The End of Fire and Scales

Nothing could distract one from a hunt quite like the smell of fresh blood.

An avian screech cut through the air as golden nostrils flared at the scent. Below, pink cherry blossoms capped in snow passed in a blur as the face of the Jorgand Mountains fast approached. Slit-pupil eyes of molten honey slid from a frantically fleeing griffin to the trees below. She had thought her empty stomach had fooled her, but the air carried the delectable aroma of sanguine satisfaction to her from the east adamantly. It called to her, seemingly pulling her shimmering snout towards it with invisible tendrils. It was a call she had little choice but to answer.

She played a dangerous game in traveling this far west as the territory of the Frigid Doom was known to be well protected. However, he too had recently produced a clutch of eggs with his azure mate, and he too ventured elsewhere to hunt. It was common sense, after all, to leave the prey close to home untouched so the hatchlings could practice. However, this also meant that skirmishes of dominance versus parental willpower happened often. And, more often than not, resulted in deadly consequences. She knew Tirgaan had been gone for weeks now and would be returning soon. She had to work quickly.

The griffin’s feathered wings flapped harder as it banked towards a cave in the mountain face. With an annoyed growl, she abandoned her prey and tilted eastward as the oversized chicken made it to safety. Her slim, muscled form made her swift and able to cut through the wind like lightning through the sky. Golden scales caught the rays of light seeping through the thickening clouds and shimmered finer than any ore the humanoids could ever procure. Frill-connected barbs bordered her head like a halo and sharp spines lined her back from nape to tail tip. Her jaw was not built for unyielding strength like that of her onyx mate, but her alabaster teeth could cut through flesh and scale with blissful ease.

Her head tilted slightly as a sound reached her ears. A mewling, followed by cries infantile in nature. The scent of crimson only grew as she descended towards an opening between the trees. Large, membranous wings expanded to gather the wind and slow her descent. Thunderous wing flaps filled the air, blasting pink petals everywhere. The cries became wails as her feet hit the ground with a shuddering thud and she snaked her head beneath the tree line. Her wings tucked in as she lowered herself to a crouch, her scaled nose worked once more to pinpoint the source.

Upon closer inspection, it appeared the distress originated from a small thicket of poorly-looking bushes. Her tongue ran along her lips as she tasted the air, the blood now close enough to distinguish its fae nature. However, an aggressive growl from the brambles made her pause. Another deep inhale revealed an accompanying scent of fur, saliva, and lupine sweat. Yaps of increasing ferocity followed, and her lips pulled back into a toothy grin as the air was tinged with fear.

“Leave.” She huffed, her breath rustling the bushes enough to break off branches. The barks turned to whines and the wails intensified, but she waited until the wolf had left the underbrush before she pounced. In a blink, her jaws closed around hair and bone and a small yelp of pain gave way to the sound of chewing. She made quick work of it and left nothing behind save small tuffs of fur that fell from the scuffle. Pleasantly sated, her attention returned to the bushes.

“Hush now.”

The voice from her lips lost its rasp and grit as a voice of milk and honey emerged. And suddenly the ground wasn’t so far away. The trees seemingly grew as soothing magic surged through her, shielding her from the pain of the change. Four legs became two, claws became fingernails, and scales melded into caramel skin. A breathtaking face was framed by pointed ears, a set of straight horns atop her head, and long brilliant locks of golden hair. The warmth of her body dissipated the snow beneath her feet cascading cool water between her toes. Her arms were bare, however, her sleek form was covered by a fine, flowing dress gifted to her den long ago. Before she had never understood the need to cover one’s body with sheep wool and bug excrement, yet she enjoyed how this garment accentuated her humanoid form. An embossed, gilded collar held two strips of white silk spanning over her chest down to the matching belt that rested on her hips. She gave a small shake sending the golden flower embroidered skirt dancing with her movement.

“Come now young One,” She soothed as she paced to the bush and pulled the branches aside. Her pristine face fell into one of pity as she beheld the small child, little more than two years of age.

The youngling was well bundled in a parka of hide and fur. His small face was red and scrunched in displeasure, his nose dripped snot and his orange eyes poured tears as they looked up at her. One of his pointed fae ears had escaped his hood, its pale tone tinted pink at the tip from the bite of the cold. He sat on his rump and cradled his arm close to his chest, the bleeding puncture marks of teeth prominent around his elbow.

“You are safe now, sweet child,” She comforted and reached down to tuck his ear back into the warmth of his clothes. That was when she noted his hair color, a tone akin to that of a rich berry wine. The dark plum color flushed her mind with memories of an old Queen from ages past. Laughter, a fanged bloodsucking smile, and the scent of apple cider and cinnamon played in her mind as echoes of long conversations played in her ears.

“Why so far from home, Little Prince?” She queried.

She couldn’t sense any further damage to the boy, so she gingerly plucked him from the ground. He clung to her immediately, his little arms wrapped as tightly as they could around her neck as her warmth soothed him. Her hand went to his small back, a light presence to reassure the tot of his safety. She had witnessed humanoid mothers bounce their crying offspring to relax them, so she gently bobbed up and down in the hopes of doing the same. The shuddering sobs diminished to sniffles, then to calm breaths as his hold eased. His head pulled back to look up into her face. The little expression of curiosity turned into a gentle smile.

She tilted her head, puzzled. “Where are your ancestors’ fangs little One?” She questioned, gingerly using her thumb to inspect his gums. With nothing there, she gave the child another whiff, scenting the faint tinge of undead that ran through his veins. Considering the ruling house of her homeland rarely mixed their blood with other races and definitely wouldn’t leave one of their precious offspring alone in a foreign land, there could only be one reason why this youngling sat in her arms.

“Ah,” she drawled and rolled her eyes. “Humanoids placing their infidelities upon the shoulders of their children. How unfortunate, Little Bat.”

The boy paid no attention to her words, seemingly enraptured by the horns atop her head. She ignored the twisting in her chest from the boy as she looked to the skies, the clouds darkening further and further. No crashes of thunder or bolts of lightning could be seen, but it was only a matter of time.

“Show me your arm,” She demanded.

The boy lifted his arm up to her face, the sight of the blood making him tear up again. She snapped her fingers, gathering the boy’s attention as a little flame sparked from her fingertips. She watched it dance and sway in the child’s mesmerized eyes before it turned into a small butterfly. The illusion fluttered around his head as she got a better look at the wound. The punctures had already clotted over however she knew that his being of only partial vampiric nature would greatly reduce his rapid healing.

“Let’s heal this up, shall we?” She said and focused her attention on the hold of her illusion. The color shifted from fiery orange to a soft light yellow and the smoke trailing it became sparkling specks of fairy dust in its wake. She focused as it landed atop the youngling’s wound, the small forelegs delicately tapping the skin.

“What is your name boy?” She inquired in an attempt to distract the boy as the butterfly slowly melded into his flesh.

“I Castor,” he managed with a bashful little turn of his eyes. Memories surged again as she saw a friend blush upon the touch of her newlywed husband’s lips.

She chuckled. “Well then, Castor. What’s your favorite color?”

The boy contemplated, so deep in thought he felt nothing as she worked to stitch his tissue and skin back together. Castor pointed to his eyes and exclaimed, “Mama orange!”

Her chest panged with pity and sadness. “I think orange is a pleasant color, don’t you?” A voice for a moment long passed chimed in her ear.

“And where is Mama now?” She asked, trying to ground herself.

The boy’s face fell in an instant as he pointed to the ground below. “Sweeping.”

She sighed with a small shake of her head. Before she could ask anything else of the boy, he pointed up at her and said, “Name?”

She grinned. “I am called-” She started, but a booming voice cut her off.

“Phyna, The Gilded Scythe.”

The sound of wings filled the air as the wind buffeted the trees around them. She held Castor close, hushing his startled cries as she angled herself to shield him against the wind. She cursed under her breath as Tirgaan the Frigid Doom landed before them with a ground-shaking thud. His menacing frame lumbered above the treetops and knocked a couple of cherry blossoms over as he moved his head below the canopy.

“What are you doing in my lands trespasser?”

His alabaster scales did not shine like hers in this lighting as their surface was still covered by the brine of the seas. He was a large dragon, even larger than her own mate, with thicker wings and a clubbed tail that took trees down with it as it swayed. Two large, spiral horns protruded from his thick skull as smaller decorative barbs accentuated his powerful jaw. Tirgaan was older than her by a few centuries and smart enough to know that she was at a severe disadvantage in this form. She had to think, and fast.

“Hunting, just as you were in the territory of Shellaxis. How is that old water wyrm doing?” She quipped in an attempt to buy time. Tirgaan was having none of it as he pinned her with a piercing blue stare.

“Shellaxis is not nesting. You come here knowing this land houses a fresh clutch of eggs. You decimate three griffin nests, chase one dangerously close to my mountain, and now you try and play mind games with me? You may have been able to hide behind your Colchion before, Little Gem, but he is not here to save you now.”

His iced breath chilled her skin as he spoke with words of increasing irritation. Her magic reached out to Castor as she placed the boy upon her back. Flame turned to sheets of arcane fabric that wrapped around the boy and secured him soundly between her shoulder blades. She stood tall and held her chin high as Tirgaan scented the boy.

“Why have you brought a Ravanian child with you?” He asked with a heavy snort and shake of his head.

“I did not bring the youngling with me. The scent of his blood at the jaws of some wolves distracted my pursuit.”

Tirgaan’s eyes narrowed as he sneered. “You interfere with the natural way of things Phyna. A mistake. One that will cost you your life.”

The Frigid Doom lunged forward with a powerful snap of his jaws. She dove for the tree line causing her shoulder and arms connected with the solid ground awkwardly. Phyna scrambled to her feet and called upon her magic once more, yet this time there would be no shielding the pain.

The sky had darkened to near black as booming flaps of wings were interrupted by a scream of agony. She forced her legs to keep pumping as her shoulder blades moved to make way for the wings that sprouted from her back. Skin bulged and split, marring the sides of Castor’s parka as bone and tissue extended into a proportional version of her wings. She flexed them as the wind shifted, followed by an approaching roar that made the boy screech. She launched herself forward, her feet leaving the ground as her wings worked to keep them aloft.

“Damn you!” Tirgaan bellowed as he crashed into the blossom trees behind her. She couldn’t help but smirk as her eyes darted from tree to tree while her body bent and curved to weave them through the thicket like a needle through fabric.

“Just leave it Tirgaan!” She hollered back at him. “I will depart from here and never return. I swear it on the name of my mother, Rhiannon!”

The elder dragon gave a cold laugh as his shadow loomed above the canopy. “The Sun Spear has been gone for centuries now and her name with it. It means nothing, as will yours.”

Phyna gritted her teeth as she banked left, narrowly avoiding the line of frost that shattered all it touched for sixty feet to her right.

“It was only three nests you territorial groundwyrm!” She shouted. “I can repay you with gold, magic items, or meat before your clutch hatches. But I must escort this boy home.”

“Why?” He exclaimed as a swipe of his claws took out a tree to her left. “What meaning does that maggot have? Do not tell me your hatching instincts have led you to take on a pet.”

She bristled at the audacity of this male. Her lips pulled back into a snarl as she pulled herself above the tree line. He did not know, nor could he ever know what this child had over her. A voice from the past rang through her with pain and worry. “…Please.”

With a deep breath in and a twist of her body, she unleashed a barrage of flame into Tirgaan’s face. The Frigid Doom shied to the left and away, his slower movements costing him a burn to the side of his neck. Her mouth snapped shut as she dove below the canopy again.

Flashes of memory then took over. “Please Phyna…” She shook her head to try and halt the onslaught to no avail. “Please look after them.” There was so much blood, vampires were not supposed to bleed this much during childbirth. Tears seemed to sear her cheeks as she held her beloved friend’s hand, iron filling her nose and curdling in her gut. She could only heal her so fast, the midwives had to stop the bleeding. Why couldn’t they stop the bleeding?

The Queen screamed again as more viscera covered the linens below her. She knew carrying two would be too much for her. She had warned her but neither she nor her husband would listen to reason. She could never fully convince them, after all, one couldn’t scent death on the undead.

“Guard them. Teach them what their father doesn’t.” Her friend cried. “Promise me you’ll always guide them home.”

Phyna’s throat clogged, but she nodded. “I promise, dear friend. I swear it upon the fires of my creator, Amilii the Goddess of Flame. And I shall pass this promise to my kin as I will make sure yours does theirs.”

Her friend smiled, a sight so warm and full of relief. “Thank you, Phyna…”

Her cry brought her mind back to the present as she tucked behind a large tree to avoid Tirgaan’s barrage. She pawed at her face, casting away the tears there with a flick of her finger as the cherry blossom at her back froze at the behest of Tirgaan’s frosted breath.

“I made a promise to your great-great-grandmother, Castor.” She said as she reached over her shoulder to retrieve the boy. “And I will keep it.”

Phyna called her magic again and pulsed it throughout herself. She held the boy in her arms as her eyes turned to the sky. “I promise.”

Tirgaan unleashed his full fury, freezing every living thing in a fifty-foot radius. He would not stand for this disrespect and insolence from this brat any further. Her scales would add a glorious shine to his hoard, and he was certain his mate would enjoy a bite-sized snack as a gift. The child would not replace the slain griffins, but he would fix that issue later.

The Scythe had gone silent behind the trunk of the frozen tree before him. He chuckled, triumphant. “Come on girl, don’t die on me in your false form. Your scale-”

The tree before him exploded into shards of ice as a tail, shining and golden in color smashed into the side of his face. He grunted at the pain and stumbled, uprooting a few trees as the true form of the Gilded Scythe launched into the sky.

“My scales would look good in the side of your face? Couldn’t have said it better myself!” She laughed as she circled in the sky. Before he could retort, she dove for him, her chest and throat expanding as flame shot from her open maw. He inhaled sharply to meet her flame with his ice and both forces collided between them. Her momentum still carried her towards him, so she tucked in her wings and spun to the side dodging his assault as her jaw clamped shut. A small giggle from her front left claws made her smile a little; at least the boy was enjoying himself right now.

Tirgaan expanded his wings to lift himself from the ground, but she was already banking for him. He tucked himself low as she swooped low, cautiously avoiding the swing of his clubbed tail. With a few leaping bounds he was finally in the air again, just long enough to feel her claws scrape along his right flank. She brought her tail around and sank its barbs into his underside. He roared in pain as she parted from him to escape the crush of his jaws. Tirgaan flipped in the air and pursued her with bloodlust clouding his vision.

“You will perish, and I will decorate my lair with your bones!” He bellowed.

Phyna opened her wings to catch the wind, hoping to catch him off guard and get behind him. She watched below her and waited for him to pass under her. But The Frigid Doom had fought other dragons before, and he was no fool. He slammed into her back with bone-crushing force and sank his teeth into her left shoulder. Phyna shrieked as Tirgaan raked his claws along her sides and locked them in near the base of her wings. She twisted and turned, locking her wings to send them plummeting as her jaws snapped at him.

“Get. Off!” She demanded as she bucked and shifted to the side. Tirgaan was dislodged from her back, but not before taking a chunk of her skin with him. Golden ichor rained down as her claws kissed the treetops, her wings fighting to keep her up before they blissfully caught a current. She watched as Tirgaan tried to catch himself, however, his hulking frame was too much even for his adept wings. The Frigid Doom hit the ground hard, tipping tail tip over muzzle before skidding through a few trees. She groaned, surveying herself and the damage done.

“Stay down!” She pleaded with heaving breaths. Nevertheless, Tirgaan stirred, trying to right himself.

She shook her head, giving an annoyed grunt before she mustered her strength and dove once again. Phyna aimed for his outstretched wing, her body angled like a pouncing cat as she tucked the boy in close to her chest. Three of her four legs landed with all her weight on the major bone of his left wing, snapping it like a twig. She launched herself into the air as Tirgaan’s cry of anguish echoed across the valley. Phyna did not look back, nor could she afford to as she knew his mate would fly to his aid as swiftly as she could. He would heal… eventually.

Phyna The Gilded Scythe pushed her wings to work harder as she flew east under the blackened sky. She was exhausted, her energy and magic feeling drained even though she had not heavily exerted herself. Maybe Tirgaan had feasted upon something akin to a basilisk or chimera and its poisonous blood remained on his teeth. Their essence was only dangerous to their kind if it got into their bloodstream after all.

But by the time the boy had fallen asleep in her claws, she could tell something was dreadfully wrong. Her magic worked to seal her wounds, yet gold blood still dripped onto the ground, and then into the water as she reached the stretch of ocean between this land and home. Her flight pattern sputtered and strained, but she always made sure she held to the child.

“I promise.” She kept mumbling to herself. “I promise.”

But then there was a sound so loud it cracked the sky. She cried out as did the monstrosities of the ocean below her as she felt all the magic within her shift. She worked quickly, summoning a sheet of hide that she placed Castor upon. The boy stirred as he plopped onto soft and thick fur; the piece already permanently enchanted to fly him the rest of the way.

“Peena.” Castor called out, reaching his little hands up to her.

Phyna chuckled, shaking her head. “I do not know what is happening, Little Bat, but I myself cannot take you any further.” Castor’s brow furrowed up at her, but she continued. “This will take you to your uncle in the Alucard Mountains of Ravania, your paternal homeland. It will catch you if you fall, warm you if you’re cold, and lull you if you cannot sleep, but most importantly it will get you home.”

Phyna leveled herself, bringing her snout to cuddle the front of his petite form. The boy giggled, splaying his arms across her muzzle in a hug before she pulled away. A mark appeared on his cheek, a symbol of protection by a great dragon of the flame and a warning to those who would wish to harm him.

“Go home, Little Prince… Go home.” She said with a shuddering breath as her strength finally gave out to exhaustion. The boy yelled in worry as she fell to the waters below. She did not fear death, did not resist, however a tendril of pure red magic arched from the fractured sky and wrapped around her torso. She hung limp as it lifted her, her honey eyes fighting to stay open as her vision blurred. The red crept along her skin, gathering her limbs underneath her like a child in the womb. She caught glimpses of the boy tussling with the fur holding him, trying his best to get off and go to her with no success.

“Hush now, Castor… Do not worry.”

“Please Phyna.” The voice echoed again as she closed her eyes.

“Be still, sweet friend.” She whispered to the ghosts in her mind. “Your promise hasn’t been forgotten.”

That day marked the disappearance of many magical things, an event termed the Sealing in the years to come. Some called it a final work of the Goddesses, some think it stems from the machinations of a lich whilst others believe it to be a witch, but none will ever know until forty-seven years later upon the discovery of the ritual and ruins at the Temple of All in Ravania. Yet magic had not died that day, not completely, and there would be centuries of research dedicated to its resurgence. But one thing was certain; that dragons would not walk the land of Runica again…

Well, for a thousand years at least.