Noor

He had dreams.

Dreams of the lights in the sky; they spoke, they danced, their cries echoed into the eternal void, all for him to hear. In his mind’s eye, held in his eyes, the shining power of their whispers, their screams. Knowledge, it was. Stories. Advice.

Shimmered, they did. Ever, ever on he wondered of the real sky; buried deep within the Tangled Woods for his life, his light came only from others, or not at all. Light was forbidden. But for the light in his dreams, where strange life teemed, he would wonder. And he would dream.

There burned a light within him. Born in only darkness, he had to keep it contained. Was it duty? Was it fear? Was it greed? He clutched to the lights as one would their most precious treasure, yet never spoke of it. It wasn’t anyone’s else’s burden to bear. Such knowledge—it spoke to tear, to wear at the mind. But he knew better. He was strong. Having been born and grown in the clutches of these lights, it was his destiny in this otherwise shrouded land.

They came again, that night. Even without the light, he could feel the glimmers above weave their way to his mind; always after the same time had passed. When their light wasn’t burdened by the ‘Great One’ as they’d call it--he presumed that was the Lightbweaver, the sun. He closed his eyes. It was through them they would see. He wouldn’t allow that; this place was his, and they would only seek others to speak to. He was all they needed.

Wouldn’t it speak?
It’s only us you seek.

“Words, words.” He snorted. Words without meaning, words without screaming. Was this to be another boring night?

Wouldn’t you let us see?

But it’s all darkness here, he’d think. Or perhaps he’d say so aloud; with the voices, it’s ever impossible to tell where his own voice is.

What have you seen? Where have you been?

They know the answer to this. So curious. So much time they have to waste.

Wouldn’t you like to see us?
What is light to you, who know only shadow?
Wouldn’t you like to free us?
Would I have done that long ago, to be bereft of your glow? Where else would you go?
Within, within, and beyond. Are you curious? Do you wonder?

“Of course so. There’s naught to be gained without questioning.”

Do you want the answers?

“Perhaps not yours.”

Open and see! Open and see!

…
As of late, he’d noticed, they were growing agitated. Was there only so much he could offer? He’d taken it on principle to never release them. To not do as they asked blindly, as blind as his eyes, his senses in this darkness. Ever enveloping. Crowding, growling, growing. They asked him if he wondered. If he saw. If he’d been far, what he’d learned. And no; no, the Foxfire Bramble was all he knew. They should know this. They were with him; they knew his thoughts, his ramblings. Were they not truly contained? Did they visit him only on a fancy, and not trapped within his gaze as he’d imagined for so long? Questions, questions, they lay unasked. He was afraid of the answer.

Yet, he was strong. He’d resist temptation. The dreams swelled within him, the notion of light swirled before his eyes, promised whispers of answers danced by but he kept resilient. Still as stone some days. Lone companions in the dark. They were all he needed, they were his secret, his song. Perhaps other dragons would come to recognize him as a seer, and visit him. Perhaps he’d hear their stories, too though they were never as compelling, nor as vivid. He wasn’t alone though! And he still dreamed of more.

We were always here with you, came their new cry. It was easily dismissed; when they faded with the rising of the Great One, he’d open his eyes and nose about, feeling his way through the woods, and would never feel their presence. They were… drowned out. And to drown, meant to die. They were no longer there.

For the first time, he readied himself for their approach by an inky pond that lay calmed in the tangled forest. It was not deep, but he’d had an aversion to drowning since he was young. To feel an icy grip, a constricting pull on your throat, to lash out, helpless, as an overwhelming force consumed you, was a sensation that overcame him in his worst of moments. The worst of it all was always how real it felt. He’d always known darkness; he’d always known silence. Sounds can break it, but he’d never know the taste of light fill his gaze. That was the way of dragons born here, and particularly with him. He’s heard of both darkness and silence be referred to as a drowning sensation; how it can blot all else out, fill the void, becoming it, and cause, to put it lightly, an ‘uncomfortable situation’. He didn’t know, then, how he could know of drowning. There was nothing he’d experienced in his life that would come close to it, but for these… but for this knowledge. Wherever it came from; probably best left unquestioned, unanswered.

They came, but he swore he saw them before he heard them, flickering over the ground before him. It is good that closing one’s eyes takes but a moment.

…He tilted his head, one way, then the other, but nothing was said. Nothing to be heard. A trick, to test his patience. He could wait.

A small splash announced the arrival of something, and he started up, reaching for his pearl, which he had placed by his side. It wasn’t there.

Feeling his mouth dry, he had his tail flick back and forth, scanning the area around him as he tried to make words come from him, without sounding panicked or distracted. Were they aloud, or in his head? He could never tell. But he heard the next words clearly, spoken by a new voice. A new voice?

“Pour water over the mirror so it can catch even the faintest Light hiding in the dark.”

It couldn’t be a new voice. He had been alone when he came here, but his dreams always had the same voices. He reached out a claw, again trying to respond, and felt his pearl pressed firmly into his grasp. Was there a presence? He was shaking. Oh, how desperately he wanted it to be another dragon! If he opened his eyes, would he see? How long had it been, him alone with his dreams? Dreams were timeless, he realized.

They weren’t real.

How could he have known he was missing something he never had? Was he lonely after all? Quivering, he brought his pearl to his chest, nursing it and sitting back on his haunches, finding his thoughts wandering to confused places. Were they dark, confused places? That was the phrase, but he’d only ever known darkness. It wasn’t bad. It was comfortable. But… and, he wasn’t sure what he felt—but what if there was light? Just the faintest light.

Would he see after all? Eyes need light to see, and he’s never seen—but there’d never been any light either. What was up there, in the sky, really? What resided in his palace of dreams? Were it possible to see but a gleam here, in this shrouded place? It could not hurt. A mirror, water.

A mirror. He knew very little about such a thing, but knew that it reflected one’s own image back to them.

Would you even recognize yourself?

And, that his soul, his self, was in the pearl, wasn’t it? Could that be a mirror of sorts? Surely, if he could get the pearl into the water, would it catch that light?

He would try. After all, it wasn’t the lights that spoke to him, but another. Perhaps she (she?) would still be there when he dared to look. If he could. He was shaken, that’s all; old practices, and the recent scare made it much harder to act than he thought. Uncurling took minutes, and finding the right perch at the pond’s edge took longer. He dipped the tuft of his tail into the water first, just to get a feel for it, where best to place his pearl; smaller than most, he knew, for his memories were few as well. Dreams weren’t memories. He waited again for the ripples to settle, and dared to place his pearl beneath the waters, holding in both of his claws, bringing his face closer and closer; whiskers brushing the surface, he blinked his eyes open.

Lies!
Skies above, earth below.

He couldn’t understand. His mind shattered, and turning up, he saw them, lights above, and nothing below.

He held the void in his hands. Pinpricks of light stuttered, piercing his eyes. Beasts in disguise. Separate, in union; deafening, in light. Nothing was reflected in the waters, nothing shone in the pearl. It seemed to pulsate, to breathe, and the light grew around it, shining onto nothing.

He closed his eyes, and brought his pearl back to his chest. He understood now, what he was, and what it meant. At least, he thought he did. He had so much to do. So, so much, if he were to ever see again.

---

By Oitykru