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Warm.
Hot. Burning hot, his skin was hurting!
There was fire, fire all around him; a fire so bright and powerful it was eating at the walls made out of cold, dark stones. The stones that held what he called his home.
What is going on?
"Fight, Van!"
Huh?
Who was that?
He knew that this voice belonged to someone he knew, someone who was close to him, but who–
"Fight!", the same voice interrupted his thoughts. He could feel the order in it, how the person was speaking with a mightiness that was of a king only...
...maybe because of this very reason: Because it belonged to one.
Van turned around. Moving his body felt so much heavier than it should have, as if he was trying to move something that wasn’t him, like he was wearing foreign armour.
When he finally managed to look into the direction the voice had come from, the Dragon King stared back at him; or whatever remained of the man. Dune was holding his– no, their father’s head by his long pale hair.
“Father..?”
“A true king never runs from his enemy!”
Then, the scream of a child.
Van startled from his already weak slumber, his body completely drained in sweat and his lungs panting heavily.
Again. That dream again.
He reached for his forehead, brushing away the strains of dark hair that stuck to his eyes, before slowly getting up and walking towards the opening of this room that served as a window. He needed some fresh air to calm down, since his subconscious had decided to keep reminding him about the fire every night.
The two moons hanging in the sky were as bright and as full as ever, lightening up the vast grass lands of the borders of his country. He had seen the Mystic Moons hanging in the sky thousands upon thousands of times and yet the view still managed to take his breath away.
Van sucked in the cold air that already felt like ice on his wet skin, slow and deep to calm himself from that nightmare. The gods apparently hated him as much when he slept as when he walked the earth, or they wouldn’t feel the need to torture him after all that happened, after everything he had lost already.
Is this my punishment for receiving the oracle’s blessing? Because I took away the throne that was supposed to be my brother’s?
He wanted to slap himself for even thinking it. The oracle, Sora, had chosen him because greediness and jealousy had corrupted Dune’s mind and tainted his wings black, therefore making him unfit to become king. And he had proven the oracle right by wanting to stab his little brother, a child more than ten years younger than him, at the coronation ceremony.
The young king remembered the picture of his dream so vividly: Dune holding their father’s head by the hair, holding him by the strains he himself had inherited. Silverish hair, the colour of the stars... Van shook his head. Why would he even think about such trivial matters in the middle of the night? But it was true: It had always been Dune who had looked so much like their father. He smiled sadly.
Dune...
No. You’re not Dune.
Folken. The smile on his lips vanished.
His brother, the man he had looked up to for so many years, had beheaded their father, stabbed their mother, killed all of the servants living at their castle with a group of people calling themselves the members of the Black Dragon clan.
‘Black Dragon’ because they believed in Folken succeeding Goau, not Van, a mere child at that time. The young king doubted that so many years later, at least one of them still knew why they were actually fighting anymore: At this point it was simply a war between a white and a black dragon and a war for land. But for Van it was so much more... or rather, less. To him, this was almost solely a war of revenge and the only thing keeping him going. And the people on the very same ship were just tools for him to achieve his goal.
His father had told him to fight, had told him that the ‘King of the Dragons’ never ran from his enemies. But Van had not had the courage and strength back then, so he had flown, run away from the burning castle, away from his childhood and his royal heritage. It was at the village of Adom, where Balgus and Ruhm found him, taught him how to fight and where he eventually grew from a scared little prince into a strong king. Physically, at least.
To anyone else, what happened so long ago would be a weak memory today, but Van couldn’t forget.
Would he ever be able to? Was he supposed to live this way for the rest of his life?
He tried to push all these thoughts away. His mind needed to be clear and focused. Now was not the right time to dwell on the past and how could he, when tomorrow the Abaharaki and he planned to attack an enemy aircraft while still in the air? It was a suicidal mission but they had no other choice: somehow, the Black Dragon clan had managed to find the ancient armour of the god of war, Escaflowne. The legend told about the armour as an inheritance to the kingdom of Fanelia and therefore it was his armour, not Folken’s, although it wasn’t for this reason that Van wanted to get his hands on it before his brother did. It was for the simple reason that with Escaflowne, the war would be decided. If the dragon armour would accept him as its new master, this war was going to be over very soon.
Yes, he was going to crush Folken and his army.
“Our home is a beautiful place, isn’t it Lord Van?”, the sleepy voice of his devoted companion interrupted the chirping of the crickets. He realized how unfocused he must have been for her to be able to sneak in here without him noticing. Now however, he could feel her staring at him, but he didn’t turn to face the cat and he didn’t feel the need to answer immediately. He loved her; she was his sole remaining family, but this was his fight. So Van kept watching the stars, hoping that she would leave him alone without him asking to.
She didn’t. Of course she didn’t.
“You should sleep, Merle. Tomorrow will be a long day.”, his own voice was raspy, revealing that he had only just awoken.
The cat-girl sighed: “You should try to rest too, my Lord.”
Even if he had not phrased it that way, she knew that his word was absolute and that it was a waste trying to change his mind. Van knew all too well about his own stubbornness.
“Good night, Merle.”, with that, he sent her away. She left the room, softly closing the door.
Even after she had left him, he still felt like he could hear her whisper the words: “Sleep well, your Majesty.”
“Never show your wings to anyone, Van.”
A dragon had wings – it was known.
He was a dragon; Draconian blood ran through his veins and gave him the ability to do something full-bloodied humans could only dream of.
He looked around once more, never dismissing the words his mother had whispered to him when he had been so young and naive, and after finally making sure that no one was there to see him, he tensed up the muscles in his back. White massive wings broke through the sensitive skin at the spot right behind his shoulder blades, the force of it abruptly pushing his chest forward and almost making him fall to his knees. But Van could keep his balance and within seconds, he was already used to the weight hanging from his back.
It was late in the afternoon, but the sun was still burning on his skin and dazzling his vision when he looked up.
“The weight of the Escaflowne armour will not allow them to raise their aircraft into usual heights. They will be forced to go around the mountain and over Sazu. That’s where we will be waiting.”
The leader of the Abaharaki, Allen Schezar, had gotten this information from his secret source only a few days prior, but the black ship breaking through the thick clouds, which were starting to form right below the top of the mountain, was proof that whoever their ally was, was reliable.
There’s no doubt this aircraft belongs to the Black Dragon clan.
Van didn’t waste a second. He spread his wings, whirling loose feathers through the air with this and shot high into the skies.
Higher.
Higher!
He wasn’t afraid of heights, but he didn’t look down. Why would he if there was such an endless blue to explore ahead of him? So he kept flying towards the sun and soon the air became thinner and colder and there was a pressure building up inside his ears.
What if I kept flying? Would it be possible for me to reach the Mystic Moon before I can no longer breathe?
The faint but distinct sound of an airship reached his senses and Van focussed back on the task at hand. Once this war was over, he would have the remainder of his life to ponder about these questions but for now, he needed to get the armour.
Looking down on the ship that was slowly moving around the summit, the young king could make out a lookout tower. If the man in there were to see him before he got to the inside, he would lose the moment of surprise and probably fail in fulfilling his mission.
There was no other choice; he needed to get rid of the guy first.
Van dissolved his wings and let himself fall.