Kiraan

portrait by Cordially



Theme song: Mars

We had another name once. Now, we are Darkin.

I struggle to remember what that other name was, now. I suppose it does not truly matter. The earth we fought to protect cracks and crumbles beneath our feet. We welcome it. We sink our bloodstained claws into the dirt, black upon red. Our battles tear ravines into the earth like wounds. This shattered world will never recover, not from the Shade, not from us.

I steel myself once more and follow our commander into the fray. I lash out with the fury of the gods at my former brothers and sisters in arms, the rare few who held onto something they could no longer recall. The fools who valued that which they could not remember. They are righteous, but we numerous, bloodthirsty, ruthless. And we rend them apart. Their ichor sinks into the dirt where it belongs.

We will rule the shards of this broken world. It deserves nothing more.

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"That has not been my name for a lifetime. I am Kiraan, and you will address me as such."

For a moment, I wonder where I pulled that name from. Kie-ran. It feels so arbitrary, but I suppose a name only has as much value as one puts in it. We've all lost their names, now. We barely feel like the same dragons they were born as. Perhaps we aren't. Perhaps all those foolish, virtuous parts of us died alongside Ranadir.

I am thinking of useless things, again. No one has spoken his name in a long, long time, but we all remember him. His ghost hangs over the barracks, in every whispered, worried sentiment. We did not speak of him, but the unspoken sentiment clouded our minds: If only you were still with us.

In a kinder world, he would be. But we do not live in a kind world. The dragon before me withers. He says my name, my real name, this time. Kiraan. Yet it sounds unfamiliar and alien when he speaks it. He struggles to pronounce the syllables, and his voice is too quiet. He sounds almost afraid.

... is he afraid of me?

"Kiraan." He echoes, and whatever sentiment he wanted to express is gone.

(Eight days later, he is killed for desertion. I no longer remember his face, nor the first name I chose for myself eons ago.

I suppose neither of them really matter.)

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It has been centuries since we took on our new life.

We turn on each other, feuding like rats. Our battles scar the world. Even among each other, we find no sanctuary. So we rage and burn and fight and kill, because that's all we know how to do, anymore. A dragon I do not recognize, but must have been a brother in arms, in a past life, dies upon my blade.

I do not like the look in his eyes.

I collapse in the crater that our fight created, leaning against my sword. I look upon his battered body and feel a frown crease across my face, though I cannot place why. He looks not unlike me. Red upon black, given into despair. Our stories are not the same, but they all parallel each other. I stare into his empty eyes and something frays at the edges of my darkened mind.

I murmur a strange word I can no longer place. The syllables taste sweet on my tongue, foreign and lost as they are. His scales have been dirtied, but his face is the same. Like a buoy bobbing to the surface, a piece of long-forgotten knowledge drifts to the front of my mind:

His name was Fiekrial.

What was he? My mentor? My student? None of those feel quite right, but I don't think I would be able to remember the truth anyways. I murmur that strange word once more. Something about it feels right, as it leaves my mouth. I have distant memories of chanting it, back when my kind was one. Before we had fallen.

Fiekrial Sol-Gra.

That was my name, too, once upon a time. We all shared that name. Something stabs at my insides, sharp as a dagger, and I remember us chanting it before we tossed ourselves into the fray. What did it mean? It doesn't matter, but the thought stays at the edges of my mind, testing out different possibilities, searching for one that feels right.

Sol-Gra. What did it mean?

For light. For peace. For Grand Sun. For Mother Sun. Together as one. The piercing light. The Sun Guardian. The blessed. The ascendant. Of the god's army.

Maybe it was one of those.

Probably not.

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"I was once Sol-Gra."

There is a deep, implacable pain in my chest. I push it away in the only way I know how. I test myself against my fellow Darkin - mortals offer no challenge, and their screams of fear all blend together, after long enough. I seek the one who will strike me down at long last. I do not find him.

I search the world. My brethren are rarely subtle, and they are not hard to find. We cannot hide among mortals even if we wished. The blood magic that gave us power leaves it's stain upon our bodies and wings, tainting our scales. I think it was the blood magic, at least. Truth be told, I cannot remember. I keep thinking of many things that do not truly matter, nowadays.

Battle keeps my mind clear. It is simple. It asks no questions, demands nothing of you except survival. Survival is not easy, but it is simple, and that is an important distinction. When I am in the throes of combat, I do not think of things that do not matter. In fact, I think of nothing at all. So I spend centuries seeking out worthy foes.

After a particularly difficult battle, one that will leave me with new scars, I rest in the ruins of a temple. I crush shattered panes of stained glass beneath my feet, knowing they cannot pierce my hide. I rest my blade beside me and scan my surroundings, content that it seems safe enough, for now. I sleep.

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I am so tired.

I spend most of my days sleeping, when I am not fighting. It is surprising that I am still alive. We are immortal, but we can die, I believe. Is that correct? It's hard to remember. Regardless, nothing in this twisted world lasts forever, so surely I cannot, either. And yet. I still wake, either to sunlight or moonlight. The difference is less than most believe.

I do not bother with mortals anymore. They know what I am from the markings that brand my body, and they run in fear. They are not worth the effort it takes to strike them down. And, oh, it seemed so effortless, once upon a time.

I am finding fewer and fewer Darkin. Are we going extinct? Or perhaps we're simply getting better at hiding? I do another lap around the world, realizing with dim awareness that I have returned to my starting point when I see the shattered remains of a stained glass window.

It's always the little, worthless things that stick out in my mind, gleaming like fireflies. A shattered mural of the Lightweaver. A dragon in the distance tending to their farm. The bite of steel during an otherwise unmemorable battle. That name we once shared.

Sol-Gra.

It's funny that I still remember it. I doubt anyone else does. Something about that thought makes me feel alone.

I speak it out loud, trying once more to remember what it meant. Sol-Gra. Something about it feels implacably right, in a way that nothing else has for eons. I take shelter in the temple, musing about odd nothings under my breath. I look at the broken image of the Lightweaver and close my eyes. I can almost see her face, almost hear her voice.

We entrust this world to you. Remember always that while the world rests on your shoulders, you do not have to bear the weight alone. By your side always shall be your brothers and sisters in arms. I am sorry for this burden, my children. But we have no choice left but to rely on you. Please, save this world.

Whose words were that? They couldn't have been the Lightweaver's. They sound like a cruel mockery, now. I still cannot remember what they said, but the gods stood before me, once upon a time. I was but one face in a crowd, but I remember the warm feeling that pulsed in my chest. My creators looked upon me with pride, with hope.

I open my eyes once more, wondering whether they were always this red. I turn my head to see the shattered remains of an alter, and a bloodstained stone spike. Even now, it hums faintly with power, glistening with the last gleams of that golden surge that drove back the Shade.

I remember laughing and dancing through the sunlight, over the tattered skeleton of the world. Not with malice, once, but with hope. I was so, so happy to be alive. To finally be free of my duty. To have saved the world. I... thought we saved the world, once. I thought the world was worth saving, once - not for what it was, but for what it could become.

Oh, Ranadir.

We've failed you. I'm sorry.

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Unsure of what else to do with my life, I guard the temple ruins. It feels like some small type of atonement. I will let nothing else defile this place.

I stay there for aeons. When visitors arrive, I explain our long history. Our creation. Our greatest victory. Ranadir's sacrifice. Our fall from grace. I learned how to summarize the tale, eventually. I have lived a long time, yet I'm only a minor player in our story. They do not need to know about my centuries of wandering.

I still do not know what Sol-Gra means. Perhaps it's been lost to time. But I carry it with me, regardless: Kiraan Sol-Gra. I had other names, once. But carrying even that one with me feels like a shard of my soul has returned.

I do not remember what it means, but I remember the feeling of belonging it brought. That fearlessness when we chanted it together. One day, countless years later, a visitor arrives. She listens to my long tale, enraptured, though she does not speak.

"Ranadir is not here." She says, finally. "If he was alive, he would not want you to watch over his tomb."

"If he wanted any say in how I spend my life, then he should have stayed alive." I answer, though there is little malice left in my voice.

"He would want you to learn why you loved this world, once. Why he thought it was worth dying for." I do not answer, and she does not continue. She stays by my side for hours, staring at the alter. When she gets up to leave, she is silent, her claws hardly even clicking against the dusty ground. "I hope you find out again, someday."

My voice echoes through the ruins without my consent. "Perhaps you're right." And I surprise myself by how small I sound. I spread my wings and turn back to her. Perhaps I have stayed here long enough. Have I been doing him a disservice by trying to protect his grave?

Hmm. Perhaps I'm merely projecting onto him, that martyr who died an eternity ago. Perhaps it doesn't really matter. Regardless, there is no atonement here.

Sunbeams reach soil. I truly see the way it soaks in the light for the first time in a very, very long while. It glows golden brown, and I think back to when we drove back the Shade, it's spawn evaporating into nothingness at the touch of the light. Just when hope was gone, in a great flourish, the world was born again.

I entertain the thought that perhaps the demigod I once was still slumbers deep within my chest. She doesn't, but it is a nice thought, nevertheless. I look down at the mortal and nod, a deep laugh escaping my maw.

"It looks like you've won. Would you care to show me your clan? Perhaps it would be a good place to start."

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I will stay with Clan Lucerna, for a while.

These dragons are not simply righteous, they are kind. They are odd, too. They say sweet nothings of how the present, if nothing else, is in my control. Of how forgiveness and atonement are never really that simple, and so all we can truly do is try to be kind. I do not believe they are right, but it is a comforting thought, and I am too weak to push it away.

I fight tooth and claw to escape the despair that my soul had drowned in, once upon a time. It is not easy. It is not simple. I am not even certain that it is worth it. But I feel an obligation to try, though I cannot fathom why. Is it to Ranadir? My dead brothers? My past self? Maybe it is on behalf of all our ghosts. The ghosts of those armored, resplendent warriors, who stood united against the Shade and washed golden light across a broken world.

I must have been one of those golden warriors, once. Although I can never be that again, I can almost remember. I can hear them in the rush of battle, see the relief in their eyes when they realize I am alive. The demigods have fallen, but the reasons they fought and died, those are immortal.

I hope I can remember them, someday.