Charta et Chao

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. I know. That one is definitely on me. My bad. Yesterday’s inconveniences may be partially my fault. In my defense, when I first created them, they were cute and tiny babies, like myself, and I obviously didn’t know better. I was barely 10! How was I supposed to know 12 years later they would grow into these gargantuan uncontrollable flying flamethrowers? Besides, you HAVE to look at the bright side! Tourism in the Valley has never been better. I mean, what other town in the world has a sign that reads “Human population: 45,000. Dragon population: 2.” Thanks to the dragons, we had an influx of people wanting to move nearby which stimulated the economy of the town. A lot of jobs opened up, we needed more construction workers than ever. Even our college mascot is way cooler now. “Nevada Valley’s Dragons” instead of the “Nevada Valley’s Tumbleweeds” (remember that?). Point is, it’s not ALL that bad.

Right, you guys don’t know what happened when I was 10. I should explain:

I was raised with all your stereotypical “middle kid syndrome” issues. 3rd child in a family with 5 kids, oldest of 2 boys, out voted in any family debate by my 3 sisters, overshadowed by my precious younger brother, and all around just ignored, neglected and left behind. You know, typical middle child stuff. While we are an overall healthy family, it was hard not to feel left out. All my siblings had an identity, a gift, something that they were just so freaking good at. Ana, the oldest, is an absolute genius. Straight As her entire life (that includes law school, by the way). Sara is our future “superstar,” singing her way to everyone’s heart in all the school plays and musicals and already cast in a couple of Broadway shows (nothing you’ve heard of, though). Sofia is a sports prodigy. Any sport she tried out for, she got in and became number 1. And the youngest, Santiago, is an absolute ray of sunshine. EVERYONE loves him. Humble, loving and good looking. Me? I was just kind of.. there. Even my group of friends was really just a mix of misfits and misunderstood people. In highschool, they called us the “Broken Toys Club.” A group only broken people were a part of. We didn’t really care about the name, it was the bullying we had to endure that was hard. Still, we graduated high school, got into college, we “grew up.” I love my family, but man, I was STOKED about not living with the constant pressure that I felt from them. Plus, I really wanted to have girls not know me as “Ana and Sara’s younger brother.”

I’m getting sidetracked, sorry. I swear it’s important, though.

So. Me at 10 years old.

Since I spent most of the time ignored by my sisters, and my brother was too young to realize my sisters loved having him around only because he did anything they asked, I spent most of my time reading. I love my brother, though. He is the only person in my family I really felt I had a real connection with. And he loved it when I read my fantasy books to him. I read really any book we had but Fantasy was by far my favorite type of stories. A world where anyone could be a hero? Sign me up. Magic, mythical creatures, leaving at whatever age to start your own adventure… I dreamed that could be my reality. Luckily, my parents didn’t mind my isolating hobby. They even supported and funded it. Any time we went out to buy Sara a new shirt or Ana would need to go to the library, they would give me some cash to check out a book at the library or even buy one! If the book showed any sign of a fantasy background, I would instantly get it, no questions asked. So, when we heard that the local library was getting rid of some old books for very very cheap, I just couldn’t say no to taking as many books as my 10 year old arms allowed me to carry.

My curiosity drove me straight to the oldest, dustiest books in the sale. We bought like 9 books for me that day. 9 books that seemed to be the most ancient and have the most fantastic covers you could possibly imagine. Leather bound books, golden gilded titles, a fantasy buffet for a dreamer like myself. That day, when I got home. I started going through them, to see what delicious meal I would take as a fantasy appetizer. I set all of them down on my bed that night and marveled at the possible adventures those books would take me on. I saw one that had some latin name, I can’t remember what it was. I was intrigued by the words I didn’t understand and, the fact that it was the size of my torso, made it the obvious first choice. Luckily, the actual book was just in “ye old” English, not the language those words I didn't understand were in, so it was nothing I hadn’t dealt with before. Turns out it was a compilation of multiple different stories about artifacts and relics from history and the reality of their “mythical” power, but it mostly focused on a set of books from history. Some names I had heard of in past stories I had read, like the Necronomicon, a book that supposedly had the spells and rituals to summon beasts (fun fact, most powerful books and grimoires in movies and shows are actually based off of a real book, like Marvel’s Darkhold is based on Morgan Le Feys’ “Book of the Damned.” Cool, right?). Others, I wasn’t even sure how to pronounce. As I kept reading about these incredible books, I turned the page and found a notebook. It was the same size as a regular school notebook and it had been somehow sewed into the book’s frame. It was barely hanging there and it somehow looked older than the book it was in. Very carefully (but without much hassle) I was able to take away the thread that bind it and cautiously examined it. The cover was a blue so dark, if I didn’t have the full light of the sun, I would have thought it black. It didn’t have an author, or much decor. The pages inside it were blank, even. The only words in the entire book was one phrase on the back of the cover, written in very crude ink letters: “Begin Your Adventure”.

My innocent eyes widened. It was like a passcode to the key that locked my desire to write. Reading those three words made my mind fly into a galaxy of all my thoughts, the adventures I had read and wished I could be a part of. It awoke an insatiable thirst to transcribe my every thought. Write about every daydream I had, every fantasy I had created in my mind, every story I conceived every time I was ignored or left alone all those family road trips.

And so I did.

I picked up the first utensil I had, a pencil that was on my nightstand, and began: “There once was a boy who was part of a big family but, no matter how many people there were, he always felt alone. Until one morning, two baby dragons found him. He raised these dragons in secret, and became so close, they could communicate just by looking at each other. They would grow up together, mirroring the boy’s growth. These dragons had come from another realm to take him away from this world. Another world where he was known and respected by everyone. With the help of the dragons, the young boy would grow up strong and have many adventures of his own.”

I wrote for so long, I didn’t even realize I fell asleep. Granted, it wasn’t very high level writing. Again, I was only 10. But still, impressive. Imagine my surprise when what I wrote became a reality.

That 's right. Next to me, underneath my blanket, there were two creatures I had only seen in my imagination. Clearly reptiles because of the scales, they were around the size of a golden retriever puppy. One was a mixture of dark purple and blue, like an artist depicting the universe. The other was a green so deep, it would have gotten lost if it wandered around a forest. And they both radiated the warmth and safety of a hearth.

I don’t know if it was the book’s magic or just the genuine purity of a child, but, at the time, I didn’t question their existence. I embraced it as the book’s response to a ten year old’s wish.

True to my story, I kept my dragons, Galaxia and Zephir, hidden from the world, patiently waiting for them to carry me away to this other realm I had written about where I was going to be respected and have many adventures. In the meantime, I wrote other short stories, stories that also came true. I wrote that the Hero in my story had a group of friends that understood him and it came true. I wrote that the Hero survived the attacks by the bullies and it came true. I wrote about my dragons’ growth and how they would become strong enough to fly me to the skies whenever I wanted, and it came true. So I kept writing in my magical adventure journal, especially about my future. I wrote about how I would become the Dragon King, and my dragons’ strength would be heard across the land. How I would meet a beautiful warrior and we’d fall in love. My future was going to be amazing.

Over the years, Galaxia, Zephir and I grew up and, thanks to my notebook, things went well enough. I would write my stories and experience my secret happiness, knowing I would have Galaxia and Zephir with me to save me from this invisible life I lived. However, things started going wrong when I moved out to a nice apartment after graduating highschool 4 years ago. I was careless. My family was moving to a new house so my mom put my adventure journal in one of the “donate” boxes, or threw it away, or who knows what happened, but when I came back to help pack my things, the notebook was gone. That same day. Galaxia and Zephyr, as if they decided they wanted to rebel, left their hideout and showed themselves to the world. Luckily, I taught them not to burn anyone, but that didn’t change the fact that two very real, very alive dragons showed up and destroyed the local bowling alley. From there, every month it seemed as if they got worse. More moody and violent. They didn’t purposely hurt people, but they did cause mayhem and panic more times than I can count. Any free time I had, I spent talking to them, figuring out what was wrong. They were always very sorry, but never really had a good reason as to why they grew more disruptive. It was as if something was pushing them, urging them, challenging them to go out and cause chaos.

After years of speculation, the truth came out. I don’t know how, I know the hideout was near impossible to find, but someone did find it. An anonymous tip was given to the local news about this site and next thing I knew, Galaxia, Zephir and I were found in our cave. At first, the attention was nice (Dragon Tamer was a much better nickname than broken toy). People thought of me as a hero since I always proceeded to calm and tame the mighty beasts. Things were turning out alright. Like I wrote in my Adventure Journal, I was starting to be respected and hailed a hero. And I started to believe I really was a hero. After a while, though, I started to (logically) get blamed for the things Galaxia and Zephir destroyed.

Turns out, I didn’t really know what chaos was until yesterday.

It was in the news all over the world. “Dragons rain hellfire on Valley, Nevada. Thousands dead.” Galaxia and Zephir displayed what was a terrifyingly awesome spectacle of fiery force from the sky, as if the gods themselves were punishing the people. Nothing could be done. I ran towards them, somehow not affected by the flames, and tried to stop them, but the worst possible action happened - my dragons bowed before me and, in a voice so deep, it belonged in a chasm, they uttered their first words ever out loud:

“All hail the Dragon King. All fear the Dragon King. All bow to the Dragon King.”

Everyone across the world heard it. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew they did. People looked at me with uncontrollable fear. No words were said. One could only hear the flames consume the entire town to charcoal. It was at this moment, when I realized, I wasn’t the Hero of the story. I wasn’t the main character. I was the opposite. Without knowing it, I was the evil tyrant, the Dragon King.

My name is Alexander. I am the villain of this story.