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_ "A young fisherman needs a good rod. An old fisherman needs a good eye. But one thing all fishermen need. A hungry fish." _

She repeated the saying in her head as she sat in her office.

Papers were carefully and diligently stacked on her desk, each marked with color-coded strips to note their purpose and origin. Darzarath eyed one specific folder, placed in the exact middle of the desk in front of her.

A knock came from her office's double door.

"Come in." She said, pressing a button on the intercom.

The double door swung open, and a group of about three people walked in.

It was President Jorg Kolman, and his Minister of Research and Education, Kathleena Harp. With them, her secretary walked in.

"Miss Zarodav, may I present you President Jorg Kolman and Minister Kathleena Harp?" Martifia said.

"Miss Zarodav." Kolman said. "At last, I can meet with the woman who contributes to a century-long legacy of progress and honesty with a sound and robust leadership."

Darzarath smiled as she stood up and extended her hand.

Kolman did not seem to be particularly impressed by her sheer size and height, but Harp seemed to visibly suppress a squeak from escaping her throat.

"It is my pleasure to meet the man that received the largest popular endorsement in the last sixty years." She said as she and Kolman exchanged a handshake. "Please, do take a seat."

Kolman and Harp took their seats in front of the desk, opposite to Darzarath, while Martifia approached to stand by her side.

"I trust that this visit will be worthwhile for both." She said as she took the folder and turned it, offering it to Kolman, who looked at its title with a raised eyebrow.

"Proposals for a privately invested space program extension." He read out loud as he handed the folder to Harp, who eagerly opened it.

"Indeed." Darzarath said. "I always had a strong fascination for the technologies and sciences behind aerospace programs and enterprises. I estimated that the current state of things would be a good moment to... push forward certain projects."

"I see." He said as he crossed his arms. "But I am afraid the current budget forms might not allow for such a radical alteration of the already signed plans and orders for the Seralian Space Agency."

"I understand perfectly, Mr President." Darzarath said. "But these proposals do not require any additional budget. In fact, these projects will be wholly financed and maintained by Dracotronics and its connected subsidiaries."

"An interesting point." He said, nodding slightly. "The plans are already signed, however."

"There is no hurry." Darzarath said. "The proposals have been studied specifically to be largely independent of government budget and plans. They are meant to operate in parallel, contributing but not necessarily making themselves indispensable."

"Curious." Kolman said. "Usually, in business terms this means that they are more fodder than function. Unless I am missing something, it is not something that Dracotronics is known to do."

Darzarath smiled again. She opened a drawer in her desk and from it took out a rather long cylinder and placed it on the desk. It was made of plain, bare, lightweight metal, capped at its extremes by two rubber caps.

"It is true." Darzarath said. "However, as you probably have been understanding from the moment you stepped into this office, there is more to this proposal than just business."

She reached to the cylinder and opened it. From it, she took out what looked like an ancient scroll, the weathered paper still seemingly intact despite its apparent age. She slowly unfolded it, and laid it flat on the desk. Harp and Martifia were both confused, the gesture's meaning unknown to them.

Kolman, however, frowned.

"Judging by your reaction, Mr President." Darzarath began. "I assume you know of the Scroll of-"

"This meeting is over." Kolman said as he abruptly stood up and walked towards the door.

"Mr Kolman." Darzarath called, causing the man to stop in his tracks. "We both know well the penalties inflicted to those that disrespect a Master of Alchemy."

Kolman could be heard loudly exhaling, straightening his back as a hand clenched into a fist.

"I have no wish or intent in taking part to whatever madness they are involved in." Kolman hissed, maintaining his back to Darzarath. "I abandoned that life long ago."

"A life that will never abandon you." Darzarath said as she stood up and walked around the desk, keeping her hands behind her back. "Alchemist once, alchemist for life. You made a moral oath when you received your alchemical compendium. Are you trying to imply that you intend to, or already have, break your oath?"

There was a tense moment of silence, in which Harp looked up at Martifia, who just shrugged.

"Pay your respects to the Scroll of Darath, or I will exact the due punishment." Darzarath growled as she slowly approached Kolman.

Kolman slowly turned around, his face marked by a scowl.

"I will not kneel. Not again." He said.

"Really?" She said, amused. "Bold words for a little man."

At this moment, Harp stood up.

"Miss Zarodav!" Harp shouted. "I do not understand what is going on here, but this is not-"

"Exactly, Minister Harp." Darzarath interrupted her. "You do not understand. Stand aside."

"Kathleena, do not interfere." Kolman said. "The powers involved here are much greater than anything you know."

Darzarath was now standing in front of Kolman, her hands behind her back.

"Fine, you got me in a corner, Master." Kolman said, almost spitting poising at the last word. "But there is one thing that I do not understand."

Kolman pointed a shaking finger to the scroll on the desk.

"How is that thing here." Kolman said. "It was supposed to have been destroyed! Thirty years ago!"

"I take due care of my property, Mr Kolman." Darzarath said. "Setting fire to the Academy, my Academy, in a ignorant attempt to unchain yourself from your oath was very rude."

Kolman's eyes widened in horror.

"Be diligent, Mr Kolman, or I will act accordingly." Darzarath growled.

The man turned to look at Harp, who was staring at him with wide eyes and a dumbfounded expression. He shook his head and walked over to the desk, sighing as he slowly placed the hand on the scroll, at the exact center of its circular inscriptions.

"I, Jorg Kolman of Harlton, First Class Alchemist, present myself and my loyalty to the Scroll of Darath." He spelled, his voice low and nearly monotone.

The scroll's lines responded, glowing with light around Kolman's hand. The glow was white at first, and slowly shifted to a blue hue as the glow steadied and then faded.

"Are you happy, dragon?" He spat as he turned around to see Darzarath walking over to her library.

"Oh please, Kolman, you speak like a wrong was done to you." She scoffed. "Were your classes so boring that they led you to loathe the entire concept of alchemy?"

"It was an abuse!" He spat back, approaching the woman-disguised dragon. "There was nothing about good or charity!"

"Good and charity are relative, like all absolute concepts are." Darzarath said. "Your perception of absolute is only as great as the picture you can see through a mortal's small, and limited, eye."

"Spare me the philosophical thesis!" He yelled. "That was not an Academy! That was an asylum! The experiments and the classes were nothing short of diabolical and abominable!"

"Were they?" Darzarath said, turning her head just slightly as she yanked a book in the library, and the entire piece of furniture began swinging towards the center of the room. "You only know the surface."

Darzarath helped the piece of furniture along, having it open completely to reveal a long and dark hallway of stone.

"Tell me an example of one of these... despicable experiments?" Darzarath said as she gestured to enter the halway.

Kolman hesitated, and looked at Harp.

"Jorg, what's going on?" She asked, her voice shaking.

"It will be alright, Kathleena, just... follow along." He said.

He walked over to Darzarath and stood in front of the hallway.

"The worst one I remember..." He began, staring into the dark depths of the hallway. "There was this little girl, could not have been older than 12. She... lost both her legs and her memory in a car accident, along her parents. She was brought in, and put in the medical ward of the Academy. I was assigned as assistant to the doctor alchemist that should have taken care of her. He was a level-headed man at the surface, kind and social. But then, he revealed his plan to help the girl. Transmutation, mutation, and augmentation. I was not convinced that it would work, but the doctors assured me it would."

"And what happened next?" Darzarath asked.

"We applied the procedure." He said, his tone turning grim. "We spent days, weeks even, preparing the alchemical solutions and concoctions, studying the rituals and helping the girl come to terms with her loss. When the time came for the operation, it was just past evening. We gathered everything in the operation room, and carted the girl in with her bed. We cleaned her, told her what was supposed to happen... and we did it."

"Go on." Darzarath insisted.

"We chanted the rituals, placed the seals, had her drink the potions and applied the concoctions to the areas that needed... fixing." He continued. "The procedure... took effect, but things went south, fast and hard. She began screaming, crying, flailing her arms. The rituals were warped, wrong, and instead of healing her missing legs, the wounds were opened, and expanded. Before we could do anything, the girl let out one last scream as her body was torn open from the inside out. I could not bear it, not after witnessing a simple human being being subjected to so much pain. And so, the day after... I burned the Academy by placing precisely aimed and weighted packets of alchemical fire catalysts inscribed with remote command runes."

Darzarath simply gestured to enter, and Kolman, along Martifia and Harp did.

"The open pursuit of knowledge is a road paved of mistakes and sacrifices." Darzarath said, walking in front of all of them. "What happened to that girl was regrettable, punishable even, but incidents, mistakes, errors, all ultimately happen. In alchemy, you only need mistake one letter, one number, and years of work, if not even your life, might be ruined, or even undone. Possibly, that girl could have been saved. Possibly, her death was inevitable due to the extent of her wounds being beyond what the doctors' effective skill was. However, her death would have not been for naught as the doctors would have learned, taken note, studied her inhumane death in order to guarantee a humane resolution to future operations of similar or same kind. Ultimately, your actions have destroyed any future chances that anyone could benefit from such knowledge. Thankfully, such knowledge is not lost."

Kolman remained in silence, sulking as he followed Darzarath. Harp was right beside him, looking around as adrenaline coursed through her veins.

"What is this place?" Harp asked.

"My lair." Darzarath asnwered, matter-of-factly. "Several chambers and hallways, dug and molded from the raw stone at the core of Mount Farpeak."

"You mean in the mountain?" Harp gasped. "But it must've taken years!"

"621 years to dig and mold the baseline shapes, to be exact." Darzarath said. "And no, no mortals were involved. This is all my handiwork."

"You? But, how?" Harp stammered.

"Kathleena, she's a dragon." Kolman interceded. "What you see is nothing more than a shell, a disguise."

"How knowledgeable." Darzarath mused sarcastically.

"My father had warned me." Kolman said. "He told me of dragons and their attraction to power. I never took heed of his words, but I guess that now I should."

"Truly touching." Darzarath sighed.

The group continued onward, advancing through the dimly lit stone halways until Darzarath stopped in front of a pair of large wooden doors.

"Here we are." Darzarath said as she pushed the doors open.

Inside, a library presented itself to them. Tall bookshelves, filled to the brim with tomes and volumes of countless origins, lined the walls to the side and opposite of the door. In front of them, rows of shorter but just as rich bookshelves were neatly organized in parallel lines. The library was dimly lit too, a scarce few sources of light in form of small orange crystals hanging by thin silvery chains between the bookshelves providing what little light made walking through the shelves possible.

Darzarath led the group through the library, until they reached a small clearing with tables and chair. She approached a lectern and put a hand on a quite large and thick book resting on it.

"I believe, Mr Kolman, that you have never seen one of these, have you?" She said.

Kolman approached, but shook his head.

"This is the Master Record for the Academy of Alchemical Methods' Medical Ward." Darzarath said. "All notes and records pertaining to the activities of the Academy are in this book, including reports on successful, and failed, operations and experiments."

The book was largely anonymous in itself, a simple black-dyed leather cover with no visible writings on it, with pages of yellowing paper.

Darzarath opened the book, and seemed to grab onto a small strip of red silk that apparently acted as a bookmark to open it on a specific page.

"Here it is." Darzarath said, gesturing at Kolman to approach. "Have a read yourself."

As Kolman apprached and read the page, Harp and Martifia stood not too far.

"How can this place exist? How could she keep this all secret?" Harp asked to seemingly no one.

"Well, I too was quite shocked when I first found out about her secret." Martifia said. "But the more I knew her, the easier it was to accept that not all she does is for mere personal interest. I owe her, and she owes me."

"Ok, but how is all this possible?" Harp said, indicating the large library around them.

"Millennia of work?" Martifia answered with a shrug. "She is nearly six thousand years old after all."

"Six thousand!" Harp gasped. "That's... that's older than most civilizations!"

"Correct." Darzarath interjected as she sat down on a close-by chair. "I saw the first traces of social structure in the Seralian peninsula and witnessed how they turned from a few scarce villages to a grandiose empire with a tradition of wise leadership. I talked to some of those emperors and generals that made the history that you learn in your books. Some, became friends. Others, became foes. I have earned names and titles, most of which have been lost to the frail memory of mortals."