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Every time Neil’s eyes fell to the overflowing bookshelves pushed to the far back of the crèche, he subconsciously compared them to the ones he knew well. Despite not being much of an elitist himself, there was an unshakable difference between those he recalled and those that he hears through his office walls.
“Wouldn’t that just be due to the fact you’re… from a different time, Captain?” Brett mused, rustling for a pen he’d momentarily misplaced. “I was led to believe that things passed by mouth are often altered as the community and culture changes as well.”
Neil nodded to his thoughts, and vaguely to Brett himself. For it was true that years were mere catalysts for change of all sorts- from evolution to planet alignment- but for him they felt like messy scoops of days pushed and pulled from his memory. The lengthening of what lays ahead only makes the past and present seem far more… fleeting, he presumed, as to not overwhelm himself with thoughts of boundless prospect—not that 100 or so years hadn’t already given him a steel shell to things of such nature.
Brett held the pen between his forefinger and thumb; found and returned to its’ rightful home. He looked at Neil in the same way he’d watch one of the orphans struggle through a maths question. Painstakingly.
“Really Captain, I wouldn’t concern yourself with it. Especially not while you cast such a shadow of authority over everyone here. Your history is something that should bring you strength and light in times of dark, right?”
Turning to Brett, Neil hummed short and silent agreement. He was technically correct; and even if he wasn’t, in comparison to Neil’s lifespan, it would be only the time it takes to walk down a busy street until he too passes away, leaving Neil alone. Again. “Right- oh.” The topic was begging to be changed, “Speaking of light. Was any shone on the recent case in the town of Proteus?”
Finding comfort in his work, Brett shook his head and proceeded to answer in a way Neil would have to ask him to explain once more in a few measly hours. This was either because he wanted to hear Brett’s voice again in a way that would remind him of the untimely nature of youth, or because he wanted to colour in a little more of his memory with the present moment in which life was nothing more than friends and acquaintances. He wasn’t quite sure which. Sometimes when Iris spoke to him in long breaths of exhaustion from work, he would try and remember everything she said so he could write it down and remember it well. Sometimes when his co-workers would invite him out for drinks, he would order only water to savour what incidences he would try to inscribe into his memory.
He wasn’t quite sure why. If you asked him if he was concerned, he would say it stood on neutral ground with him, and that his thoughts right now were deeply encrusted within his busy line of work. But like many have said, human and dragon alike; we all want to remember our lives as they are, and as they have been.
Neil was not desperate to die, he was desperate to remember. Sometimes he did think about the effects of him simply picking up a gun, placing it between his eyes, and shooting, but the outcome was predictable. He would be, inevitably, fine. His clothes would need washing. The other dragons in the force would be concerned about how fit he is to work. The orphans would cry from the loud noise. Brett would give him the same look as before. Life would go on, and the earth wold keep spinning, and another case would come in.
Sometimes he feared that he was perhaps becoming too used to this cycle of repetition; the same actions and duties following each day in merely different locations with different situations. It was a harmless fear, if anything, for there would be no time in his life where he would have to forcefully abandon it due to mortal issues, like old age or health.
Years passed quickly for Brett, but quicker for Neil, and soon Brett stood at what ultimately was an unchanged height, at 19 years old. His birthday party wasn't much of one; the children giving him homemade gifts while his co-workers went above and beyond-- so he said. Neil rubbed a thumb against his cheek and commented on how far he's come since they found him, before sharing what details he remembered of that place that sat so predominately in Brett's memory, and then left to use the toilet before his co-workers’ eyes started watering.
It was for the best.
When he returned, the room's atmosphere had changed, but Brett was the same as he had always been.
This was also for the best.
Spurred onwards from this celebration, months later would fall Iris’ birthday, then various other members of staff and orphans. One mentioned how they never celebrated his own birthday, and suddenly it was a very real thing that he only smiled and nodded to. Blue banners (and other colours, but blue was clearly the most overriding one of all) that spelt out varying degrees of happy birthday- with letters painted over and crossed out- were strung around the work place, and Neil smiled and thanked the orphans for their hard work, only to later that night spend his time with the other members of the force trying to get paint off the rug. They, too, gave him a pat on the back and a thanks for all his hard work; Neil smiled and told them that they were the ones he should be thanking for keeping the force as flourishing as it is today. This isn’t a one man effort, of course.
That night, Neil dreamed about what it must be like to be dead. He saw calm waves of silence beneath his feet and a sense of impending darkness. Really, it felt just like how life had: eternal; undesirable. Woken by his consciousness at the earliest peak of the morning sun, Neil rolled out of bed and sat on the edge. Beyond the police station, there were a cluster of homes that belonged to each officer, respectively. Pulling back the blinds covering his window, he could see Brett was already awake (something he had made a habit of upon first arriving as a young boy), and all other officers were asleep.
He got dressed, if not quickly but messily, and crept his way into the main building as quietly as he could.
William, who was only staying in their hands for a week for his final part in formal training, was standing out in the hallway as if he was waiting for something, snapped his head across when he heard the hushed footsteps of the captain. “I—I promise I wasn’t doing anything bad, Captain Neil!”
Slightly confused, but not awake enough to inquire deeply into the matter, Neil bent down onto one knee in front of the young dragon. “There’s nothing to be worried about, William,” he assured. May I ask what you’re doing up so early? As a growing dragon, it’s important to get a good night’s rest so that you may grow to control your powers.”
William was already making good progress in his development of skills, but that was a fact outside of the situation. Neil and William both knew this well.
“Ah… Oh, I was asleep but…” He paused for a short moment, opened his mouth to talk, and paused once again. “I had a bad dream. It was about someone a bit like me! But not… quite. It was a dream eating… animal of some kind, and a little girl kept asking it to come eat her dream, but… it wasn’t satisfied with just the nightmare. So instead he—” pausing” again, William looked left, then he looked right. In something akin to a whisper of the winds themselves, he muttered, “He… ate her hopes and ambitions as well. She was nothing more than… um… nothing, I guess.”
Looking displeased with himself for talking so much, William averted eye contact with his senior and instead found comfort in letting his vision run along the floorboards amongst the dust that had collected overnight.
Neil gave him as sympathetic of a smile as he could muster. He had researched an animal of folklore that was similar to that of William’s dream; a spirit that was created out of leftover parts of all other life, one who feasted on nightmares of those who did not desire them. Yet, rightly so, there was a twist. Some were manic with hunger and would eat dreams of all types. Aspirations and hope would stay no longer once they had been devoured by such a beast.
Unsurprisingly, this was not something he wanted to tell William. Fear-mongering in children was not something he took pride in doing.
He kept his smile spotless towards the boy, and told him, “Creatures such as those aren’t very common nowadays. Surely it’s a blessing to know you come from such a noble heritage, no?”
William’s eyes brightened ever so slightly; a child whose naivety is his best trait is one easiest to convince. “Yeah…!”
“Now, ah,” Neil shifted his gaze to follow up the corridor to check for any lost souls. “Rest a little longer and I’ll see you a little after work. By the way, are your lessons going smoothly?”
The younger took to describing how the teacher looks at him with eyes that feel far too soft for someone like him, and how he’s glad he’s going to go home soon to see Sophia again, and that he’s very thankful for being offered this short class because he was worried that something might suddenly happen and his powers would go completely haywire. Then he opened the crèche’s door- patterned with various drawings the younger ones had done- and disappeared.
Afterwards, the day past post-haste, though perhaps it was passing like so while the conversation was taking place regardless. The sun had begun to set when Iris told him about the new case she was working on, and about how she was getting slowly angrier at how incompetent some of the lower-down officers were. Neil reassured her that they were merely trying to keep up with her fast analysis. Officer Ashberry only half-heartedly agreed.
The sun rose once more. William had long left and Brett’s physical age had caught up with Neil’s visual one. Together, they looked like long-time friends bronzed by the golden sheath of age. Apart, they were co-workers.
Teobaldo Leonhearts had, apparently, died. The funeral was short-lived and hushed, and the few people who did show up gave unsure, shaky praise to his rotting body lying in its casket. Neil rubbed Efina’s hand as she told him how unexpected it was, and that she’s scared for the future. He offered her a temporary place to stay while she gets back on her feet, but she politely declined, proclaiming she had to see the rest of the world.
“There’s no need to rush yourself, but I’ll respect your decision with all my heart. Drop by if you need anything, of course. You’ll know where to find me.”
Efina grinned, as did Neil back at her. His ribs crushed and tore into his heart when he remembered that he will witness her death as well. He did not frown. Teobaldo Leonheart’s colourless face had been crafted into an uncharacteristic smile.
At the end of the year, Neil would visit a graveyard of his choosing. He was not one for higher deities (for if they really are up there, would it be his own sin keeping him alive instead?), but oddly he was one for prayer.
This year, like all others, he returned to the previous captain’s hometown, knelt before her grave, and pushed his hands together in silence.
This was a moment that belonged only partly to him.