The more he talks, the more fascinated I become. Part of it comes from the places themselves. Part of it comes from realizing just how much life Vyrathion has lived before he ever met me. I know he's ancient. Intellectually, I understand that. Hearing him casually reference civilizations that have risen and fallen before entire nations on Earth exist makes it feel real in a way it never has before.
More surprisingly, I begin noticing how much he enjoys having an audience.
Every story gradually transforms into evidence of his own brilliance. Every disaster highlights his survival. Every dragon eventually recognizes his superiority, at least according to him. Under normal circumstances I probably would've rolled my eyes.
Instead, I find myself smiling. I like that he’s this strong and mighty. It all could be true.
The conversation lasts longer than I expect. Partly because the storm gives us nothing else to do, and partly because once Vyrathion starts talking about himself, stopping him becomes almost impossible. Every answer leads naturally into three more stories. A question about one world becomes a description of another. A description of another becomes an explanation of how he personally destroys a kingdom, acquires a treasure vault, defeats some monstrous beast guarding treasure, or murders a rival dragon. I suspect some amount of exaggeration is involved, but I'm becoming less certain about how much. The longer I spend around Vyrathion, the more I realize that reality often turns out to be the less ridiculous explanation.
"There was a desert made entirely of crystal," he says at one point. "The dunes would sing whenever the wind crossed them."
"That sounds beautiful."
"It was intolerable."
I laugh. "Because of the singing?"
"Because the reflections were everywhere. Every direction contained a stunningly beautiful dragon, as dark and as golden as me!"
For a moment I'm not sure I've heard him correctly. "You hated it because you kept seeing yourself?"
"The images looked like rivals. Very beautiful and powerful and awesome rivals, of course. But I’m not used to seeing myself." The look on his face suggests this genuinely was a hardship.
"Ah. That would be a lot to handle."
“Precisely. After I defeated the first one, I ignored the others.”
I’m confused. “Wait. Were they mirror images, or real dragons?”
He sighs. “Who’s to say what’s real? I saw a magnificent black dragon with remarkable golden accents, a clear mockery of my own. It made me furious and I attacked him. Perhaps there was some shattering of glass. Perhaps there were shards of crystal everywhere after that. Perhaps there were many other dragons who looked the same way after I dealt with the first one. But I showed them all who is the real Vyrathion!”
My mouth falls open. “You attacked your own reflection? And you broke the mirror?”
“It was an unusually clear reflection,” Vyrathion mutters. “And it kept staring at me!”
I put my hand to my mouth to stifle my laughter. “That’s… a magnificent victory…”
He nods solemnly. "Yes. Few dragons can say they have defeated themselves. And yet you are to keep quiet about it. I tell you this in confidence and I will rip you limb from limb if you betray my trust."
“I won’t,” I manage. A few minutes go past as I try to collect myself. I know he wouldn’t appreciate me laughing at him. And I think this is the closest I will ever get to him admitting some kind of funny mistake. I can’t imagine he’s ever told this to anyone else. The trust he shows me is probably huge for a dragon.
“Can I sit like this?” I change my position until my back is against his middle and I’m leaning back on his massive chest, not bothering to wait for permission.
“Oh, very well,” he sighs. “It doesn’t bother me that much.”
I casually grab one massive, clawed hand and put it on my thigh. “You’re a very spectacular and majestic dragon. I’m very impressed by all you have told me. Thank you for trusting me.”
“Hmm,” he growls.
In the silence I try to figure out how I feel. And the answer is… comfortable. Somewhere along the way I've become accustomed to Vyrathion's endless confidence and bizarre priorities. There was a time when every move he made scared me and I was walking on pins and needles to not offend him. Now, I think I’ve figured that he’s obviously deadly and the most dangerous thing on the planet. But maybe not to me.
That realization lingers longer than it should. I try to blame the storm. The shelter is small. We're trapped together. There's nowhere else to look and nobody else to talk to. Under those circumstances, it's natural to become more interested in the person sharing your circumstances.
The explanation sounds reasonable. The fact that I keep repeating it to myself probably isn't a great sign.
Is this how Astrid felt with Praxigor? Did she start to feel comfortable with him?
Outside, thunder rolls across the sky again. The sound is so constant now that I've mostly stopped noticing it. Rain continues hammering the roof overhead. Water drips steadily through several weak points in the shelter. The puddle in the corner has grown considerably larger and appears to be winning its ongoing battle against Vyrathion's engineering.
