[Pyro]

VI. Lurking Highlands

    When presented with opportunity, one is faced with two choices; pursuit, and sedation. If one were to not chase an opportunity granted once in their life, do they condemn themselves and waste what has been gifted? Or are they considered sound and mindful?

I have come to a conclusion as I continue my studies; I am stifled by my own knowledge. Or, lack thereof. In pursuit of the future and the advancement of power beyond what I hold now, I decided to trace old trails which I had not wandered in months. The countryside of Kysei, befitting for my ilk. A mage clad in dark cloak and pointed hat weaving across paths like a specter. The march made without heels. I loathe the sensation of high heels after a long day, even if they keep my posture fine. Crossing into the slums of Karaten I grew familiar with my surroundings and was not hassled by the rabble, for they knew better than to approach the higher ilk I posed as. Eyes of daggers and a low head. I crossed the alchemist's shop and weaved my way further and further. 

And when I finally entered the Highlands I sought and remembered, there was naught. I traced my steps from many months prior and remembered where I had been with my trio of companions, the wracked earth proving a welcoming sight to serve as a landmark. And when I realized I was where I needed to be most of all, the next step in my plan to bring forth the being of poison maw and blood. I appeared next to a deer and left a harsh pain down its hind, allowing it to scream into the sky, and my efforts were rewarded with the appearance of the one I sought. His rugged looks; that eyepatch, blonde locks. When he realized there was not danger but only myself, the Wyvern invited him into his cave. It had begun to grow dark, after all. And things more fierce than myself clambered the land in silence; wyverns, mostly. Something I am not yet suited to battle.

Once in His cave, the Wyvern invited me to sit, and we got to speaking. I had worn a very particular dress that hugs the form but drapes and glitters, a perfectly dark but bright highlight for my porcelain skin. I knew, of course, this would draw his attention. But when we began to actually discuss, I soon discovered a great distaste for my own games. I had grown to realize how little I actually cared for playing with heartstrings and the idea of love, and it soured my stomach and heart. So I soon made my intentions more obvious to the man, as to not drag him along. And he soon stated that it would not be possible for me to learn the Draconian tongue, for my tongue was, unfortunately, not crafted in such a manner as to speak it. So I decided that I must either study the tongues of Wyverns to remodel my own, or take their gift from them with my own nature. To advance and become stronger, unrelenting, and understanding. 

And when the moon hung high over Kysei, and a dinner of ewe served, we talked deeper. And I grew to understand the Wyvern and his past, and that I shared great similarities with his upbringing, but his was not the path mine would go, for his was without freedom to begin with. And I was not as tragic as I thought. I dug too deep for an initial meeting and hurt him, but I told him of my own existence, and he naturally grew curious. The third eye which sees stars and alignments draws the attention of the curious inevitable.

I soon slumbered. He gave me his bed; and slept upon a pile of gold like it was from a story. Charming, even with the great wings of a beast and a maw of flame and poison.

The next morning, breakfast was served and meat was had. I was happy, frankly. The freedom from stress of studies, work, binding of thoughts for others and without the chance of discovery. I was alone with a kind person, and I wouldn't have traded that for anything. Over breakfast, we talked further, and he asked me a question.

"Do you wish for freedom?"

And I told him,

"No, I don't want for freedom, because I have taken it for myself. And if anyone were to try and steal it away from me, I would step on their throat."

But it is in reflection that I realized I told him yet another lie. I was not a noble. I was not of a house. And I most certainly did not have my freedom. I still belonged to someone; some thing. The Company. And I feel a peculiar rage boiling inside me when I realize that I had not wretched freedom from the grasp of my oppressor but simply laid down arms and pretended to be sweet and innocent to avoid their ire. In a way, I feel a fraud. And in another, I know that to be true, for it is the basis of my existence that I commit fraud of self and of others.

If I am to become my truest self, I must step on my Master's head until I feel metal snap. And I must not allow myself to be bound by anyone or any thing.

The next day and a quarter were a blur. I was out after another breakfast, under watchful gaze.