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OOC: You guys might want to pitch a tent and bring some hot dogs for this one ..
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OUTSIDE THE NESTIOP UNIVERSITY DOORS
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Night was now in the air. It felt cold and hopeless. It shrouds the planet into darkness and transforms the very houses one lives in into something unrecognizable if they don't have some sort of light to fight it. A new sort of life emerged on the streets when the sun hid itself, and once it showed up again, they would all vanish into the shadows of the buildings, only to return when the sun once again retreats into the horizon. They played a forever game of cat and mouse with the sun, almost as though the sun could make them evaporate should they be out when it appears.
He stood, looking up at the large, dark doors of the Nestiop university in the midst of the newly-created night. Any human would marvel at its sheer size and volume in comparison to itself, for it would fear its consumption and helplessness should it wander inside. He, being only half as tall as the average human, had come to see the building as a monstrosity; a large, unforgiving, and unemotional creature bent on consuming the curious and spitting out the enlightened. He did not fear this monster, for he knew that inside, there was knowledge, and where there was knowledge, there was the road to eternal happiness.
His home during the night was the university. A series of buildings connected by a number of single-storey enclosed hallways, covered in glass, concrete, or wood. Between the taller buildings, suspended interior bridges joined the upper floors together, making it look somewhat skeletoid, but impressive nevertheless. The edges were trimmed with silver tarnish, giving the old building an air of modernity. During the day, thousands walked around the campus, always trying to get to an individually objective area. A good number of trees and park-scenery pieces were placed around the university, well trimmed and hard-worked to give it that final, finished look that many admire about its existence.
At night, however, it was a whole different story. The once-inviting doors that were held open by a host of smiling, friendly guards become an unopenable portal into its own separate abyss, locked by more then a simple lock and key. The ever-popular trees and benches became shrouded in shadows; the spirits of the day vanished and replaced with the ghosts of creatures of the night. Enchantments of all different sorts covered the windows and doors, preventing even the smallest of fruit flies from entering completely intact. They put up warning signs, and they even over-do it. Signs as simple as "Don't touch" to as complex as "Warning, magical vaporization field in effect; touching will and may result in the unexpected and undesired removal of limbs and internal muscular systems". And yet, with such signs, warnings, and ominously dangerous-looking barriers, the clean-up staff still receive complaints of disembodiments and people who decided that the fields weren't "really" all that dangerous.
Ultimately, these barriers prevented those in the inside from getting out, and those from the outside getting in. Especially sneaky, intruding thieves like himself. He paid no heed to the door and instead walked along the left side of the cluster of buildings, chuckling to himself. Even with the barriers up and all around, almost making the inside airtight, there were still three types of people that could still get in that building.
The first is the one who knows the enchantment themselves. The higher professors, who studied their whole lives on the basis of magic and studied enough to earn their masters several times over made these barriers. They used a series of complex spell incantations and reinforcements that, when one attempted to bring one down, the others would react in a punishing way against the assailant. Only the masters themselves knew the combinations, and only they could bring down these barriers in case of emergencies without any negative effect to their well-being. If he was one of these masters, he would have no reason to even go to the university, as he would already have known it all.
The second is the one who commands a greater power then the barriers hold. A vast army, with catapults, warlocks, mystical might, and other such power could storm the entire building and level it to the ground, taking the barriers with them as well as those from inside. It would take an incredibly powerful force, carefully organized and coordinated to focus their might on certain, weaker areas, so not as many of them would die all at once. He didn't have such a power or army by his side, but he chuckled to himself at the thought of having one. If he did, why would he attack a university?
No, he was one of the third. He was one who believed, and knew, that there was a very thin line between being wise, being smart ...
... and being clever.
The biology wing was in the eastern area of the campus. A group of large greenhouses with artificially regulated temperatures in order to support the foreign plants and herbs from several different, faraway cultures. Students there studied the genetics and physical make-up of the plants, as well as how they contributed to magic, the atmosphere, and the influence of consumers like animals and themselves. They would taste herbs, shred leaves, look closely at bark, compare patterns, and then write several thousand pages on why a tree has green leaves while another, unrelated one has red ones.
Next door, just to the north, was the zoology section, where animals and anything inhuman became the center of attention for those that were human. Dissections were done, growth patterns were stimulated and tested, and the campus itself played host to death several times over, with the confidence and hope that the stolen lives would benefit science and the understanding of the world to those crazy enough to manipulate it. Those that aren't killed are confined, and those that aren't confined are tagged and tattooed. He stayed away from there at all costs. It was a scary place, even for the humans.
The western end was all about physics and matter. The physics of the world combined with the influence of magic and time are studied here, written in books, and then forgotten by all because everyone already knows it. The simple things are recorded the most, while the more complex, understanding, and reasoning capacities of these aspects are purposely left out of the books so those reading it must find it out for themselves. There are more questions in these books then answers, but for some reason that was the aspect to them that made them just that more interesting.
In the south, there was a large tower for astronomy. They focused on giving names to random balls of gas million of miles away that most likely wouldn't do a thing to benefit the world in any way whatsoever. It was just something for everyone to do in their spare time; remember names made up from the top of someone's heads for little dots, and should another dot be found, they get to name it and let it be remembered for a few generations until it vanishes again, and is forgotten.
Lastly, the north-western area was dedicated to history and the past. Events that happened so long ago, recorded, distributed, lost and burnt in fires, recovered, extracted, spruced up, twisted around, and taught to the students as reality to be written down and recorded only for this to all happen again. He didn't trust history, and the records of it very much, because he figured it was better to make the mistakes and learn from them himself then from those who experienced them in the past. He did read a few transcripts of the city's past, but he too discarded this as something he felt he didn't need to know.
No, his interest was the southwestern campus, where people studied skill and occupation. Where students became magicians, warriors, shopkeepers, businessmen. Where humans became successes, and where creatures became failures. There were several rooms in this campus, and each one received the same students. Then, once they were finished with them, they spat the students back out, but they were now different. Each room spat our a different type of human then the other, and each of them became something different individually until a new generation of economy broke out. This campus was the home to the decisions that everyone made towards the future; it housed those that made those decisions, and it housed the futures that those who desired them wished for.
It also housed a grand, old cedar tree just outside the western wall. The tree itself was nothing special, so no biologist or zoologist would be incredibly intrigued by it. There were several all around the campus, placed and positioned neatly and perfectly, refusing to let nature put its toys where it wanted. It was this cedar that intrigued him the most, mainly because it was his gateway towards the future.
An astronomer would ignore the tree, and instead gaze up at the sky behind it and wonder, just how far is that sky from this tree, and how long goes it take for the light for each star to reach the leaves? A botanist would look more at the leaves and bark of the tree, guess its age, take samples, ensure it wasn't diseased, and treat it appropriately if it was. A physicist would take a more careful look at how the branches and the leverage the roots added to its illusion of immortality, puzzled by how the roots utilized the wide-spread pressure in the ground in order to endure the toughest winds, and how the branches swayed without snapping, even when climbed on. A historian would wonder just when such a tree was planted, what sort of events were occurring at the time, and what inspired the seed itself to sprout into such a majestic monument. A zoologist would look more closer down at the gopher hole just visible underneath the main trunk, where a creature made its home and has decided to dwell for the time being, and they would wonder why here, out of all places. What did the tree have to offer?
But for someone like him; someone who desired a future; someone who craved the thrill of exploration, the excite of curiosity, and the revelation of the unknown would have interpreted this differently. That the stars gave light to find the tree. That the tree was a marker for where the roots were. That the roots were the widespread result of the planting of the seed. That the result of the seed became the hiding place for the hole.
That the hole never played host to a family of gophers in the past in which it was believed to be. Instead, it was created by another, with greater means and aims towards discovering the unknown. Which leads under the room of knowledge and up through a movable tile in the hallway of the restricted building. That only one as curious, agile, and small as he was could wriggle his way down into the hole, with his cavalier tied down to his chest with a string for better comfort, pop up the tile it ended off at, pull himself through the hole the tile's removal created, and the re-concealment of the hole through the replacing of the tile in order to gain the desired, unknown access to such a wealth of knowledge.
The walk to the selected room didn't take very long. There was always something in the dark, gloomy hallway that helped him tell exactly where he was, even though it was pitch black. Professors and students touring the night usually held candles and torches to light up a recognizable path in front of them. He had no need of such tools to see where he was going.
The office was like any other. A large window made up the upper quarter of its door's structure, but the glass was fogged in such a way that one couldn't actually see everything inside. He had never met the professor that the room belonged to, but he did know a number of things about him. One of them being that he was a very avid reader. For one thing, he never went to the campus library. He didn't need to. Everything he ever wanted to read was on one of his many bookshelves surrounding his desk. Books of all different sizes and colors cluttered messily all over the room; some even with the uneasy potential to fall. A few decorative torches stood in the corners, always recently replaced. The professor always liked to do some late work, but he was gone now.
Another thing he knew about the professor was that he was cautious. Even with the barriers in effect, he still took the time to lock his door against any thieving students who liked to break in and steal some of his books and tools. He left no silper in his office, but there were things in there worth much more then mere coins that he knew had to be protected.
His dagger slipped through the strings of its holster into the open. The blade carried a number of symbols, each with unknown meaning, that matched its hilt, giving it a very solid, complete look. He only ever used the dagger to lock-pick and wood-whittle; cutting off unnecessary sections of sticks into figurines and wooden tools. Choppy, but functional. He sold all that he made for a couple of silper each, sometimes even giving them out for free. Though the dagger itself had seen death in its earlier years, it never experienced it in the hands of its current owner.
The blade instinctively slipped into the lock. The movements were careful and delicate, which it was by now used to. Obedient to his master, the knife pushed away the pins and the satisfying click came at the proper time. After opening the door ever so slightly enough to slip in, he did so, and closed it behind him. Then, he stuck the dagger a second time into the lock, messing around with the pins some more, and locking himself in. It was a precaution he always took. Should the professor return to check on his office, the door would remain locked and his existence within would remain concealed. Should the professor try to unlock the door, he would hear the key in the hole, and react appropriately.
Once inside, with his instinct and reaction areas all planned out, he did what any self-respecting thief did best.
He helped himself to what he wanted.
The old man heaved a sigh and started counting. One ... two ... three ... four. Then he started again and repeated this procedure for every step he took. He counted the steps to help pass the time, and make time almost irrelevant to his walking. It was a habit he started many years ago, and still picks up to this day. Several times he would stop walking, wonder why he was counting, and then chuckle to himself for sounding like a fool.
What sort of university master walks around counting his footsteps? One would ask, does he not know how to walk fluidly and routinely? Does this man who specializes in the physics and theories of magic have troubles remembering how to count to four? Can this man, known by all as one of the greater professors of his time, have a secret, behind-the-scenes life where he exists as a literally clueless being? Perhaps he is alien, they would think.
PAH. Let them think this, he muttered. The truth is the only thing everyone will believe once they know it. I count footsteps, and I'm darn proud of it! That is the truth!
He stumbled a little, but regained his balance after a little effort. He was still a bit dizzy, only just recently having used the university's main teleport block to return from a seminar from Orius. Both universities looked quite different from each other, even though they were all founded by the same people. Apparently diversity was a desired factor back then as well as today, so that much hasn't changed in a few thousand years.
The laws were rehearsed, and a little bit of common sense, something ironically rare amongst the professors, spurred about some revolutionizing facts. It couldn't be proven yet, but after some further research, the truth will come. And when it does, he will embrace it with open arms.
Consciousness. He muttered the word to himself over and over again. Yes, there had always been some mystery as to how we lived and existed. Was magic controlling us and keeping us alive? It was hardly likely, because the majority of the population couldn't use, or even understand the art. Those who didn't understand magic simply couldn't use it. That was one of the more ancient laws put into place, to stop all heck from unleashing because of a curious experimenter.
His door stood in front of him, the fogged window reflecting his candlelight. His shaky hand battled with his pocket until it victoriously pulled out the old, silver key that fitted the lock. It was inserted and twisted, and the door clicked happily, expecting his company. It was opened, and he slowly strode into the room. Reaching up, he lifted his candle to make contact with the nearest torch and watched it burst into flame, lighting up a small portion of the room.
Had he been quicker, he would have noticed the blip of action in front of him resulting from his entrance. Had he immediately held the candle up to in front of him, he would have noticed the creature jump from his desk and scurry underneath one of the bookshelves. Had he been really observant, he would've noticed that it actually took a book along with it. Unfortunately, in the distant past, he was that observant and quick, and he would've noticed all of this had he been 20 years younger. But now, he was old, slow, and not quite as observant as he once been, so these events had never happened to his knowledge.
One torch was enough to illuminate the required bit of his room. He didn't like to waste extra torches for something unnecessary. Besides, the best light to read and write notes was by candlelight, so why waste the energy and do it in the first place? He needed this energy desperately to stay awake and focus on the more important matters, like proving this new-found theory true or false.
He sat. He scribbled. He scribbled quickly, disobeying his already aged muscles. Everything was fascinating all over again. Once he put the pen down to the papyrus, child-like energy flowed through him once again. This connects to that. That divides by this. Yes, what he knew came together very nicely. It was the truth, after all.
But here! This phenomenon. Several circles were drawn around a large blank that the majority of the formulas joined to by equal signs. Where did it all begin? What did the master say in the lecture again? Matter, relative to existence. That which consists of matter is ...
He heaved a sigh of disappointment. The energy was gone and he was reverted once again into the old professor sitting hunched over his desk with a look of disappointment on his face. He was growing old, and realizing it now. It wasn't just his body, but his mind too that was beginning to fail him. He wept for a second at this reality, straightened his mind out, then slowly rose from his chair and walked to the bookshelves surrounding his desk.
One of his books contained a few extra formulas to help him piece everything together. Which one was it again ... oh yes, "The Physics To The AntiMatter Theory". Should be around here somewhere. Yes, that's right. 6th book from the left. One ... two ... three ... four ... five ...
He stared blankly at the empty slot in the wall. That was odd, he thought. Did he lend the book out to one of his students? No, that was impossible. The book was too complex for them, so he dismissed the lending of it to those with a lesser degree then masters. Did he lend it out to someone else? Not that he recalled.
Ah, perhaps the book fell down somewhere and he kicked it underneath the shelves. That often happened. He stooped down until he was on his knees and felt around underneath, but his hand clenched nothing. Not even a dead mouse. Goodness knows how they spawned down there without a life to start with. He bent ever so much lower and held his candle down to look underneath the shelves.
"YAAAAAAAAAAH!"
The eyes reflecting the candlelight belonged to something much bigger then an ordinary mouse. The fact they were there in the first place made the professor leap back in shock, almost setting himself on fire with the candle. A creature was underneath his bookcases, and it was large. A large, hairy rat was scary enough, but this nearly made his heart explode on him.
Scrambling away by pure instinct, the professor quickly scanned his options. Get out of the room and call for help, or risk investigating what he just saw himself. For now, the second one seemed quite feasible, as it was highly probable that this was just a stuffed animal placed by a prankster, and even now, the prankster was standing outside of his room, laughing to himself and running back to his dormitory. Foolish kids, he thought, they could have killed me!
The second option seemed harmless enough to cautiously take the risk. Taking a deep breath, he slowly crawled towards the bookcases, looking down as low as he could. Sure enough, the candle reflected a pair of large, orb-like eyes. It couldn't have been anything else. The spacing between them was perfect and symmetrical, and the fact they hovered over the ground in the darkness revealed that conclusion.
Yes, it was probably just a stuffed animal or something. The eyes just sat there, ever so still, unmoved by its own discovery and his shouts of panic. Something wild and untamed would have run off, or cowered in fear in the corner, or even attacked him in hunger and desperation. But this one just sat there, gazing at him. Nothing to be afraid of, he said, even chuckling to himself at the mishap. Tomorrow, he would make an announcement to his class, find the prankster, and scold him something fierc-.
The eyes blinked.
He froze.
They moved.
He couldn't.
A shuffling sound was heard coming from the direction of the eyes as they moved around, heading in his direction. They came closer, appearing larger, and emerged from beneath the bookcase. They rose to nearly three feet above the ground and after looking around the floor a bit, started towards him in clear, focused footsteps. The light of the feeble torch to the right did nothing to scare or show the threat. Useless piece of junk!
His muscles finally responded and he pushed himself back. He scampered, flailing limbs against the ground, only caring for the movements that made him move away from the creature, which continued towards him. His back hit the wall and he grabbed the only defensive tool he had with him. The hot wax of the candle dripped on his hands, and he clenched his dentures in pain, but he held it out, shining its feeble light towards the apparent threat.
It took no heed, and stepped closer. Clawed feet entered the range of the light upon the ground. He wanted to tell it to stay back, even threaten it, but he couldn't speak. He could hardly even breathe at the moment because he was so frightened. This shouldn't be happening in his own office. If he ever got through this alive, beefed up locks and magical barriers of his own will cover the office all throughout the night.
Please, though, he begged, as the figure stepped to be only 4 feet away from the candle, let me live to consider that. Don't let me die here, with such a discovery on the verge of being proven. Why must I die now?
He covered his face with his arms. The candle fell away, rolling on the concrete floor. He braced himself for the end.
The eyes suddenly blipped out.
The words "The Physics To The AntiMatter Theory" replaced them, reflected off the flickering candlelight as it bumped to a stop against one of the torches.
"Did you want this, sir?"
This was a human. It couldn't see in the dark like he could. What's more, it was scared of him. He didn't want to be frightening. That's why he showed himself, approached it slowly, and offered the book at a bit of a distance, giving it enough time and flexibility to decide whether or not he was a real threat to it. He probably wouldn't have been a threat himself, even if he did decide to attack. The human moved so quickly while it wrote that this energy could easily have been applied to disable him and gain control.
It wanted the book, didn't it? It muttered the identical words to itself as it browsed the shelves, and started looking for the book when it realized it was taken. Of all the books, why this one? The chances were incredibly slim he would have picked a desired book, especially since he had picked one of the dustiest to read. Why, then, was the coincidence there? It made him uneasy, almost afraid of this human, mainly because of his discovery.
With discovery, there came a beating. He didn't want the beating. Not again.
So he tried to return the book.
"Wha- ... what did you say?" it finally asked.
He hesitated.
"T-this book, sir. "The Physics To The AntiMatter Theory". Did you want it, sir?"
After it stared for a moment at him, its face portraying disbelief, its trembling hand slowly reached out and grasped the book with its long, slender fingers. It took quite a bit of his strength to hold it up, and yet this old, vulnerable hand lifted it effortlessly from his grip. Once relieved of the weight of the book, he proceeded to pick up the candle and hold it close to himself so the human could take a better look at him.
It looked at him. He looked at it. It looked all over with interest. From the tip of his triangular-shaped cavalier, down his long, brown trench-coat that covered his slim, snake-like body all the way to his small, clawed toes, holding him upright through their delicate, though forcefully confident sense of balance. Yes, human, I am different then you are, but I mean you no harm. Please try to understand that, he was thinking.
If anything, I should be scared of you.
With the book in its hand and the image of its assailant, the human transformed. What was once a frightened, cowering old man turned into a strict, violent monster.
"Who are you?!? What are you doing in here?!? ANSWER!" it roared.
He jumped back in shock.
"I-I'm sorry, sir! I didn't mean to cause you trouble, sir. Please f-forgive me!"
It was his turn to cower. Dropping the candle and retreating partially into the darkness in fear. Not all the way, though. Not a beating. Please, not a beating. I will leave. I will never come back.
"Answer me." it said, a little calmer. Thankfully it knew he was just as scared, "You know how to speak, and respond to requests."
Another long pause.
"Yes, sir." he replied, stepping forward, "I'm sorry, sir. You scared me. I hope I didn't scare you, sir."
"Scare?" asked the human, and to his surprise, it started laughing, "Oh, you scared me all right, but sometimes, that's just what somebody like me needs to get the ol' heart beatin'."
It was harmless now. With that tone of voice, he knew now that the human had come to accept him as a youth. One of their own, in fact, perhaps. It is going to be gentle on him now, so he could now approach it.
It got up, took the candle in its hand, and used it to light the torch to better illuminate this particular part of the room. He just stood and watched the human, waiting for it to start speaking to him. He was never caught before save for the time the mistress got her hands on him, but something inside him said that the human wanted to know a number of things about him.
And he was right.
"What is your name, little one?" it asked. It was calmed down now, so it was easy to respond.
"My name is Vint. Just Vint, sir." he replied.
"Vint, hm?" he asked. The name alone brought curiosity towards himself. Neat.
"Yes, sir." he replied, "I only know it from so long ago. It might not even be my real name, but it is a name, sir."
"I see." the old man replied, "Tell me, what were you doing in here?"
He didn't answer.
"Speak, now." the man continued, "Were you trying to steal something?"
"No, sir." Vint replied quickly, shaking his head.
"Did somebody put you in here and lock the door on you?" he asked.
"No, sir. I came on my own." said Vint.
"Really?"
The professor probably already knew how Vint got in, but he wanted to make sure that the little one realized its mistake.
"How did you get in here?" he asked.
"I ... came in through the door, sir." Vint explained, his large, innocent eyes still gazing into the professor's, "I used my dagger to pick the lock, sir."
"I see. So if you didn't come in here to steal, then why did you come in here?" he asked.
Vint gulped. The man might not believe him.
"... to read, sir."
"Read?" he asked, as though it was a foreign word.
"Yes, sir. I was ... reading that book. It was interesting, sir."
Indeed, the professor didn't believe it. This was one of his more complex books in his entire private library. Surely this little one was lying, and mischievously trying to cover up the truth. He wouldn't have that.
"Do you really expect me to believe you were reading this book?" he asked, "You, who is no more then ... 12 years old?"
"Nine, sir." Vint replied, clenching his fore-claws together in nervousness due to his interrupting the human, "I'm nine years old."
"Nine years old. You were actually reading ..."
The professor stopped in mid-sentence. He knew how to find out the truth, and prove the imp to be lying. Opening the book up, he flipped to one of the first chapters and looked at a simple-enough statement at random. He had decided to quiz the creature, to prove that it was really reading this book and learning from it.
"Tell me, then, if you were really reading this book all this time you were here," he challenged, "What the material composition of matter is primarily theorized as."
"Atoms, sir." Vint replied, "Atoms, which are tiny particles of ... proo-tons and noo-trons, banded together by its individual magical force. It says so on page 47."
He stared, bewildered. Not only did the creature answer the question, but went ahead to explain in finer detail. It even identified the page number he was looking at right now, eyes looking surprised at such a response. Sure it mis-pronounced a few words, but it seemed to understand the concept. But, it could have simply memorized that point and page to spice up his cover. He flipped ahead into a more difficult, obscure section.
"Ok, then." the professor continued, "What happens when a fire is lit?"
Vint paused, and took a deep breath.
"The magical binding of said particles, sir, is partially weakened, thereby giving out some of the atomic composure of the matter and turning it into a carbon-based substance, which is what coal and ash are made of, sir."
He was almost speechless. Excitedly, with the newfound childish energy returning, he flipped through the book, desperately seeking out the hardest, most complex questions to quiz the young one on.
"Ah ... hah, how about then explaining the theory of magi-matter so theorized by ancient Geenaltroun seventy thousand years ago?" he challenged. To make it harder, he didn't even give the formula.
Vint paused, nervous. His large eyes had closed in thought, and for a second, the professor felt a bit of triumph well up inside him. This kid would never have deciphered this.
That was, until-
"Actually, two theories were made by him at that time, sir. Both of them referred to the same thing. The first one stated something about the given mass of an object not being manipulated by the magical binding, which is in turn considered a weightless form of compressed energy by surrounding atoms, which gave birth to the formula 'magical binding is equal to the direct mass of the atom and all particles divided by its composition ratio and particle count'. The second one helps to explain the first one, sir, that a greater force upon these atoms always exists below each one, given by the factor 'element-count divided by the compression angle over force, all multiplied by the first magical force equation', as the weight and compression of added matter forces them down by the aspect of gravity, which is explained by the magical force compressed by the rotations of the Earth itself that make it so that the Earth stays together in one, round piece."
The book fell to the floor. The old man fell to his knees. Never, had any of his students, not even the gifted ones, been able to answer the question quite like this nine-year-old, three-foot red dragonling just explained to him without even a note to read or knowing he was to be quizzed in the first place. It even walked over to him, picked up the book, and lifted it up, asking why he dropped it.
Shaking with excitement, the professor snatched the book and flipped near the end. The most complex formulas in the existence of the university, nay, the world lay there. He had scribbled them on the paper in excite from the previous outburst of potential discovery, and now he would quiz the young one on the thing he was currently working on. If it knew this much, then it could very well be the key to solving this mystery once and for all.
"The third, fourth, sixth, seventh, and ninth theories of anti-matter. They point towards one single equation that solves the existence of all." he said, unable to form proper sentences with all the excitement, "How do they all connect? Answer!"
That was it. The one question, to the world, the universe, and everything. Consciousness was a mere aspect of it. What was the answer? WHAT WAS IT?
The dragonling thought. It thought long and hard, recalling past ideas and thoughts toward the matter. Yes, think, the professor thought, his hands getting sweaty with anticipation, and reveal the answer to become the greatest breakthrough in the history of magic and the creation of the world! WAS IT THEN, THAT HE WOULD KNOW THE SECRET? SPEAK!
"I'm sorry, sir." replied the dragon, "But I wouldn't know that. I have only read up to chapter 12, sir."
... apparently not. The excitement, the anticipation, the energy ... all of it was drained from his body in that one sentence. With every action, there was an opposite reaction, and the man almost felt like he was going to break down and cry.
In fact, that's exactly what he did.
"Is something wrong, sir?" asked Vint, approaching him and, for the first time, touching him, "I'm very sorry, sir. The rest is just too difficult for me to understand. I've tried, though, sir. I really have."
"That's OK." he replied, looking at the little one, who was resting both fore-claws harmlessly on his free hand. He just realized he was down on all fours, with one hand clutching the book, almost ready to grip the dragon and shake answers out of it. But he didn't. What was the point? Everything the dragon knew, he already did.
"How do you know so much?" was what he instead asked. Both their faces were so close, they were almost touching.
"I read your books, sir." Vint replied, "I come here almost every single night. I'm sort of nocturnal, sir. I have trouble sleeping through the night. Plus, I have nowhere else to go, sir, during the night, so I come here."
"But, why come here out of all places? Why not go to the library during open hours?" he asked.
"I'm not allowed to, sir." replied Vint, "Plus, I can't afford the admission."
"... how many books of mine have you read?"
"Twelve, sir. This one's the thirteenth."
"What did you do after you read them?"
"I put them back, sir. I didn't want to cause any inconvenience."
Twelve books. None of them were child's read, either. Each of them weighed at least five pounds, thicker then his arm, and most of them with minute writing and minimal diagrams. How long has this creature been sneaking into his room? Well, that was easy enough to find out.
"How long have you been coming in here?" he asked.
"Three years, sir." Vint replied.
"Are you a student here?"
"No, sir."
"But, surely you live in the campus somewhere?"
"No, sir."
The professor shook his head.
"Now, see, you're lying, son." he said, "It would be impossible for you to access the grounds after night because of the barriers, and if you didn't live anywhere, you would have been discovered in the hallways and thrown out. Tell me, how did you get in the campus?"
"Tunnel, sir." Vint replied, "A secret tunnel I dug, under a cedar tree not so far from here. It looks like a gopher hole, sir, so no one inspected it."
This little one was full of surprises. He would keep questioning it, and it would keep surprising him until he finally woke up from this strange dream. Yes, he would wake up, peel the sheet of unfinished formula paper from his face off the desk which he fell asleep on, leave his classroom, and get some real sleep so he could think about the formula tomorrow.
But while this dream was going on, he would like to learn some more about it. Maybe there is some interesting truth to it.
"What kind of creature are you?" asked the professor.
"Dragon, sir." Vint said.
"... just a dragon?"
"Yes, sir. That's what I've been told, sir."
"Do you ... know ... your species name, perchance?"
"No, sir."
"You sure? Nobody was ever able to identify just what type of dragon you are?"
"Nobody, sir."
"Well, let's see if I can, then."
Steadying hands gripped Vint's under-arms and lifted his feet off the ground. He was carried over to the desk along with the candle, which was nearly spent in its newly reunited candlestick. The desk was cleared with a sweep of his arm, sending books and papers scattering all over the floor. Then Vint was placed there and the professor sat down. A pair of reading glasses were slapped onto his face, and he got to work examining the details of his dream's mind-made creation.
"Let me see. Immediately I can rule you out from Incomdano and Perisiphian, because you are too small for Incomdano and the Perisiphian only has blue-green scales." he deciphered, pulling out a fresh piece of paper and writing notes of Vint's anatomy.
He requested Vint's coat and hat be removed so he may see every detail of the naked dragon. He wrote things, scratched them out, wrote them down with different wording. Vint could hardly even read the writing, as it was being scrawled down so quickly and messily.
"You have hair, so you can't be of the Hanakan class. Also, you have four claws on each hand and foot, so that rules out the Juane and Amgoe classes. No poison barb on your tail either, so you don't originate from swamp territory. That alone eliminates a number of classes."
Books were opened, notes were taken, sketches were drawn, and papers were crumpled. A pile began to form around Vint, who was beginning to get annoyed at his constant flipping him around to look at specific areas of the body.
"Can you breathe fire?" the professor finally asked, letting go of him.
Vint looked at him. Finally, a break.
"A bit, sir." replied Vint.
"Show me, then." the professor urged.
Vint gulped for a second, adjusting his jugular feed. Unlike humans, fire-breathing dragons naturally had 3 pathways from their esophagus rather then 2. The first two led to the stomach and lungs, which operated similarly and automatically just like any human's. The third one, however, led to a separate, gas-filled chamber known as the dragon-lung which collected undesired carbon build-up and converted it into a flammable gaseous substance, which is heated through the body and ignited by the addition to the oxygen. Because of this function, dragons didn't breathe out carbon dioxide, but they still had to breathe in a slow, but steady supply of oxygen for their other systems to function properly.
Vint took a deep breath into his dragon-lung and almost burped out a brief, but effective fireball that lit up the entire room and almost set fire to his sheet of note-paper. He did that to light the stove at the mistresses so the cook didn't have to fumble with the annoying lighter-box early every morning when the house was getting cold. He would sneak in, light it, and sneak back out until the mistress was gone for the day.
Just that burp made the professor scratch out a number of classes and species. Vint got the impression that the ability to breathe fire was a rare one, even for the race of dragons. Scratch-off ... scratch-off ... scratch-off ... read ... scratch-off ... the number of remaining dragon-types was getting impressively low. ... almost too low. Perhaps Vint was going to discover what kind of dragon he was, and with that, the discovery of abilities he had never known before.
"One final test. I promise." said the professor, getting the idea that Vint was getting a little annoyed at his outburst of curiosity. He fumbled around in his desk drawers.
"What is it, sir?" asked Vint.
"I'm going to test reflexes." replied the professor drawing out a small, pointed hammer made from a rubbery material.
"... you're not going to beat on me, are you, sir?" asked Vint, not taking his eyes off the tool. He had suddenly stood up, almost out of fear.
"Of course not. Just a mild tap on the knee. Won't hurt a bit." the professor said, giving a hopelessly assuring smile.
"O-ok, then, sir." Vint replied, sitting back down.
The professor tapped the hammer on Vint's knee. It bounced off harmlessly, then withdrew so the professor could see the reaction. Vint didn't move.
"Did you feel that?" asked the professor?
"Feel? ... no, sir." Vint said, still eying the tool.
"I might not have hit hard enough. Tell me when you feel it." the professor replied.
He hit the knee slightly harder. No reaction. He hit it harder. Still no reaction. He gave some wrist power into it and made Vint vibrate, but he still didn't react.
"Are you quite sure you don't feel anything?" asked the professor.
"Yes, sir. I feel nothing." replied Vint.
Suddenly, without warning, the professor whacked the hammer on Vint's knee as hard as he could with the single wrist. Vint himself slid a ways, nearly falling off the desk, and the hammer vibrated its way out of his grip and fell onto the floor.
Vint didn't even close his eyes in automatic reaction.
"Did you not feel that at all?" the professor asked, a bit of panic in his voice.
"No, sir." Vint shook his head. He was confused. Why was the man beating on his knee like that? Was he trying to break it? Was he angry?
The professor stared for a moment, and with his pen, sadly scratched out every remaining class and species name on the list. Then he threw the pen to the paper in disappointment. Nothing. Not a single species match to this one. Once again, something so close to the immediate, exciting discovery, only to be pulled away by a mere aspect this little dragon held. Every single dragon remaining on the list would have felt the hammer, and reacted in its own individual way. The fact that this one didn't was a disappointment in itself, for there was no species of dragon that matched this result anywhere in his records.
Indeed, this had to have been a dream. That was it, then. No more disappointments. it was time to wake up now.
Vint watched the professor hit his head on the desk several times and pinch his own skin.
"What are you doing, sir?" he asked, in profound curiosity.
"Um, Vint, was it?" asked the professor, "Yeah, uh, would you kindly pinch my skin with your claws, as hard as you can? I want you to make it hurt as much as possible."
"Sir, there's no need to punish yourself. I forgive you for hitting me." replied Vint.
"Just do it. Please." replied the professor, beginning to break into tears. He didn't want to leave this dream because the child was so kind and polite, but he knew he had to. He couldn't grow too attached to it.
"Yes, sir." he heard Vint say, after some hesitation. His eyes were closed, and he was awaiting this awakening.
A sharp pain punctured his arm. Yes, that was awakening material. He flung his arms up in awakening. His eyes opened.
There he was, sitting at his desk. The door torch was lit, but the other one wasn't. He was awake now, sitting at his papers. His glasses fell off, but it didn't matter, because his putting them on was only in the dream. He yawned and stretched himself a bit, muttering aloud.
"Ah, that was a good dream. One of the most interesting dreams I have ever had in my life. If it was real, though, then by goodness, it would have been phenomenal."
A blast of fire flashed from the recently extinguished torch. Its lighting revealed the three-foot dragon clinging on, one hand rubbing the soot off its chest, which had extinguished the torch after the professor flung it by mistake into it, snuffing it out. After using its breath to re-light the torch, it leaped down and walked to him in an partially offended manner, hoping for forgiveness. The professor could only sit in shock and realization, with a point in his arm throbbing and bleeding, that the dragon, who was now putting its clothes back on and gathering up his books was in fact real, and that he hadn't fallen asleep in the first place.
"I'm so sorry, sir." it begged, hurriedly putting books back on his desk, "I didn't mean to hurt you so much. Please, don't beat on me, sir. I will clean up for you, and put all your books back, and I will leave and never come back. Honest, sir."
"Don't bother." said the professor, getting up. There was no calmness in his voice anymore; no emotion, or feeling. He walked over to the little one, who stood there watching him obediently, and picked it up. The books it carried fell to the floor in a new mess. Then he cradled it with one arm while with the second fumbling around underneath in his desk for a cloth. Then, he used it to wipe the charred soot from the torch off its chest. Once he was done, he sat the dragon back onto his desk, sat down as his own seat, and then instantly broke down in tears once again.
"Are you OK, sir? Are you hurt?" asked Vint, tenderly feeling the professor's wound.
"Please ... forgive me." the professor said, in between sobs. He couldn't even bear anymore to look at Vint, "I am so, so sorry. I thought I was dreaming, because you ... and you said ... and I thought ... oh, what difference does it make? I have been a fool all this time. I am so very, truly sorry."
"Don't cry, please, sir." replied Vint, "I think I am beginning to understand. Because you thought I was a dream, you thought I wasn't really a living soul, so you felt you could treat me like a pet or something."
The professor nodded in his arms.
"It's OK, sir." Vint continued, "It happens to me a number of times. I think it's only natural, sir, because I'm so small and young."
"But ... I mis-treated you. I screamed at you, I forcefully challenged you, I flipped you around to get a better look at you. I whacked you with a rubber mallet as hard as I could! I even threw you into a torch! What ... what sort of human does that to a child? Inhuman, yes, but a child nevertheless?"
Vint diverted his attention from the wound to the professor's sobbing face. One clawed hand began stroking his balding hairline.
"It was a misunderstanding, sir. Please, sir, I don't want you to be mad at anything, especially not yourself."
The old man looked up.
"Sniff, I'm just a fool. Nothing more. Books, and teaching, and lessons. I lost all love and friendship because I studied so much, and I was never happy again. I couldn't pull myself away, especially since we were so close to figuring out ... oh, but it hardly matters now."
"You lost love, sir?" asked Vint.
"Yes. My wife. She ... she left me. I didn't spend enough time with her. I ... I even yelled at her. And now this, this reminds me just how hard I treated-"
And once again, a series of illegible sobs.
"Sir, please, I beg of you-" started Vint.
The door flew open, and two more, larger, younger humans stood there. Each one carried a torch, hosting a brilliant, blue flame. At first, they only saw that the professor was in, and nothing more.
"Professor, there's a problem down at-" the one in front started, but there was a pause, as they realized what reality had presented in front of them. The professor, his arm cut and bleeding, was crying, and a small, red dragon sat there on the desk, its fore-claws stroking his hair in compassion.
They didn't know what to think anymore.
"I'm very sorry, good sirs." Vint said, apologizing and bowing, "The good man is very upset at the moment. I assure you, I don't mean any harm to anybody, sirs."
Vint was immediately classified as a civilian to the gentlemen, and they walked to his side.
"Professor, we know how emotional you sometimes get with yourself, and we well-respect that." said the front man. The other one was watching Vint for any suspicious movements.
"But this is an emergency. We need you to come with us please. Grab your pet, or guest, or whatever, and please come with us." he continued, and then, after looking at Vint for a second, proceeded to whisper details into the professor's ear.
How neat, mused Vint as the good professor rose up, straightened his glasses, and wipe the remnants of his tears away from his face casually with one arm. Very interesting, how a sobbing, helpless wreck of a man could suddenly become so calm and cool with himself when presented with an unrelated scenario. Humans and their emotions; either they are overcome by them and say they are fine, or are in complete control and appear otherwise.
"He's not a pet." the professor strictly said, disciplining the person as though he was disciplining a child for swearing, "He is a very special individual. Come along, little one, you may have the honor of witnessing us work. Perhaps you can learn a few things from this."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." replied Vint, blowing out the candle, bowing, and leaping off the table to walk with them as they all walked, by torchlight, out the fogged glass door. The torches will go out on their own. They usually did. The professor would then simply replace them.
_________________
Did you see the fight last night?
Specifics, Alex. I cause them, so I can't narrow anything down.
The one between Hunt and Nomad.
Oh, that one. That was on the ScOrb-Board Network, wasn't it?
Yes. It was. And what have you learned from that?
... that just because they're staring each other down doesn't mean that they need to be stopped, right?
Yes, that's right.
Look. I apologized, all right?!? Geez!
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