Magnus: Dragon Prince

Rex sighed as a familiar view breached his awareness. “Not this again,” he said aloud, looking down the long dark stone hallway, sighing as he slid his hand down over his face. He had a good sense of where he was, he had constantly been having this same dream as of late. He would make his way down the hallway, a loud deep rumbling sound of breathing following, an occasional whisper of his name on the breath of the wind, slowly getting louder the further he travelled down the solo path illuminated by incandescent blue fires burning inside of golden braziers hanging from a short bronze coloured arm extending from the wall every eight to ten feet.

Looking up as he walked down the path he had been taking two times a week now inside of his dreams, he spotted the now familiar singular golden flower sprouting between each hanging brazier, growing between black vines that grew to cover most of the roof to the stone hallway. Rex only recognised this flower due to his visits to the river that cut his hometown in half. He knew this flower only grew in one specific part of the riverbank which he frequented often, but instead of black thorny vines, they were a thin whip-corded shape with a deep green colour. Looking between the gaps in crossing vines, Rex could see an endless dark night littered with stars that only seemed to sparkle when he looked upon them.

Hearing his name growled spurred Rex on, he had noticed if he dawdled too long in one place, the husky breathing seemed to change to become his name, growled over and over, louder and louder until he continued down the path. Since turning seventeen, this dream had begun to happen, but only once per month, and he had only gotten a few paces down the path before waking. With him turning eighteen in the next few weeks, his dreams had increased to the point of discomfort. The only upside was now Rex had made his way down the entirety of the path, which ended with a black door, embossed with golden runes that were drawn in a semi-circle over the top of the door. In the centre was a black dragon standing upon a rocky outcropping spewing golden flame upon a group of screaming people. He recognised the shape of some of the human-like figures, but some were also alien to him. The first time he had reached the door, he had been shocked by the sight, so much that he had faltered and woken from sheer fright. When he reached the door in the next dream, he was prepared for it and had tried every way he knew to try and pull the handle to open the door, but the encroaching rumbling breathing that turned into his repeated name being chanted had woken him before the door had even budged.

This time was no different as he casually made his way down the hallway, stopping at the door and testing the handle, but once more to no avail. Changing to this next known and tested tactic, he tried using his shoulder to attempt forcing it open, but like every other time, the door did not move even a hairs breath. Leaning over the door and resting his forehead on the door to try and come up with a new plan, Rex was about to chalk this up to another failed attempt when the faintest hint of a breeze touched his right cheek. Turning his head to face where it had touched his skin, he noticed it came from the crack between the door and doorframe near the handle. With increased fervour at a new idea, he tried using his fingers to search the outer edges.

Just as he felt the faintest of air touching his fingertips, the ever-so-familiar roaring chant of his name caught him up and he bolted awake, sitting up in his bed panting. Looking down at his shaking hands, he also noticed that he was sweating once more. Waking up in a large pool of sweaty sheets had been a painful discussion with his grandmother, she had asked so many questions as to why he sweated so much, asking such questions as to hint toward possible sickness all the way to maybe pornographic material.

He had tried many a time to tell her he had been having a bad dream and woke up like this every time, but she simply smiled, shook her head and said, “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” before walking away to launder his bedsheets and pyjamas without further questioning. He had gotten lucky toward the end of the year, after every dream he knew he was able to simply drop them off into the laundry and his grandmother would wash and hang them without asking why. This time felt different, like he was on the precipice of something happening with that accursed dream door, even though he was still sitting in sweat-drenched sheets.

Sighing loudly, Rex pulled himself from his bed, and stripped it, throwing the sheets and pillowcase into a pile at the end of his mattress on the floor.

“I might go down to the river, see if that stirs something that might help with that stupid door,” he said in a huff, pulling open his cupboard and retrieving his favourite swimming boardshorts and a nice t-shirt.

Once he was dressed, he hesitated before pulling his pluggers on. He knew once he wore them, they would clap against the soles of his feet no matter what he tried, alerting his grandmother of his steps as he made his way downstairs.

Over the years Rex and his grandmother Iris had formed a game, he would attempt to make his way downstairs without her getting wind of him. He had gotten closer the older he became, picking up on certain stairs that creaked, a loose patch of carpet that squeaked ever so loudly, and a cracked tile toward the edge of the kitchen area that clinked. All these places had undone him in previous attempts, but not this time he thought. Seeing his grandmother sitting in her usual place at the table, sipping her morning coffee, he placed his noisy rubber footwear down to free his hands for balance.

Creeping ever so slowly, ensuring he did not touch any of the cupboard’s edges that held ceramic crockery that would tinkle at even the slightest breath almost like they were booby-trapped, he tip-toed across the last remaining few feet to his target, his pulse thumping in his ears.

Inhaling quietly and reaching out, fingers outstretched, he was mere inches from achieving victory when a familiar sting, followed by a slapping sound shocked him back to reality.

“You got close this time young prince,” a woman’s voice chuckled, bringing a fly swatter back to sit in front of her, beside a coffee cup that read ‘World’s Best Granny.’

“I don’t understand how I never seem to make it all the way,” Rex sighed, his voice and posture depicting defeat, only the smallest hint of an amused smile playing on his face.

“This time I felt your breath on the back of my neck from four paces away,” his grandmother Iris said, turning her head, showing a broad smile, “Come now, I have your eggs, bacon and a little smoked ham ready for you.”

Shrugging and taking in the new information about his failure, he took his place opposite her at the table and picked up his fork.

“You had another dream, didn’t you?” she asked, looking at his face, a few dark lines of worry seeping into the usual happy expression she wore.

“Nothing more than usual,” Rex said between forkfuls, ensuring he didn’t speak with food in his mouth lest he receive another snap from the flyswatter for being rude.

“You must tell me what you see that shakes you up so much,” she said with a frown, “I don’t know what to think of this.”

Rex was used to Iris being both sides of the coin, his father and mother figure in his life. He was told multiple times by her that his mother and father had dropped him off at her house due to a family emergency when he was still an infant. He had tried many times to try and glean more information about the subject from her, always receiving the same flat answer, “When the time is right.”

“I might go for a swim today,” Rex said, trying to do his best to put on a smile. It was Saturday and after a long, hard week at school, plus the dreams increasing he was feeling the stress. Everyone at his school seemed to know he had no parents besides his grandmother and due to this fact, he was constantly awkward toward others and teased and ridiculed. He had resigned to the fact he was a loner and wished for the finalisation of his schooling.

“You’re a day early for the flowers,” Iris replied with a knowing smile, hidden by the coffee cup brought up to her lips.

“I know, I just want to float for a while. It gives me time to blank out,” Rex said with a grin.

“Very well,” Iris said with a nod, “Please be back by the time the streetlights come on. I don’t want to have to ask the constable to find you again.”

The one time he had floated downstream, he had fallen asleep. It had surprised him he had not drowned, and by the time he had awoken, he was quite a few kilometres downstream, and it had taken many long hours to slog his way back to his bicycle and backpack in the light of the moon. The town’s constable was there with a tall slender woman in a grey suit by the time he had arrived back and had received a stripping down about worrying parents about the whereabouts of their children before his bike was loaded into the trunk of the police car and he was given a lift home.

Thanking Iris for the meal and placing his plate into the sink, he patted his stomach happily and began his walk out, leaning in to give his grandmother a quick peck on her forehead, retrieving his footwear after leaving the room and as he passed into the garage, he reached down and grabbed his backpack that held a towel Iris had constantly swapped out for a fresh replacement and his phone for music and his floating speaker.

Grabbing his bike and adjusting his backpack, he began the long ride to the river. After leaving the colder sac street his grandmother’s house resided in, he would have to travel from the outer suburb of town through the northside regions of his hometown Oak to reach the river, arriving usually an hour once passing through the gate.