Flight School: Hunter

Teatime

Fly, Dragon is the chapter in the third book that compliments Dragonfly in the first, otherwise known as the chapter that Sylvain makes his appearance. In Dragonfly, readers find out that dragons and butterflies can somehow come together and share a table despite their differences in the Pyramid and it is also the chapter that foreshadows Falrir's death.

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For tonight, the boy settled with the assumption that everything must have tasted good on Falrir's tongue. Perhaps age had something to do with taste buds—but that would be left to another day or thought. He made a mental note to think about this matter again. But then another disjunction surfaced. If Lord Falrir was one to overlook small details so easily, how did he remember a butterfly?

Surely, many things were bigger than a butterfly. So Io arrived at the conclusion that perhaps the smallest things mattered most to the bigger things. The boy found this conclusion fairly... satisfying.

Strangely, however, the contentment made him recall something else; and that was what his mother once said—

That some things tended to taste better

The closer one was to the end.

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On the Creator

I'd planned for Falrir's death long before I'd planned Slayne's; although I must say, both were equally important and admittedly, I did intend for both to die from the very start but just in what way, I wasn't too sure yet. Falrir's had solidified first.

Reason being, Falrir has on his back, a role to play that supposedly resembles that of an author—that which I have understood for some time ever since I started writing this at 15.

The creator, I have always believed, is responsible for each and every thing they create. There is something curious about being an author of a book that resembles the power of God and the power in which we harness to craft something beyond the understanding of the creations or the higher purpose, the greater humanity. I've heard multiple times about how we, as God's creation, have no idea what he has planned for us for it is greater and beyond our comprehension; something so great that we are but small and insignificant parts of it.

In that sense, I've always seemed to sympathise with the problem of faith or trust in the Creator; in which I sometimes experience myself. I used to have expectations of readers actually understanding the entirety of my work and coming to terms with its complexity and depth of at least a glimpse of the sublime that is this series but alas—it doesn't happen.

I, as the Creator, can do as I wish to everyone in this book; and by doing so, do as I wish to you, the reader. I can toy with your feelings, make you squeal with joy in one second and bawl like a baby in another. But what of the purpose of doing so? After all, I cannot possibly write things like that for no absolute reason.