The fire cackled, twisted, and raged. And outside of this growing chaos, she stood. Soot covered her entire figure completely, marring her soft white hair into a dull black, smudges of a smoky substance stained her cheek, and were moved by salty tears. Standing immobile, she dropped the torch she clutched in her hand, its small flame dissipating, and a reminder of the wreckage she had wreaked upon the village she once called home. Standing very still, the shook seeped through her mind, and realization stepped in, she had killed her own people. Her face twisted in horror, and her body shook with its attempt to calm her mind, whirling and twisting in the savage garden she so diligently placed it in.
She ran.
Quick and panicked, she allowed to tears to fall freely, not bothering to wipe them away, and the trees whirled by her in her haste, her garment swirling around her small body as her legs took to devouring the distance. She ran thoughtlessly, cracking twigs beneath her barely covered feet and biting her lip to still the cry that threatened to spill forth from her mouth. She tasted blood. It swan in her mouth, the metallic taste she despised, yet her teeth would not relent against the flesh of her lips as they split open. On and on she ran, tears blurring her vision, and a dark spot in her vision grew nearer and nearer and even more panic seeped into her mind in this sight. It got closer, and wouldn't stop getting closer….and she ran head-first against the solid, cold body in front of her as she bounced back and fell on the damp ground, the crackling embers still haunting her mind, as she stared right up at him, fearless, as she looked right through his skull, seeing nothing, and finally pulling herself up grudgingly to meet his gaze.
She took a long look into his icy eyes, took a step back, and flew. Once again she ran, but suddenly stopped, and felt his presence at her right, and her face grew impassive, her cold eyes steel in the twilight, and he spoke, sending shivers down her spine.
"Cold maiden, look at my arm." Her eyes defiantly never left his, until curiosity got the best of her, and slowly, her eyes wandered. She bit her lip again to stifle the gasp.
His arm was a bloody stump, the crimson liquid dropping softly to the earth, and she could see he was one of them; he was a dragon-slayer. She looked at his other arm, which clutched a dragu energist, as his hand was covered with blood, though it was not dragon blood—it was human.
"You slew my pursuers," she spoke almost in awe, for now she knew what propelled her sudden flight, for certainly some knew of her awful deed, and he, her forsaker, had killed them.
In reverence she bowed her head, "I owe you my life."
In his silence, she heard his haggard breathing, "That, you do."
"My lord," she whispered bitterly, "let me tend to your arm."
"I do not see what a silly girl could—" His words were stopped, as she wove her hands over his bloody sump of an arm, and he saw the metal work intricately woven through her barely perceived words as her long fingers delicately made him a metallic arm, glistening and perfect, no abrasions.
"I am pleased, and you," he read from her mind her name, thinking it suitable, the Lady of the Sky, "Sora," he started once again, "shall be mine."
In the darkness,
The dragon wakes.
The dragon awakens
To a heart,
That is numbed with cold,
The dragon takes.