I don’t rember her voice, or even really what she looked like. All I could rember was the silhouette of her head as she stood against the sun and the glimr of her smile as she said sothing to soone. It can’t have been - I was too young at the ti - but whoever it was, they made her smile even more broadly.
It was a happy mory, one I’d held hard onto since she left my life, even as every trace of her slowly vanished.
Why?
Why?
Why had she left ?
I knew the answer, knew that it had nothing to do with , that it had everything to do with my father, with life, with everything else, but I still felt that it was my fault.
It still was my fault.
The pain of that realisation pressed down on like a blunt stake, slowly pressing into and through my skin, through my flesh, through my bones.
Rage poured where there should have been blood, rage like a great river lashing out against the dam that held it, lashing out against those that had thought it possible to restrain it, hold it, control it.
And so I scread, scread at the pain, from the pain - scread for what I had lost before and what I had lost now - scread for those that had done it to .
You are on a boat in the middle of a lake.
I don’t know where the thought ca from, but it ca, and it chilled the burning pain in my body.
There’s mist all around you. The water is still. Above...
The world in my mind’s eye shifted to match the speaker’s words.
Above there are ravens circling. Can you hear them?
I stood on the boat and looked up. I saw the birds.
"No, I can’t," I replied.
"Good."
A weight lifted up from and I opened my eyes.
I was on the ground, rain pattering against my skin.
And that’s when I saw you, crouched beside , looking down at . I recognised you, even without your glasses.
"Can you get up?" you asked.
I tasted blood and dirt in my mouth. My body ached, but I nodded and tried to rise. I gasped as pain ripped into .
"Easy," you said, steadying . Your hand felt cold against my skin, but it was a relief after the raging fire from earlier. Rage? Why had I been so angry...?
"Mum..." I looked around, ignoring the sharp knives that cut at as I twisted.
But the gravestone was intact. All of them were, in fact, not even a single scratch.
"What happened?" I croaked.
"What do you rember?"
I cast my mind back at your question. "My mother’s dead," I said. "Da-... my father just told . I didn’t know. Then..." Firey hot darkness enveloped and I shook my head. "That’s it."
You sat back on the ground beside and put on the glasses slung around your neck. "That must have been the trigger," you said. "Your... ’father’, was it? Well, he forced you into a frenzy while you were in your dragon form so he could-"
"My what now?"
You looked at oddly. "You..." You looked up and down. "You’re a dragon," you said. "I an, right now you’re not, you’re in a human form, but you’re really actually a dragon." You paused. "You didn’t know?"
I shook my head.
A dragon?
A dragon?
"How is that possible?" I sohow managed to mumble.
"Uh..." For so reason you looked as confused as I felt. I looked away and my eyes fell onto the sword planted in the ground a few feet away.
"Wait, who are you?" I asked.
"Ah, looks like your brain’s starting to work again." You rose and got sothing from your instrunt case. "Here. So clothes to put on first."
--
Bran, naturally, felt a asure of embarrassnt but he could tell the young man felt even more, given how pink his neck remained even after he got fully dressed.
Lucky that.
Because of work, Bran normally carried a spare set of clothes around with him, but it wasn’t every day that soone else could fit them.
"Thanks..."
"You’re welco," replied Bran. He offered the stranger a hand. "I’m Bran D’Arcy."
The young man took it. "Misha Long." An ironic smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "My surna ans dragon."
The smile left his face, and his gaze found his mother’s gravestone again. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties but, right now, he looked much younger, much younger and completely lost.
Bran had been planning on suppressing the threat then giving whoever that needed a strict talking to a strict talking to then heading on his own way - let the clean-up crew earn their pay - but he realised he couldn’t do that this ti.
"Misha," he began, but a sharp voice cut him off.
"My father tried to kill , didn’t he?" said Misha. Sothing stirred in his eyes and the rain upped in strength.
"You’re right, Misha," said Bran. "But right now’s not a good ti to talk about it. Let’s find sowhere dry to hide from your rain first." And find so way to push this problem onto soone else.
"My rain?" Misha looked at the sky. "You an, I’m making it rain?"
"More-or-less. You’re an Asiatic dragon, so you’re water aligned. Anything water related is your domain. Rain, rivers, seas, things like that."
Misha fell silent, his eyes wide as he stared up at the growling, grey sky.
Had that been too much?
This dragon, for whatever crazy reason, had been raised as a lay human. It was anyone’s guess as to what could set him off into a frenzy again. This was a job for so departntal professional not Bran.
But instead of breaking down in tears or transforming again into a raging serpent, Misha laughed. "That explains it then. I wondered why bad weather affects so much. But actually it’s the other way around." He looked at Bran, really looked at him, and smiled. "Thank you."
And in that mont, Bran decided that maybe, just maybe, he could stay on with this problem for a bit longer.
"No problem."
--
The restaurant was starting to fill as Misha and Bran sat down to eat. It was nearing noon, and the lunch crowd would be let loose from their offices soon. Pity, thought Bran. They’d missed the morning special.
Bran pulled the nus from the stand to the side of their booth and handed them over to Misha. The boy, no, young man looked over them with wide eyes.
"There are pictures!" Misha said excitedly.
"Pick what you like," replied Bran. He hoped Misha would stick to the cheaper end of the nu.
Misha nodded, eyes still fixed to the laminated sheets of paper.
Overall, the guy was looking alright, not weepy or jumpy, but Bran couldn’t help but be on edge. He’d been in the business for years, but he’d never co across sothing like this. Had anyone else? Surely the answer was ’yes’, but how to find out who? The person Bran wanted to ask was halfway around the world and likely in bed with company. The next best person was, well, soone Bran wanted to put off going to see.
Misha laid the nus down on the table and rotated one for Bran to look at.
"This one seems good," he said, pointing at one of the cheapest items on the nu. Did he just like plain food, or did the kid have a sense of decorum?
"Alright," said Bran, quickly scanning the nu himself.
He waved down a waitress and made their order.
"You can speak Chinese," Misha stated with enthusiasm after the waitress had left.
Bran blinked. "So," he replied.
Misha, seeming to sense so kind of mood, didn’t ask the question he clearly wanted to and instead turned his attention to the restaurant. It, as Bran had expected, had filled dramatically in the short minutes since they’d sat down and there was even a small queue forming by the door with a cranky waitress noting down and handing out numbered tickets. The hum inside the restaurant was already at ear-covering levels and this, combined with the drone of traffic coming through the open front door, made Bran want to imdiately leave, but it didn’t seem to affect Misha. If anything, he seed to thrive on the stimulation.
Perhaps now was a good ti.
"Misha," said Bran in a level voice.
Misha turned to look at him. "Yes?"
"Do you want to..." Bran wondered how to phrase this and decided that his usual way was the best: as direct as possible, "what do you want to know?"
Misha’s eyes lit up. "About dragons and all that, you an?"
Bran nodded.
"Everything," Misha said with emphasis. Then he blushed a little. "Sorry, uh..."
"I can try ’everything’," said Bran. "I assu you know nothing about any of this?"
Misha shook his head. "Absolutely nothing."
"Alright..."
And so began a most difficult quest.
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