Fjara - Draconic Legacy

The dreamscape glistens. The very fabric of its reality ripples like a stone tossed into a still lake, its many colors blending with one another and marbling. Fjara walks through a lonely path, solitary and straight, no ground to be found on either side of it: a hanging road floating through an infinite and changing kaleidoscope of wishes and fantasies. This place has always thrummed with energy, as though the location itself were a heart beating, the ever-shifting patterns and shapes creating a rhythmic pounding. The sound isn’t offensive to the ears, by any means. If anything, the hum touches Fjara’s heart, as though turning her magic into raw energy, too. It is indescribable, like a fire burning through her veins, or perhaps the rushing of a river after a downpour. No matter, the sensation seizes her, here: makes her feel powerful. In control.

And that is why this particular part of the dreamscape has served her well over the years. No matter what void monster she came across, no matter what tragedy unfolded before her, no matter the adversity that befell her, in this place, she can be at complete peace… One with herself, body and mind. 

It has been some time since she’s done this, traversing this place when reality has improved so much for her. Before, she saved the occasion for the many nights she couldn’t sleep, a sort of dream within a dream… It is more freeing, now, to not have to rely on this place to stop the nightmare, but rather to come at her leisure.

At least, it is leisure for a time. Something in the distance groans, as though the dreamscape itself yawns, a great roar to the ears of any present within this realm. In the distance, a light, piercing and brighter than one could fathom. Fjara raises her hand to shield her eyes, squinting at the great opening, before a figure emerges before her. Its body is long, spiraling, with extensive whiskers floating from its face. Royal blue in color, covered in gleaming scales, and sparkling with the pulsing of glowing constellations, the dragon peers down at her, expression relaxed. It floats in the void above, blotting out a tremendous portion of the crystallike “sky” above. It is all Fjara can do to stand in place, mouth half-open in awe of the creature before her she can only identify as one thing:

A dragon.

She knows their blood runs through her veins, but was taught to hide such a thing lest those around her take advantage of what lies within her, that none could begin to understand…

It doesn’t help that she herself can’t really tell what that is. 

A deep voice speaks, disconnected and coming from all sides, echoing off the walls of vivid nothings. “Fjara of the Buried Sea, daughter of Ormra and Draq, Bridge between the Land and Sea.”

Frozen, she swallows. “How do you know my…” The Astrean trails off, unable to form proper words in the presence of a scene so utterly fantastical.

“I have been watching you. You… You are the last of my line.”

“…What? You’re my ancestor?”

“Worry not. I intend no harm.”

Strangely, the dragon calms her in a way. Her muscles relax, and she breathes deeply, an attempt to absorb the truth of the moment. “Then… Why have you appeared to me?”

“To tell you the truth.”

Her eyebrows lower, stepping closer to the looming being. “I finally get to know what all of this means, then? Why my parents insisted I should be hidden away like an object?” 

“It is because you are a dragon, Fjara of the Buried Sea.”

She can do nothing but stare, baffled in the shadow of that who came before her. “What?”

“At the peak of my power, I was struck down by the other dragons for my arrogance. Restricted to a form similar to the Browbirds of today, I remained in the sea until I found another individual suitable for myself… So, then, your bloodline was conceived into reality. Those who we bore, bore others, who bore others, until your arrival. My blood will always run through you. And should you seek it, you could return to the dragonhood that is rightfully yours to take.”

“What would I even do with—”

“You need not know immediately. But being that you are all that remains of us, it is my duty to inform you of your potential. For now, I grant you this gift, with what little of my power remains: Faster than any other in the sea, you may convert your lower half into a sea tail, more natural to the water than legs. It is your goal to seek out the remaining Astreans, is it not?”

“I…” Her voice darkens. “It is. That’s all I could ever want.”

“This will aid you in your endeavor. Be warned though: Should others see you in this form, your lineage will become common knowledge. Such a magic is ancient, even to the Astreans you knew millennia ago.”

“Wait… What happened to you, then?” She tilts her head, concerned.

The dragon somehow manages a smile, a blessing of a sight in its own right. “It is called the Buried Sea for a reason.”

Fjara sucks in a breath, swallowing. “And if I’m not able to achieve this… Ascension?”

“I have no power left to reprimand you in those brittle bones covered by the ocean floor. There is still much life ahead of you… You do not need to rush. We will speak again.”

“But I have so many questions now—”

“I am sorry. It is difficult to maintain even this form in the infinite dreamscape. When I am able, I will visit you once more… Be well, Fjara of the Buried Sea, last of my kin.”

And thus, her eyes open. Fjara flings herself up from her clam bed, huffing and breathing hard as reality wakes her. Lucy, too, jolts awake, rustling around in Fjara’s Starleaf Cloak. Swimming to the surface to see the sun, Fjara runs her hand through her hair to assure her Dracor still waits for her on the shore. With Lucy trailing close behind, Fjara picks up the crabit, cradling her in her arms. 

With a pensive expression, she sighs. The waves rock the pair back and forth, soothing as it ever is. It’s then that she realizes her legs aren’t legs at all: but rather, the tail that the Dragon had gifted her. “Oh, Lucy… That dream… Shit. Shit. Shit. How am I supposed to-” She flips her tail around, moving through the water with an even greater ease than she’d found before. In spite of the boost, it scares her. “I fear there’s much we have to tell Gwyn. But I haven’t the slightest idea how to go about it. There’s so much I’ve left to do… So many still left for me to find. And yet, somewhere out there, in my very home, there’s the key to…” 

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I can’t even speak it aloud to myself, let alone him. And what of his journey? Am I supposed to depart from him all together to chase after this… Dream?”

Lucy just blinks at her, completely unaware and empty brained.

Fjara huffs. If only there were a clear cut answer she could find, but never is it so simple. She clutches the crystal necklace sitting on her collarbone, thumbing its jagged edge… Before closing her eyes. 

“Are you sure I can’t just waste away right here,” she groans. “That would be the end of that damned draconic bloodline, and I’d have nothing left to worry about, no drastic decisions left unmade…”

But sweet Lucy climbs onto her head. “Mm… I suppose not, hm? After all, I have to care for you.”

It is the first smile she bears in a few minutes, however slight.

With a pinch of her fingers, the crystal necklace begins to glow. In a flash of light, the swirling portal to the cathedral opens, the edges of the portal gleaming with the very fabric of magic itself. Lucy aboard, Fjara swims into it.

Suddenly within an underwater Astrean cathedral, full to the brim of relics and ruins of old, Fjara finds a seat on the ledge of broken stone— what must have once been a grand statue to pay tribute to a lost warrior long ago, judging by the stone ledge extending into the shape of a browbird’s foot at the bottom. “I really don’t know what to tell him. I owe him, for being able to bring us back together through everything, and yet… I can’t help but feel as though this responsibility rests upon me, and me alone.” 

Lucy hops off of her head and into her lap. “It said I was the last of them. Even for me, this is something I never thought possible. I mean… meeting a true dragon was only a fairy tale I was told as a child. Nothing like this.” Fjara kicks her sea tail around. As much as she wants to dislike it, it doesn’t feel wrong.

He should come by any moment. There’s nothing to do to be ready for it, either. She knows well that he’ll look at her with concern, with those honest eyes, and she will fall apart at the seams, helpless. It is agonizing. 

She paces, thoughts racing through her head all the while. Lucy finds various nap spots in the meantime. It seems now with her safe place tainted by a destiny she never asked for, she can never really have a moment to herself anymore. 

After letting it brew, Fjara casts aside a wave of pure magic, which shatters a lone boulder sitting wayward in the cathedral. “Damn it.” Lucy all but squeaks, starled. “Damn it! Why may I not know peace! Why can’t I have a moment of reprieve? Just one place where I don’t have to feel like I’m being crushed. It’s never ending!”

In the moments following her outrage, the sea quiets, as though all at once, the ocean listens… 

When she is used to the current flowing past and over her, the feeling jars her. 

“I can’t— I can’t. I can’t stay here.”

Picking her dear crabit up, Fjara leaves the cathedral as easily as she found it, not waiting for anyone who might be on his way to visit. With his own problems, she forbids herself from him seeing her in such a state. Irrational, furious, and shut down, there’s not anywhere to run anyways. He’ll find her eventually, she’s certain, but for now… She needs this. 

Release.

For all the tears and sobs that rage within her body, she can only stare into the shore she was on hours prior, where her dracor remains safely asleep. She climbs onto the sand’s surface, as does Lucy, the both of them walking along it until they reach her mount. Sitting beside it is easy enough, and she runs her dripping hands through its fur.

Rest doesn’t come again for some time. Tired as her figure may be, she fears sleep, should the Astral dragon once again appear to her to reveal some unbelievable fate. What once was a dream is now surely a nightmare, a cloud that taints her every waking thought.

But it does come, in the end. Upon the shore, herself, Lucy, and her mount slumber together for a time. It is not peaceful, but it is rest nonetheless. That much, she will appreciate later.

In the distance, an Ancient prince approaches the scene. He finds his dear friend asleep, beautiful even in rest, though… It is difficult not to notice how troubled she is.

“Fjara?”

She doesn’t wake, at least not immediately. “Fjara, it is Gwyn. Are you well?”

Jolting awake, she lays eyes on him with her blurry hazelike vision. It takes her brain a moment to process it at all. “Gwy…” Ah, of course, then she remembers all of it. “Gwyndolin! I have something to—” She springs awake, sitting up and immediately reaching to feel for her legs. “—show—” Shockingly, they are there, her mer-tail absent for now. “—you…” Perplexed, her brows lower, squinting.

She melodramatically flops back onto her dracor, who huffs through its nostrils, as though offended. “Gwyndolin, I can’t even describe to you the day I’ve had. It is too much to bear.”

“You need not elaborate upon it to me,” he reassures. “May I…?” He looks at available space beside Fjara and her companions. 

She rolls her eyes, lips curled into a smile. “You know you don’t need to ask.”

He sits, with a small amount of distance between them, should Fjara want her space. For a few moments, it is purely silence between them. It is all she can do just to close her eyes for a moment. “I do have… a question.”

He raises an eyebrow, turning to face her more directly. “What is it? You know I’m happy to help.”

“I do know,” she responds, finally opening her eyes and turning to look upon him in all his radiant glory. “I’ve been thinking… Endlessly, it seems. What do you know about dragons?”