*
“Tabula Rasa”
*
He opened his eyes.
Silence and darkness surrounded him. How did he get here? Why here? Couldn't remember anything, but he was aware of his existence. He was. He was, but that was all he knew. A few flicks of his eyelids brought the image into focus, but still without revealing anything in particular. His body seemed numb. Trying to look around and move, his bones and joints were popping and clicking.
A faint light streamed from the corridor into a large, mysterious space that was made of large, blackstone bricks like the essence of the shadow, and at the same time shimmering crumbs glistened within like crystals. The mere sight of black and glistening particles made him feel that the sight was deeply familiar, albeit in a different form than so hard and tangible.
Darkness and beauty, like an endless abyss in which he felt a tiny, insignificant being. It took several attempts to stand. Even more to walk. The path was straight, but walking was difficult. The smooth texture of the stone floor shimmered with gleaming white crystals, as did the walls and the great dome high above him. In this dome, several small holes, as if placed randomly, let in this strange, cold light.
Observing this all around him almost unbalanced him, if he'd ever managed to achieve any. The distance was almost impossible to judge. What had seemed like only a few steps at first had turned into a longer trek to what had initially seemed like a small entrance, now the reality ahead drew as if a quite large gate, slightly ajar.
A strange chaos in his head, like a paradoxical combination of emptiness and sensory overload. He shuffled slowly, tapping strangely on the floor, sending echoes into that vast, domed void of paradox. As if his mind and the space around him were one. Something was slowly forming in that space. He didn't know from where, what, pointless, unanswered questions came and went.
Pulse. Rhythm. Awareness.
The way he moved was unlike anything that moved smoothly. Limping, trembling, meandering, he sought to capture a little more of that hazy glow. Looking at his body, reflections appeared there like the crystal ones from the surroundings, but less intense, as if dull.
The awareness of the what he was.
The tangle of steps turned into the rhythmic clatter of front and hind claws. In the hazy glow, the great gate revealed itself to be a partially collapsed wall. He couldn't fathom how he had ended up in this space, once wholly walled up. Shivered even more, instinctively entering the pale gray aurora. The incoming light, once pearly white, turned strangely gloomy and gray as his vision adjusted. A paradoxical, gloomy light.
Looking back, he saw mostly darkness, and the seemingly random holes at the top seemed to form some kind of dotted pattern. There was no longer a smooth floor beneath his paws, but a rubble of broken bricks black as coal and a strange, gray dust. Exit required climbing over a ground full of shifting, stone elements.
Taking each step created small depressions in the rattling dirt. The treacherous stone slab, after too adventurous intercourse with his front paw, slid down under the pressure of the hind one. He didn't want to go there, he had to, for no reason, instinctively. Eventually, it had to happen, his claws couldn't find traction on the tilted slab, and with a shrill shriek of talons, his paw slid violently into a previously invisible hole by the wall, just before the exit.
He fell heavily down in a cascade of shadowy stones and dust. The scales of his entire body scraped unpleasantly against the texture of the rubble. Not deep, but enough to make him lie flat again. The breach in the wall he found himself in, with a stony growl and trembling, threatened to enlarge the wound in the wall. His forepaws grabbed a more stable piece, but it was much harder than he could have imagined.
The zigzag scar-like fissure was as wide as his body at its widest point, but crossing it would require a nimble leap or a climb. It had indeed once been a gate, but must have been bricked up so long ago that even the stones were crumbling. Finally, he moved his body, bending his tail like a spring to give his hind legs extra support. Scraping his underside like a lizard thrown into a sandy pit by ill fate, he slowly writhed. The arms of his wings met the two edges of the black wall. In a moment of stillness, he stared at his paws, barely aware of being already partway out.
And when his eyelids cleared the lingering dust, his eyes were met with desertion, a vast wasteland. The gloomy, uncaring sky was illuminated by a purple aurora. The surroundings definitely didn’t resonate with his instincts. Everything around was lifeless. Dull rocks, strange structures buried in dunes of gray dust, in places petrified tree trunks, and strange, ebony lichens. Mysterious black brick towers were scattered as far as the eye could see, some ruined, others seemingly intact. Sinkholes with fissures emanated misty glows that wandered aimlessly. Gray fog obscured many valleys, and broad hills were covered with thorny lichens and stone pillars.
The stones moved again, this time part of the wall fell. His body slid a little, and several boulders struck him hard on the head. Another cascade of rubble and dust buried his forepaw, and his left wing became the foundation for a thick section of wall. After a flash of purple light, a rumbling sound echoed from the top of the tower under which he was almost buried. Due to the vibrations, small pieces of stone and dust began to fall down the walls.
After opening his eyes, he shook his head to clear away the dust and stones. He clenched and unclenched the fingers of each paw several times. Too difficult, impossibly demanding. He thought, taking a moment to inspect the body and the situation. The scales were scratched, cracked. Old scars were a miserable decoration. He instinctively licked them, with a strangely dry tongue. All he could do was thrash around in the mess, laboriously freeing his body from this trap, lest he be left a hopeless skeleton buried in the rubble.
A lot of inflexible moves and he managed to slip out of that crevice. The first thing he did was step away from that accursed structure. Indeed, his tower was similar to the others around it, except that this one was dominated by a pale light whose source he hadn't yet seen. Every so often, a deep rumble emanated from the top, accompanied by a small flash, sending another cascade of pebbles down.
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With a more agile movement, he swept his tail, avoiding being hit by one of them. This place clearly wanted the creature to move on. His paws dug slightly into the dust as he made his way to a small hill with rocks. Amethysts, strange, ebony hornworts, and what looked like gray drinking horns grew among the rocks. As he brushed one with his finger, gray dust rose into a small cloud that slowly descended. The dragon practically stood on two legs to avoid the cloud.
This allowed him to look at his surroundings, flattening his wings closer to his body. Everything looked the same around, but there was one thing far away that caught his eye. Only one purpose on the grey horizon. A blackstone fortress, and above, a crimson-purple vortex was swirling lazily on the gloomy sky. His eyes fixed on that lofty point on the horizon as if it was the thing he dreamed about.
He already climbed to the top of the rock at an agile pace, spread his wings halfway and the joints crackled as if he hadn't used them all season. They were too numb, and the fingers didn’t want to move. Thoughts from instinctive sources struck his head. I can't fly. Have to walk, walk to the fortress.
There was no food and no water…
Between him and the fortress was a vast valley filled with dark mist. Mysterious shadows were swirling in the fog. Step by step he regained his strength, and from time to time he could move his wings lighter and lighter. His body wasn't so numb now, but he felt oddly light. His movements and those of the fog seemed to be in slow motion. Perhaps hours, days, or months have passed…
There was no hunger and no thirst.
Constant silence, wandering, wandering. The flow of time was completely immeasurable. Nothing was changing here, but he could feel it, felt that it existed. Emerging from the mist, whispered voices met his ear, or maybe it was just his imagination. The whispers were growing louder and louder, and broke the tiring music of silence, but there were no intelligible words. Lights emerged from the fog, like little stars in the hazy sky. They swirled together and slowly were moving away, as if encouraging the dragon to follow them. Then they rose above the mists.
Time.
The word sprang to his mind. Without thinking about it, he spread his wings wide. And he was flying. Time. And was following the lights. His grey eyes blinked and the lights disappeared. He no longer had the strength to think about anything, just wanted to get to his destination, and since he was already flying and the wings were working, he would do it faster.
There was no joy in flying.
Nothing was bringing neither joy nor sorrow. There were no memories, no emotions. His head seemed cold, empty, and thoughtful at the same time, like a book with an incomprehensible language, full but worthless, full of nothing. Trying to focus on something was like trying to make a snowball out of too dry snow. Time. Crumbs of memories whispered within.
He swam smoothly and slowly over the valley, over the mists that sometimes gently caressed his body, giving the impression of vibrations in his bones. Though he missed the lights to guide him and show him the way, they were not needed because the destination was visible and only that mattered.
Without saying any words something was calling him, putting a desire in his head. One desire to reach the destination. His body wasn't tired, didn't feel the need to rest. He was flying and flying, it seemed to him that he was still flying in one place.
The mists were swirling lazily under his wings, agitated by his presence rather than the movement of air. The shadows were rising and falling back into the gloomy ocean, which in places completely covered the ashen ground. It completely disturbed the perception of flight altitude. It was impossible to see how thick the fog layer was. There was no way to land anywhere but only behind this ocean of dark uncertainty.
Beneath this ocean protruded here and there fossilized trees, stone spires, fields of glassy amethysts, mysterious moans, groans, and whispers. If he fell there, he would never be able to fly again. The swirling vortex pulsated with a similar light to his tower and blocked his ability to fly higher, above the walls of the fortress on the hill. He found some remnant of a wall or building made of shadowy stone on which he landed.
A stronger pulse of light sent out a glow and a deep rumble of thunder, and lightning lit the skies around him. Now it was becoming obvious that he wouldn't simply enter this stronghold. Gloomy mists hid its foundations, revealing only hills covered with hundreds, even thousands, of dark stones. Looking around, he discovered that the lightning had illuminated several points far beyond the mists. It seemed as if the lights that had once guided him were now scattered across incredible distances, distancing the dragon from his goal.
The ocean of fog lazily rippled, revealing more rocks to leap over towards the fortress. Each one brought a tingling sensation to his paws, and when a wave of fog rolled over the peak he was standing on, his legs stiffened, and his next leap simply fell short.
He rolled down the rocks for quite a while, long enough and with such a thud that his instinct growled at his own dragon, slapping him as hard as that stone. Beneath the dark ocean was a literal other world, like a dense forest of stone and amethyst.
A whole herd of four-legged, ebony creatures with amethyst eyes, black antlers, and something like torches in their sharp teeth, came running toward the fallen dragon. They surrounded him in a wide circle, staring straight into its gray eyes.
Instinct told him to close his eyes and nod slowly. In his mind, the beasts did the same, paying their respects. But when he opened his eyes, the beasts vanished, leaving one behind, which bowed and then scurried away like a startled animal.
After a quick glance around, the dragon rose. He placed his paws on the rock from which he had fallen. The shadowy stone was smooth, seemingly adorned with beautiful diamonds in places, but that didn't make it a path that could be traversed by claws.
The rock peaks were hidden from view through the gray fog. Unsure of the direction the stronghold lay, the dragon set off without a second thought, tracking the animal that had vanished into the distance. It was far from a conscious decision.
The bark of the stony forest was unknown words. They weren't engraved, but burned out, some were new, others were already fading into dull spots on the smooth stone. A dead cemetery that had begun to live and grow wild. Everything around it looked seemingly the same, with the only differences being that some of the trees were broken, some leaned tenderly against each other, and still others fell into faded pieces, littering the road.
The density of the rocks and their branches resembled treetops, like a magically transformed cathedral, magically malevolent to the creature with wings. Glittering lights shimmered in the mist and on the bark. Walking through the gray dust, the dragon saw countless tracks left by these strange creatures.
They were close. He felt it. He often glanced back, sensing someone's gaze, glancing from side to side. Sometimes he thought he saw one of them and their black antlers, but they were just more petrified figures. Here and there, the glow of their pale torches filtered through, then he was sure it was them.
The terrain changed from flat forest to a maze of dunes and ravines. The dragon came upon the body of one of these creatures, cold, dead, and without light. An extinguished torch lay near the muzzle, with no twinkle in its eyes.
When the dragon touched the object, it flickered. When the dragon took the torch in its teeth, the torch lit up. Finally, he wasn't alone. The one appeared and looked at his torch, also pointing with a proud look at the petrified body.
Instinct again told the dragon to close his eyes and bow, so he did. Upon opening his eyes, it was surprised to find the creature still staring into his own. The dragon was analyzing the other's intentions.
He had no intention of relinquishing the torch. It was his light.
He tested several times to see how much the other being would allow him to do. Finally, he headed toward another fork in the tunnels, once again following a trail of more tracks. He quickly realized the creature was following him. When the dragon turned and approached the creature, it stood still and refused to back down.
The creature seemed to be gesturing with its nose for the dragon to proceed. It was a sign. The creature seemed to be leading him somewhere, simultaneously avoiding being the first. At each fork, more joined in. Finally, there were twelve of them, torches in their mouths, with the dragon at the forefront. The labyrinth stretched deeper, now offering not only sideways but also upwards and downwards. Many stone steps led nowhere. As if suspended in midair, they were now just an empty path into the fog.
With a growing sense of foreboding, they descended the levels, much lower than the dragon wanted to go. In the larger chamber, the creatures again arranged themselves in a circle, as if each had its own station, leaving one station empty. The connection between the facts reached the dragon instantly.
He approached the stone pedestal. The others placed their torches in their designated places. The dragon did the same.
The domed ceiling swirled with billows of luminous aurora. A series of rustling and crackling sounds focused the dragon's ears on the creatures. They transformed into statues. Stone figures of guardians. Their torches continued to burn.
Looking at the empty pedestal, he realized he was not a stone statue.
He lifted the torch with his snout, and the other creatures came to life and did the same.
Then came enlightenment.
…
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