Clinton woke up in a closed room, unsure how long it had been since he was arrested. The bed was comfortable; however, a leech stone kept its magic energy at zero; his legs and hands were tied and covered with stiff gloves. Being tortured by the regulators was the last thing he remembered. It made no sense to endure such pain; no one would come to rescue him, so he decided to "cooperate" for the time being. There were warlocks at the service of the kingdom, and he knew it from the day he put his hands in his regulator's uniform. That was his exit plan. As long as he was useful, they wouldn't kill him. With the knowledge accumulated in recent years about Van Vatnik, he was sure of his value. After "confessing" his crimes, a team of mages and members of the court came for him for a more "deep" interrogation. His bet had yielded fruit; he was alive. Clinton passed from the hands of the regulators to the magicians of the royal court, who later informed Celent that the prisoner had died during the interrogation.
'Warlock Clinton van Ferra, it is a pleasure to see you awake.' There was a man sitting on a sofa on his right, tall, white, with a shaved head, dressed in a pitch black suit. A few seconds later, the man was tapping at the door of the room with an established cadence.
'If I am still alive, it means that you need me for something or that the warlocks who work for the kingdom are interested in what I know.' Clinton went straight to the matter without wasting time.
'Excellent deduction; you are partly correct,' said the man with a bit of annoyance in his voice. He didn't like the casual way Clinton spoke to him. Perhaps he had been too hospitable with the prisoner, and the young man did not understand his situation. A mistake on his part.
A moment later, a group of people entered the room, both men and women. All well dressed and with dual magician badges. By the badges, they had a primary mastery of different elements and a minor in shadow magic.
'What exactly was the purpose of your spell, Warlock?' asked a woman of low stature and fat, with black hair wrapped into a bun.
'I should be a god right now,' said Clinton with a smile. Forcing the muscles of his face to move caused him pain because of the burns that were still healing. 'But obviously, something went wrong.'
'Gods don't exist, boy. We abandoned religion after the beginning of the magic age; only an idiot like Van Vatnik would be so egocentric. There are no gods, only magic and magicians,' said the man who was once sitting on the couch. 'Do we have to torture you again? You're smart, so you know you're among the magicians who use arcane magic, although we do it in a controlled way, for the good and progress of the kingdom. We value knowledge above all things, but don't get too cocky; there's enough knowledge of arcane magic in this room to find the solution to whatever your little spell did without your help. Your life hangs from a thread, boy.'
Clinton knew they were right. He didn't want to go through hours of torture again, so he decided to tell them about his spell.
'According to Van Vatnik's instructions, there is a lot of chaotic energy available; it is an inexhaustible source of power, but to open the link to that energy source, you must combine the five elements. That was the hard part, gathering the vital and magical energy of five magicians of different elements in a single container. Luckily for me, the perfect ingredient came my way. The spell worked; my ingredient was able to absorb miasma and use it as energy. But that beam of light didn't do anything, and eventually the container exploded. I must've been wrong about something.'
'Oh, by the heavens, this boy has no idea how arcane magic really works,' said the fat woman with a gesture of surprise. Her comment made Clinton's heart skip a beat; he would be in trouble if they deemed him useless.
'Where are Van Vatnik's notes?'
'In my mind, I have destroyed everything.'
'You, little... Melan, take care of this brat,' said the fat woman, looking at the man from the couch. 'I have neither time nor patience to deal with an overgrown baby with grandeur delirium. The fool has no idea what he has caused, and the worst thing is that he still thinks he will become an all-powerful being. Get everything he knows about Van Vatnik as soon as possible, and then get rid of him.' The fat woman and the rest of the magicians came out of the room.
For the first time in his life, Clinton began to feel nervous. Obviously, that woman had a high rank in the court, so the way she dismissed the importance of his knowledge was a bad sign.
'That was very stupid on your part. Now the overwhelming majority of the Dark Court considers you useless.' Melan reproached him with a gesture of disappointment. 'Luckily for you, I have another perspective. First, let me congratulate you on the success of your spell. Second, I have to warn you that you are the most despised man on this side of the three worlds. Although I don't know what the dragons think about you.'
'Dragons?' asked Clinton, confused.
'Your little spell seems to have broken some barriers between worlds. The Dynasty and the Kingdom of Orphen, through the Infinite Desert and the jungle of Morr, have connected with what seems to be a world of dragons. I have seen a few flying near the citadel's and towns near the jungle and the infinite... We'll have to change its name; apparently, it's not infinite anymore. Anyway, all the kingdoms fear that we will have to start a war against these giant flying reptiles.'
Clinton kept looking at Melan with the face of someone who is lost; "nothing of this was written in Van Vatnik's notes... Dragons, other worlds? What the hell is he talking about?"
'I suppose Van Vatnik created that spell when he was very young, had not so much experience, and did not know how to properly control arcane magic. The spell seems to release the source of corrupted energy, but it does nothing to control it.'
'Arcane magic is powerful; destroying dragons or whatever should not be too difficult.' Clinton's words sounded arrogant and condescending.
'You are indeed a stupid child, as Lydia said,' replied Melan.
'So much power wasted, and am I the stupid one?'
'Boy, why do you think you have miasma disease? The continued use of arcane magic turns your natural magic energy chaotic. Haven't you wondered what happens to most warlocks?'
'The regulators are killing them.'
'How many warlocks have you seen fall into the hands of the regulators?'
Clinton kept thinking.
'That's right. Very few, the majority of them, die from the miasma disease or commit suicide after falling into the Arcane frenzy.'
'You've been using arcane magic, right? Have you not noticed it in yourself? A warlock who uses too much arcane magic becomes addicted to power, becomes more and more obsessed, loses control over his emotions, loses his mind, makes increasingly dangerous experiments, and sooner or later, if they find themselves in a situation where they have nothing to sacrifice, they begin to burn their own lives, as it happened to Van Vatnik.
'Wait a moment, didn't the magicians of the court kill Van Vatnik?'
'Puff, we wish.' Melan said it mockingly. 'Van Vatnik was the most powerful magician in history. The court could barely stand up to him. However, their attacks were enough to force Van Vatnik to get serious; he fell into the arcane frenzy and ended up consuming his own life.'
'Is the whole history a lie?'
'Generally, yes. Listen, boy, I'm not here to give you a history class; we need you to study the spell you've made and see how to use it as a weapon against our potential enemies. Those dragons are amazing, and we don't know how much harm they can do, but don't even think you're indispensable; there are enough magicians with knowledge of arcane magic in the court to solve this situation in the long term. We could get rid of you without it representing a problem, but I still prefer the easier path. I want you to remember that. I'll leave you alone to think for a while.'
Melan left the room, leaving Clinton alone with his thoughts. He knew that the only reason he was still alive was because he had some value for the magicians of the court. They wanted the spells and the knowledge he had learned from Van Vatnik's notes. If it weren't for that, he would have been executed right after the torture. His situation was not good, but it could have been worse.
'You are worth what you have, what you know, or what you can provide,' Clinton said to himself as he looked at the ceiling. His life was at stake; he had to be more cunning and skillful than ever.
Meanwhile, in the Kingdom of Orphen and the Dynasty of Poem, dragons were continually seen flying close to the citadels. The sight of the enormous reptiles frightened the population. The first time a shepherd came back to the village shouting that he had seen a dragon, leaving his goats abandoned, everyone thought he had gone mad, but when even knights, merchants, and nobles began to see them in the most remote areas of the big cities, things changed, and now panic reigned.
'Good morning. I'm Milton De Ramgo, from the Ramgo noble house. I request a hearing with his Majesty.' A peasant of about forty years presented himself to the guards at the entrance of Telasa, the royal city.
The guards looked at the man for a few seconds before laughing. Milton was dressed in a worn-out old suit; it wasn't a plebey's clothes, but the suit had definitely seen better days. His dirty hands and the face burned by the sun indicated that he was a poor peasant, roasted from farming the land, probably a miserable bastard without two copper coins to his name. A man like that requesting an audience with the royalty was pure comedy.
'Laugh whatever you want, but at noon today, a great dragon will come from the north,' said Milton, pointing to his back.
The mention of a dragon stopped the laughter, and the guards pointed their spears at Milton, who became nervous. Having the spears in his direction reminded him of his encounter with the dragon. He was working in the fields when a huge shadow covered him from the sun. It felt good to have what he thought was some cloud shielding him from the scorching heat. It was only when the strong wind and the feeling of having something behind him forced him to turn around that he panicked. The huge dragon was the size of a two-story building. The fear seized Milton's mind, and he lost control of his sphincters. His pants were filled with feces and warm urine.
'Don't be afraid, creature.' A voice resounded in Milton's ears. 'Can you understand me?'
Milton was still standing, looking at the dragon. His legs had turned into two pieces of trembling gelatine. His face was pale, his pupils dilated, and his heartbeat was so fast that it sounded more like a whistle.
'Creature, I will not hurt you; I can assure you, I mean no harm. Lift up your front legs if you understand me.' Milton took a few seconds, but after he understood the message, he managed to raise his hands slowly and rigidly, as if they were made of wood.
'Excellent! I'm known as Demulaer. How do they recognize themselves in your species?'
'M..., M..., M... Milton,' the scared man whispered. He was still petrified, but he began to believe that it was not real. Why would a dragon understand him, or the other way around?
'I must be dreaming,' he said to himself.
'MMM Milton, my race must make a covenant with your race; a great enemy is approaching. A great war looms over us'
'Well, well, what a weird dream. I will soon wake up, and everything will be as usual.' Milton picked up his hoe and proceeded to plow the land.
'MM M Milton?'
'Mr. Dragon?'
'Dragon?'
'Yes, dragon, you are a dragon. I am a man. This is a dream. I will soon wake up, and none of this will exist. And my name is Milton, with only one M, not M M M Milton,' he said as he used his hoe once again.
'I can assure you that this is not a dream; this is as real as the enemy approaching your world. If your world is not ready for battle, your race will disappear.'
Milton continued to use his hoe to plow the field, not paying attention to the dragon. Demulaer raised his head and threw a powerful flame into the sky. Milton turned around. The heat was felt in the air, and the sweat on Milton's skin dried as he looked at the column of flames rising from the dragon's mouth.
'Do I have your attention now?'
After this power demonstration, it became a lot easier for Milton to accept the idea that he was not in a dream and that he actually had a dragon in front of him. He talked to the dragon for a while. They had cultural and expression differences, but that did not limit the mutual understanding too much. Although they could understand each other, they did not speak the same language. As Demulaer explained to him, dragons could communicate with any species that had enough intelligence to handle the information. They spoke through their breath, and their throats created vibrations at the same frequency as the language of the creatures with whom they communicated. While the dragons interpreted the sounds of other creatures directly in their minds, more than words, they understood intentions. As a matter of fact, Demulaer had wasted some time talking to a pair of goats before, but as soon as he interpreted the basic sounds of the animals, he understood that more than talking, they transmitted certain states. They only transmitted constant screams of danger and fear before they ran away. They were no different from other beasts in the dragon world.
Milton came back to the present. Now, with the spears pointing at him, he felt slightly threatened, but that was nothing compared to six feet of flame spewing dragon.
"At least my pants are clean," he thought before speaking.
'Well, I thought this would happen. It doesn't matter; we'll wait for the dragon right here.'
Milton turned his back on the spears and looked north. The guards did not react; obviously, he was a crazy peasant. Maybe the heat finally made him lose his mind. They waited all the while, laughing at the expense of the madman. It was about fifteen minutes, and the guards were about to kick him away when Milton pointed his finger in the distance.
The watchmen of the city's towers rang the alarm bells when they were capable of distinguishing the creature. In a matter of minutes, all of Telasa was on high alert. Squadrons of knights ran through the city toward the North Gate.
Meanwhile, 'We have to see Captain Bulcho,' insisted the original guards of the North Gate, who had left other guards in their positions and had escorted Milton inside the city. After insisting on and partially explaining the situation to several intermediate superiors, they let them pass.
'It better be important; there's a dragon out there,' Bulcho warned them when he saw the two guards come in with Milton held by his arms.
Bulcho was a tall, white man, almost two meters tall, with huge hands and long, black, straight hair that came out from under his helmet and a thin, well-groomed moustache.
'Yes, sir, it is important.'
The guards explained the situation to the captain and told him how Milton had warned of the dragon's arrival almost half an hour earlier.
'Idiots! You have brought into the city a possible enemy spy.'
The faces of the guards became pale, as did Milton's.
'No, no, I'm not a spy; the dragon just wants to talk. He told me that if he showed up in the city, it would create panic, so he needed someone to introduce him to humans. His name is Demulaer. He is a messenger of the dragon's world; he says that the dragons are waging a war against a new enemy, which they call the world of chaos' an agitated Milton explained to the captain.
The dragon was still at a prudent distance from the city, close enough to be seen but not to attack or be attacked... at least in theory. According to reports, there was no indication of hostility. Bulcho had no idea how dangerous a dragon was, and there was a whole world of them. According to the "explorers" that the Kingdom of Orphen and the Poem Dynasty had sent, a single dragon could be a catastrophic event. He would not be the one who initiated the first conflict between the two worlds, much less in the royal city.
'We shall see what the dragon wants. Bring this one along,' ordered Bulcho, referring to Milton, as he walked toward the North Gate.
In the royal city, the only ones with more authority than the captain of the guard were the generals of the army, high-ranking nobles of the king's bloodline, magicians of the court, and the royal family itself.
'The dragon will come near,' warned Milton when he arrived at the North Gate with the captain and a bunch of magicians, guards, and knights armed to the teeth.
Milton lifted up his arms, making the signal Demulaer told him to do when he formulated his plan. The dragon slowly approached the North Gate. When he was several meters from the door, the knights surrounded him; their spears were ready, and the magicians were ready to launch their best attacks at any notice. The dragon remained calm; there was no fear in his posture or in his eyes. The men looked insignificant to him.
'Captain Bulcho, I present to you Demulaer, the envoy of the dragon world,' introduced Milton.
'Greetings, Captain Bulcho. I'm Demulaer; my race sends me to warn you of a great danger hanging over our worlds.'
'Tell me, dragon, what is this danger you speak off?' said the captain, surprised that he could understand the enormous creature. In human legends, dragons were wild beasts who cast fire on their prey and lived in caves, grabbing all kinds of bright objects, devouring everything on their way, and destroying entire cities. But those were just stories; nobody had ever seen a dragon. They were just a kind of legendary monster from novels and dramas. Although explorers and spies of the dynasty had already warned that dragons seemed to live in an organized way and showed intelligence, talking to one in person was another thing.