Lonely Dragon

Alone, so very alone.

'…?'

Regin, the dragon of all that flows in the labyrinth is alone, so very alone.

'What is going on?' Regin thought to himself in a somber and longing tone.

For years, decades, possibly even eons since his ascent to dragonhood, the power and social shackles placed on him only grew, a vast contrary to his seemingly infinite mastery over water, a feat only held by him and a handful of blessed, talented, and chosen people, destined to be great even before their conception. He stood above all, mighty and strong, drunk in power and never-ending reverence of those that fear him and adore him.

At first, it was fine. The very first time he used his power, it was to save those that he loved and punish that wronged him, paying back their treatment a hundredfold twice over.

"It was…gratifying, exhilarating, and very terrifying. And yet…my head was filled with the ecstasy and adrenaline in an amount that almost broke me. My mental fortitude was tested over and over, barely grasping that thin thread of hope. Of course, I got what I want…just like I always dreamed of since I was but a boy. I enjoyed and lamented what I did, just like any normal person would."

A ripple spreads across the deep, deep pond that is Regin's home. This otherwise invisible phenomenon was felt by Regin on a supernatural level, like he was water itself and an unsightly chemical just tried to contaminate him, all the way down to his soul.

"Though…I guess you couldn't exactly call me normal anymore by that point." Regin reminisced—no, not reminisced. That would mean that it was a memory worth remembering, a fact that Regis himself rejected with every fiber of his body.

Regis could still remember that desolate scene.

"…"

The shattered corpse of a once close friend, his bleeding mother trying to approach him, muttering to herself.

"It's going to be fine, your mother is here. I-I will make it all better. So, just...please help me.." Her voice trailed off, eventually disappearing all together.

That woman's death was of no consequence to Regin. He did, after all, not have any parents left. Both of them died due to the common cold, having no money or connections to call their own, they were left to die in the sewers of the town Regin lived in for as long as he can remember, cold and very alone.

Thus, Regin was not sad, or alone, or mad. Instead, Regin was happy.

The lying woman's corpse immediately froze from the mind-numbing cold that Regin's magic constantly exuded. It then shattered to millions of microscopic sparkles of blood-red, the ice it was encased in exploding in a brilliant shower of icy-white motes.

Regin watched idly as the icy-white motes joined up with the rest of the growing monuments, two blood-red pillars made out pure magically transmuted ice made out of the life force of all the town's residents along with a little bit of his own.

Once again, Regin was happy. He was so happy that his missio—

"—What?" Regin interjected himself. An icy-white aura was flowing out of his core, almost as if it was being sucked out of something…or someone.

A chill even colder than his magic ran down Regin's spine.

"W-what is going on?" The confused boy asked to nobody in particular, desperately trying to avoid making eye contact with the prone, dying bodies strewn about everywhere.

Alas, it was for naught, as the dying bodies littered every single corner of every single street. Still, Regin ignored them, trying to search for anything, anyone that could explain to him what has happened, and what he has become.

Eventually, the sun set, and Regin was met with the cold reality that he was no longer who he was. The 'self' that he once new had been washed away like the rising tides.

As Regin neared the end of his barely remaining sanity, a voice resounded beside him.

"You seem to have gotten yourself in trouble once again, old friend." The voice was distant yet familiar, almost like a forgotten memory.

"It would seem that I am left with the tiresome task of taking care of your grand mess." The voice was somewhat quirky, almost chipper about the oncoming work that is to be done.

The owner of the quirky voice stood up from the seat that Regin was also staring at. He…well, that wouldn't be an accurate description. The person who stood up had an androgynous appearance, neither male nor female, but was still exceedingly beautiful. 'They' had a tightly fitting black suit that wrapped around them like it was their very own skin. They also had a white mask with a single, comical blue teardrop seemingly dripping from the left eye.

Regin took in the androgynous person's sight and found himself sighing.

"Why are you here?" Regin said in a tired yet friendly tone, the kind that one would have when talking to their troublemaking friend.

The person in a black suit smiled from beneath it's mask. "For a favor, of course. The same reason I descended into this realm long ago…at your request." The masked person paused for a second before finishing. They sounded like they were making an inquiry—a test of some kind.

"…" Regin just remained quiet, neither curious nor disinterested.

They, the person in the black suit, began walking away from the bench and Regin, leaving him with an odd sense if failure and disappointment, not at the person wearing a black suit, but from the deepest part of himself. It was like a part buried within himself was reprimanding him, berating his foresight and cognitive powers.

The black-suited person looked back, their lime-green eye peeking from the slits of their mask. The one visible eye is swirling with an astronomical amount of power, wisdom, and insight. It looked like a piece of the aether had been carved and placed in the masked person's eye socket especially.

They spoke. "It would seem that you have not fully regained your memories yet. Do not worry old friend, time will soon mend any broken ties with the phantasmal you have had. Until then, I expect a good show out of you, The Dragon Who Succumbed to Faith." The masked figure disappeared.

Regin found himself reflecting even more, trying to find the right philosophy from which he can draw his life from. He needed a path, and he trusted nobody but himself to make and decide one for himself.

Regin  swam up to the source of the ripples, his gigantic mouth opened wide, devouring the siren in a single swallow.

Regin locks eyes with a nameless boy, devoid of purpose.

'How lonely those eyes are' Regin thought to himself.