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.

And this is what the paragraph about the Creator in the previous chapter is referring to. The odd question that has always been on my mind since I've started writing Baked Love (a few months before I started writing Flight School).

The dragon looked up at her, taking in the eyes that reflected a distorted version of himself. No apology could make up for what he'd made the girl live with. And if God had a voice, would he have done the same? To the people whose houses were swept by the floods; to the animals burned alive in forest fires, to those it took in thunder, winds, seas, and flames. Was God ever sorry for cleansing the world or did creators have the privilege of not having to feel this way because they made the world as is?

Does the excuse of greater humanity or a higher purpose beyond the comprehension of those below necessarily provide the creator with such a privilege of not having to be sorry? Certainly, in my case, I have not harmed real people. I did not physically kill Slayne (he is fictional, after all) or Falrir. I have, however, hurt you in a certain way. So admittedly, the extent of my reach is different from the extent of God's, should he exist.

The question, however, remains rather interesting and my answer is infuriatingly... yes and no. Good god have I pondered over this question many a time to which I find that my mind—being the master of everything you're reading—has reminded myself many a time that of course, killing someone that does not exist to make people who exist learn something greater or gain something they could never gain otherwise so that their minds stretch and reach above their limits does give me that privilege to do whatever I want with my characters.

And yet, my heart disagrees.

The pain that I experience as I write the deaths of characters is incredibly strong and frightfully insane. I almost feel as though they do exist. That is my weakness as a creator. In truth, I have not set my eyes on the goal completely.

Falrir, as the supposed creator of Flight School, was created to be the reverse of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, who, in the Bible, suffered many ends and was the subject of intense disbelief before people began to have faith. Falrir on the other hand, experiences the opposite. Faith was thrust upon him and the burden and responsibilities of mankind's belief, together with his born status, forced him to live a lie that was beyond his decision.

Just as disbelief can be a problem, blind faith can, as well.

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On the Search for Eternity

I'm sure some of you have already guessed, but it is becoming increasingly clear that the third and final book of this series is heavily reliant on the theme of immortality—the absence of time in the presence of it and as such, the Disorder in what was meant to be orderly: the process of life and death.

In the prologue of this book, titled The War, Umbra is unable to come to terms with other Hunters possibly wanting butterflies as Avians. His uncertainty reflects that of every other prey and predator in Flight School, who have, as well, developed a negative impression of 'pests', those lower than prey in the Pyramid.

Vater, in the prologue, says:

"But not all of them are meant to be eaten, y'know. Some people collect them for fun. Have you seen them preserved? Specimens that researchers make and display on their walls?"

Encased in a substance that would separate the creature form the rest of the world as though it lived in one of its own, independent of that which existed beyond itself—frozen in time. The act of eternalizing beauty was addictive and harmless, or so many huaman seemed to think as they drowned the fragile body that was dead in a clear, airless liquid; sealing the fragile creature from a world of decay and destruction.

The longing for immortality and that which was eternal.

Early in this book, it has already been established that the concept of immortality is central to Hunters (who represent human nature at its worst while predators and prey represent humans raw and unfiltered). Humans are and have been involved and invested in the search for eternity since the beginning of time; from the desire of life after death above clouds in the happiest of worlds to the development of genetic manipulation to the simple act of wanting to look younger with beauty products... we all desire, in some form, the stopping of time.

We want to exist beyond it.

Beyond age; beyond the forces of nature; untouchable by that which nibbles at youth and 'better times.' And as silly as it sounds: this is precisely what Vater was speaking about with butterfly specimens. Much too often, we desire to freeze a moment and capture beauty in its essence. Why else was the camera invented? Why else do we dream of having the power to stop time?

To live independently from "a world of decay and destruction," referring to immortality as something that does not exist in our world, is both a privilege and a disaster. And the Hunters, in the midst of their search for this (already halfway complete, I must add, since Sylvain is, as of now, in their hands), will soon see its detrimental quality.

And on the note of "preserving" or "collecting" things "for fun," I would like to ask a question I've always wished to weave into this book but have never gotten the chance to.

Why do people have hobbies?

I often plan my day as I am brushing my teeth. I like to think about what I'll be having for breakfast, lunch and dinner, what I'll be getting on my way home and what I'll do after school, where I'll go, if I should be completing the chapter or if I could be playing video games instead, or watching videos on YouTube or doing my next assignment due three weeks later. I like to think about stuff like that.

But I once thought of something that inspired the making of Flight School. My thought process went something like this:

I'm going to play video games. Come to think of it, am I making full use of my time? Would someone be disappointed in me because I'm doing that instead of something else? But that doesn't really matter, does it? I like playing video games... but why.

I just like it—I can feel the rush of adrenaline without running or actually getting up. But why do I need to feel all that? Is that emotion necessary? (I was, at this time, slightly obsessed with thinking about every emotion and if it was necessary to feel that way) But is that even an emotion?

Why do people do what they like during their free time? What is 'free time'? Does everyone think of 'free time' like I do? And why do people do things during 'free time' when, in 'other times', they, too, would be doing things?

Is it okay to do... nothing?

How long can I do nothing? Why can't I do nothing?

Boredom.

Locked in a room for hours and hours and even with the best food in the world and the most amazing bed, would I, human enough, die?

The answer was simple: no I would not. And yet, just what was so unbearably unattractive about that specific circumstance? Why was I—why were we—so afraid of boredom? Was boredom an emotion? Or the precise absence of it all?

This was it. Boredom; not love, not money, not happiness and not anything else. Boredom was what really ran the world. Boredom was what made us not do nothing. And the opposite of that?

Fun.

Human beings... what truly separated us immensely from animals who had emotive capabilities very much like ourselves was the fact that we had, in so, so many ways, come up with things that would entertain us and distract the mind from the fear-inducing creature of Boredom and its slow, creeping trail that reminds us of the imminence of death.

To distract was the purpose of fun. To entertain was the purpose of fun. To fulfil the ultimate human was the purpose of fun.

And now... the hobby of hunting. A tradition in certain parts of the world, indeed. The prized head. The antlers. The hooves. The tusks. The horns. The hunt.

Simply imagining it was enough; the beat of adrenaline under one's skin and the trembling finger on the trigger. The sweet sound of a shot, fired and then a shot, finding its target. Simply imagining it was making it addictive. A very strange, very odd form of entertainment but still—entertainment, nevertheless.

Having hunting as a hobby... it's not like I've never understood it. It is despite understanding it that I cannot find myself coming to terms with what some people may claim 'tradition.' It is very, very hard to look past something of such quality.

And for that very reason, the Hunters in Flight School were created. To, in part, reflect the necessity of... entertainment. We as human beings, at our worst... being entertained by the misfortunes of others, through Just for Laughs: Gags, behind the screens of our phones and that viewfinders of cameras and that one, frightful crosshair. Among many other things, the Hunters were meant to represent this part of us and more.

Which I hope you'll read till the end of this book to find out :')))) Because I will be doing my best to update more often.

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A final word or two: Falrir and Slayne represent two very different kinds of ends—and for this very reason, I have promised that you would not be reading another Slayne. It is true; having another character die the same, unjust way that Slayne did would have diluted the importance and significance of his death and for that very reason, I'm sure all of you knew that I wouldn't be pulling another because, well, you would knew by this point that I am nowhere near that kind of writer.

While indeed, both charcters have met their ends in a moving manner, the motif in which I have used in every scene with these characters from the very start of the entire series represent entirely different things.

Slayne has his windows. Falrir has his teatime.

To be taken by the Wind and the other, by the scent of cinnamon rolls and chamomile tea in the air are two very different ends which are both real and beautiful. I cannot help but think that I, as horrible as I might be sounding, love writing about death.

Excuse the bragging—but I do think that I and death do very well together. It is one of the themes that I perhaps achieve the most effect in pulling off and for that reason, I cannot help but want to do more *laughs*

Kidding. But I can't say that either because we're only halfway through the book and getting through. Io and the Knights have to save Sylvain. Someone has to find out about Umbra.

There are many things ahead, woven carefully towards a single end in which you will see how everything is tied together but how fast it should come... I don't know. This is, after all, my favourite series and for it to come to an end... gosh. What should I do after? Haha.

And once again, thank you for reading this long wall of text. I hope you enjoyed this and the previous chapter.

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Ah!

The scent of chamomile tea.

Anyone

Care to join me?