying in bed with me.

Perona’s voice pulls the last vestiges of sleep from my mind. “Marigold?” she coos, “Do you want to join me to cook breakfast or would you like to rest still? I can bring you breakfast if you do.”

That name, while the first time she used it, felt sweet, like she saw a delicate part of me that only blooms in her presence. Now, lost in this drifting space between waking and the events of last night drifting to the forefront of my mind, it feels hollow. Like the rest of me.

For as I wake and force my aching body to sit up, I see that the last day has not been in fact a nightmare. Goose is nowhere to be seen, which is accurate given that he never actually existed. My voice croaks as I muster up the strength to reply, “Hmm? Breakfast?”

Despite the lack of appetite, I know I have to eat. My body needs nourishment if I’m going to continue on this journey. This journey…was this mission even real if Goose wasn’t? If he was simply a shell, a disguise for the God of Justice, Lendys? My hands begin to shake and tremble as his face as Goose disappearing flashes before my eyes only to be followed by flashes of the man forced to the ground at Bahamut’s feet.

I grip the blanket around me, pulling it around me desperately in an attempt to hold the pieces of my body and soul together. The blanket will have to do. It’s a shell. It’s armor. It can protect you.

“Oh my darling,” Perona whispers, cupping my face in her hands and directing me to look at her. She pushes a strand of hair out from my face and says, “Come on, let’s get you food then we can come back and you can bundle yourself away again. But I need to see your beautiful eyes and I need to know you’ve had some food, please?”

I hold her gaze numbly. My eyes feel tired and empty as I stare back at her, her own eyes filled with worry. It’s written in the way her eyes crinkle at the edges and yet I feel nothing but an unending sense of absence. But she is correct about one thing, I need food. I’ve seen it enough times at the conclave where acolytes didn’t eat enough following training or punishments. Their recoveries were significantly slower, their bodies returning to healed but weaker rather than stronger.

Do I actually want to return stronger though?

Shaking my head, I force the thoughts into the recesses of my mind, pushing them further and further into the dark. I still feel their eyes on me, peeking out from around the other skeletons populating this space in my mind.

Survive, Huntress.

The Priest’s words flip a switch in my brain and I feel my body move on its own, inching myself off the bed and crossing the room to the door. The blanket is still wrapped around me, but it drops to the floor as I open the door to see a small platinum version of Goose outside the door. I grip the doorknob so tightly that if I were stronger, it surely would dent under the pressure. Without taking my eyes off of him, I say over my shoulder to Perona, “I’ll meet you in the kitchens in a moment.”

She slips past me, trailing her fingers along my shoulders as she heads towards the castle’s kitchen. The touch, which usually would send shivers of joy through my body, leaves me with nothing. The touch is a touch and nothing more. If I feel nothing, then nothing can hurt me.

The small dragon in front of me is in a seated position facing the stone wall. He is guarded, his tail snaking and flicking behind him, his shoulders square, and his eyes never leaving the wall. My brain struggles to form a sentence, to find what to say to him. What even matters at this point? What’s done is done and apparently can’t be taken away. My mind flicks back to the vision where he impersonated Bahamut and the ring he gave me. I take my thumb and absentmindedly rotate it on my pointer finger.

As unfeeling as I can possibly manage, I ask, “Was the ring a lie too?”

Lendys looks over his shoulder and blinks, the inner lid sliding across his clear blue pupils. “No, it wasn’t a lie, Maire,” he replies, “The ring will grant you one wish.”

I break his stare and look at the simple metal band on my finger. For something so powerful, it’s unassuming. A wish could be most useful on your journey, Huntress. The Priest slides into my thoughts without the usual din of screams and noise. His voice is inky and slick against my mind and I fight to physically recoil from his words.

“And you can’t wish for the contract to be broken,” Lendys continues matter of factly, “You can’t wish that only I die either.”

“And if you die?” I muse.

“Then you die too.”

The echoing hum builds in my ears as red tinges the edges of my vision. I clench my fist and snap, “This really sucks. You seriously had to involve me in your fucking power trip with your dad?”

At this he turns to face me, his dragon form shifting into that of a young, teenage boy wearing a collared shirt, suspenders and knee high socks.

The cacophony in my mind intensifies and consumes every sense of reason as I yell, “I am not above hitting a child!” I hold his gaze for half a breath more before adding, my words calm and venomous, “But at least you don’t look like him anymore.”

It’s a lie. His face still has that same mischievous glean, his eyebrow quirking at the end just like Goose would when I said something stupid or intriguing. It’s a lie, but it’s one I have to tell myself. If I feel nothing, then nothing can hurt me.

“That’s kind of rude,” he responds flippantly.

“You want to talk about being rude?” I pause, waiting for him to speak, to offer some form of an explanation as to why he’s upended my life. He blinks, holding my gaze numbly, and doesn’t speak. Finally, unable to take the silence anymore, I shout, “Any explanation?!”

“No,” he responds immediately. “You heard it all from him.”

“I never heard your reasoning,” I respond. Give me something here. Was this really just some game to you? Did it really mean nothing? I suck in a breath, trying to stop my hands from shaking, and continue, my anger just barely leashed, “I’m stuck with you for the rest of my life. At least tell me why. And don’t make it about me.”

“Fine,” he snips, the first time emotion creeps into the edges of his tone, “I wanted to be free. And you–you deserved more, so I just thought to…perform the contract instead.”

“I deserved more than what?”

“You,” he starts, choosing his words tactfully, “You deserved to not be where you were. They were bad people.”

Rolling my eyes, I reply, “So instead I’m now bound for eternity…?”

“Th-that is a downside,” he stammers.

“Tell me the upside!” I shout, “And don’t say it’s your company!”

He recoils ever so slightly before quietly saying, “You found love. You found friends. You gained a purpose.”

Love?

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Friends?

Purpose?

Each word feels like a gaping pit. Something that should be bright and light, filled with joy and hope, is instead an ominous looming hole inside me. This doesn’t feel like love. Love is home. Love is comfort. I feel nothing. Tears burn the edges of my eyes and I refuse to let them fall in front of him. I will not give him the satisfaction of knowing how broken I feel. “At what cost?” I ask quietly.

“You made memories,” he muses.

Involuntarily, I roll my eyes, “And now it’s all tainted.”

“It’s not tainted–” he starts to say, but I cut him off.

“Really? Because now all I’m picturing is an old ass man laying at the foot of my bed!”

He shouts back, cutting me off in return, “I am not an old man!”

“Okay!” I shout, “I’m picturing a child, which is in no way better!” An aching scream rips through my throat and I groan, “I undressed in front of you!”

“And?” he comments.

“I gave you belly rubs!” I cry, “Do you even like jerky?!” My mind is spinning, filtering through every memory, every moment with him trying to determine where Goose ended and this…Lendys begins.

A smile forms on his young face as he says, “I really do actually.”

Some of the frustration in my body releases in an exasperated sigh and I sarcastically reply, “Well at least it wasn’t all a lie!”

Lendys tilts his head, his loose platinum curls falling in his face, and states plainly, “None of it’s a lie.”

I look up towards the sky, blinking back the tears, and I clench my jaw, angry at the fact that I haven't held onto my emotions as well as I should. Once they’re held at bay again, I meet his gaze. “Let me just make sure I’m following this right. I’m stuck in a temple…with some bad people.” It takes literal effort to not roll my eyes at his accusation that my conclave was anything other than a means for preparing Bahamut’s followers. “Your dad tells you to give me a draconic spirit, which–”

“Would’ve kept you there,” Lendys cuts in.

Furrowing my brow, I counter, “No…they are stationed. I would’ve left anyway.” I study his skeptical expression. There’s another emotion there beneath the surface–saddness? I continue, “Unless you’re telling me that was also a lie? I probably would’ve been held in a dungeon and tortured for the rest of my life? Is that what you’re trying to say?” My tone is mocking, but progressively gets louder and angrier. I’ve seen the cells, buried deep in the recesses of the mountain our conclave is built into. The blood stains on the stone are so saturated that no amount of soap and scrubbing would get them clean. The chains anchored to the wall were thick and sturdy bolted into the mountain itself.

“No…” he hums conspiratorially.

Rolling my eyes, I try another outrageous possibility, “They would’ve kept me in some back room and just used my draconic spirit instead?”

Lendys straightens and replies with conviction, “No, they would’ve controlled you the way they were before.”

I wasn’t being controlled..

“So the stationings were a lie then too?” I scoff, the sound wetter than I intend, revealing the knot growing in my throat.

“Of course,” Lendys replies casually.

“Okay, so where did everyone else go who got spirits before me?” I ask quietly.

Instead of verbally replying, the young boy in front of me mimes a knife slicing across his throat.

Of course that’s what he would say, Huntress. He is deceiving you again, trying to shake your faith and corrupt your mission. My breathing shudders, fear coursing through my body that the Priest’s words are true and equally terrified that Lendys’ are.

“So you thought,” I begin, but pause unsure what I want to voice–the story Lendys is telling me or the Priest’s assessment.

Lendys finishes the statement for me, “Save the one that’s different? Yes. Act like the draconic spirit ‘Goose’.” His tone is mocking and fuels the fire in my veins once more.

“Okay don’t mock his name,” I snap.

“It’s not his name,” Lendys replies immediately.

I raise an eyebrow in response.

He adds, “It is, but it’s not his name.”

Quietly I comment, “So now I call you ‘Lendys’?”

Abruptly, he corrects, “No, because that’s not what you want. You want to call me Goose.”

“I really don’t,” I scoff.

“Then what do you want to call me, because you will not call me ‘Lendys’,” he replies firmly.

“Shithead.”

He hesitantly starts to reply, “If that’s–”

“Platinum Fucker.”

“That seems a little…pointed,” he observes.

I shrug my shoulders and wryly comment, “It’s what I feel right now. And if what I feel is what I get, then…” I pause, realization hitting me, and ask more composed, “Why can’t I call you Lendys?”

“It holds power and meaning. I don’t have either of those now.”

“So it’s fitting in a way to call you that, huh?” I comment dryly, knowing the name is going to hurt him, mock him. You deserve to hurt as much as I am.

“No,” he answers.

I straighten, reaching a decision, and announce, “Alright Lendys it is.”

His shoulders slump as he releases a breath. A moment later, he holds out his hand for me. I stare at it dumbstruck and ask, “Do you want me to shake your hand?”

“I want to start over,” he says, his gaze firmly on me.

A mocking laugh escapes me, “I’d like to start over too!”

He takes a deep breath and declares, “I won’t lie anymore.”

“Oh–great bar to set!” Another maniacal laugh bubbles out of me.

He shrugs and states, “It’s a high bar.”

“Clearly,” I pause, looking him over before stating, “The kid form freaks me out.”

Without a moment's thought, he shifts his form back into that of a miniature platinum dragon. He looks so similar to Goose, aside from the color, the shape of his face is similar. His snout has the same angles, the same lines. His eyes are eerily similar and the way they looked at me before he disappeared still haunts the vision behind my eyes. The main difference is that instead of the floppy ears Goose had at this size, Lendys’ crown fans out with four points with horns connected by webbing. He holds up a single clawed paw for me.

Reluctantly, I fist bump it instead of shaking his paw. I can’t stomach the thought of doing that after everything.

“Well,” Lendys starts, letting out a calming breath.

“Don’t breathe a word of what you know about me to the rest. Please,” I demand quietly. The thought of everything he knows about me, my fears, my insecurities, my rituals, being shared with the rest of the group is enough to make my hand start shaking again.

He nods, “Mums the word.”

I look around, unsure where exactly to go from here, before stating quietly but firmly, “Go see if Layna needs to blow someone up.”

“I’d rather not. So no belly scratches?” he jokes, “But I’ll gladly take some back scratches.”

“Too early,” I gasp, “Way too early. Read the room.”

He dips his head and solemnly says, “Well, I tried.”

“Blue can scratch your back.”

“He scratches too hard,” Lendys comments.

I shake my head and turn to walk away without another word. This is already more than I can take this morning. The fact I lost control of my emotions in front of him again causes me to grind my teeth, angry at myself for letting him affect me like that.

After a few steps towards the kitchens, I hear the sound of steps behind me. Turning around, I see Lendys following me and I shout, “Do you want me to hit you?!”

Defeatedly, he states, “I’m stuck here.”

“And so you have to be within ten feet of me at all times?”

He takes a few steps backwards and cocks his head at me.

“You can’t be in another room?”

“We’re outside in a courtyard,” he retorts, annoyance slipping into his tone.

I scoff, “You can’t just go to Layna, so I don’t have to look at you?”

“She shot me!” he shouts back, “No!”

“Sucks!” I yell back, “Your dad said to command you. Go. To. Layna.” Each word is punctuated and dripping with venom. He dips his head and turns to walk off towards Layna’s room. I hold my breath until he’s out of sight. Once he’s disappeared from view, I suck in a shuddering breath and collapse to the stone ground, my head tucked between my legs and my hands over my face. I scream until my body is empty of emotions.

If I feel nothing, then nothing can hurt me.