Prologue

Fire-breather,

meat-muncher,

wing-spreader,

blood-drinker,

flesh-ripper,

human-trapper,

fire-spitter,

dragon-scale

These words, such meagre pitiful words, this was how she was to be remembered in songs by children.

This was her legacy?

The green flames that burned this kingdom to embers of wood, the castle that was falling by her power and fury, was all now forgotten?

No fear, no awe, no tribute to the magnificence and terror that she was, sired on the very ground she was once slain, she prowled the city, her mind was new, vivid accounts of her downfall, she had yet to rediscover what her apparent return to this city now so different.

She had to admit the development of this small kingdom to a mighty city was an admirable accomplishment seeing how rabble how banded together to create a community of a sorts. Yet here was all it's finery founded by her slayer and it's fear was confined to silly playground songs.

If there was a plus to being forgotten was that as she awakened in the early evening when the sun had set she could see how this city prospered, there she picked up the silly children songs, as children played late games and ran to their homes, in the markets effigies were sold, some professional, many crude and simple but all depicting a fat breathing monstrosity that was meant to be her.

And finally she saw a statue, a statue of a prince with a sword through the heart of a beast. Her in fact, and the prince, the statue made it clear it was her slayer, he had lived whilst the kingsdom, now a city gloated in her death, They dare!

The facade had gone on long enough; to her the city was making capital of her death. No one knew who she was but the dragon, yes that was still etched in people's minds, but as a parody, and tonight the parody became very, very real.

First she cried out the attention of the simple folk, she cursed them for their insults, she demanded them to cower as she vowed to bring the heads of the prince and of stefan's daughter to the streets, they stared, looked at her as a costume showoman, someone even threw a gold coin to her, nobody cared, nobody! Then she screamed out at them, her tone scolded their ignorance and she vowed personally that they will die knowing who they offended, it was when the sickly aura of her green fire radiated around her and, the 'ascension' of her figure rose and made shape into something insidious that the people fatally knew what they had offended but she wanted them to know they should be honoured.

For they die seeing a Dragon reborn. .

To which fire spread and death followed, from every market, to every open and private street, the houses, manors, nothing was spared, nothing had hope.

She watched, hundreds, thousands of so many panicked and fled as she exhaled heat and smoke, burning and crippling anything within her lake, the people were the easiest to dispel with but there were those who defied the current of fear and ran up that stream pushing past the people decorated in coloured uniform but without the iron, but from there hands they fired spits of it at her. The pain was minimal but the defiance had evolved from one that she once recognized, these would had been knights but whoever they were had taken their place.

Then there were pockets of thunder booming at her, not too far from the men metal cyclinders were wheeled in spitting blasting out balls of heavy iron they crashed onto her wings and battered the skin, the bone of her legs felt the stress of the pounds of iron striking the bulk of her figure, hissing, unrepentant for her acts of violence but still shocked and infuriated by this meagre defiance by these creatures who felt they had the right to challenge a dragon. She draw breath when the firing stopped and as they tried frantically to reload their fancy toys, she draw breath and exhaled fury and death once again, the people were gone, the cobbled streets were charred and all that stood were demolished by heat and wrath.

Utterly unrepentant to the end.

Yet it didn't change the notion that she felt pain, she felt pain from magic, but there was nothing enchanted about those items but they were powerful in their own right, what was this, when did mortals have that kind of power to inflict harm without magic. When? Thinking back combined with her dragon rage gave her no answers but a recount of the same emotional stress that lingered in her head. The death, the death by magic and of that cursed sword. That blade of her death and humiliation, now she lashed anger was not on the people but to her perpetrator instead, she wanted to seek out retribution her own way.

WHERE IS THAT SWORD? THAT INFERNO WEAPON? WHERE IS THAT PRINCE?

Her tone of voice was cruel and morbid in her normal form but speaking from the dragon that she had become it was insidious in the night.

'WHERE ARE YOU, PRINCE? ARE YOU AMONGST THE BURNT? THE FLEEING? WHERE ARE YOU!'

She spewed out no logic but of instead of more heat and flames, melting glass of windows, incinerating wooden infrastructure and swatting anything in her wake. She wanted blood now, the blood of a prince no less. Exhaled green flames were swarming to the outskirts of the city, doing their work for her as she searched with her lizard eyes and snarled as a figure rode out carrying a weapon, a sword, a design of the old and familiar, it was him it had to be that wretched prince.

'YOU!'

She charged, mowing down entire streets in her path as she ran to her foe, the prince had foregone his horse that was panicked and saw the rational sense in wanting to flee from such a sight. The prince debarked and he ran with the sword, and evaded as she blew all hell at him. He leapt across burning rubble and flashed the lone light in this city of fire, swiping it as she moved her head down to snap at him, tasting only her hot breath and own teeth as she snapped angrily at nothing. The prince struck with the sword squarely on the face.

It did nothing.

It was either out of the prince's shock that the blade failed to deliver the holy blow or the anger of the dragon was fast and more determined then he was himself in responding, and she won her response. Turning her neck, her face looking fiercely at him and the mouth opened and the end was at last brought to him. The sword shielded part of him but it did not save him overall as he fell, defeated and forgotten.

She paused at this, she should feel happy, she had her fill, but the taste of it was diluted, a dark realization crept into her, the sick joke of utter injustice.

This was not the prince that she once knew, and the sword had lost it's magic, there was no pain from that sword, but there was pain in her that she had been robbed of her chance to even have revenge, there was no mistaking that it was the sword, yet the magic was gone, the mocking effigies were her but the people had changed. The weapons of the 'knights' were different and in fact hurt, even angered her.

Even as a dragon she slumped almost despairingly, considering for a moment to let the fires take her as well. Why was she even here?

'Why I'm I even here' She said with a tinge of grief and anger, it was a curse to herself in a city where no one could now hear for only fire was it's inhabitants but something heard her and it shook her.

The choice of your time is not yours to decide. Servant.

It was a dark thunderous tone that came from somewhere, even the sound of the voice towered her, a heavy growl of a creature strong and intolerant had looked down on her. She turned, for the first time in a very long time she felt her wellbeing threatened, put into place by something far darker. She looked to see a mountain, and on top of that dark ascent, something moved.

Again it spoke, totally mindful of her thoughts, fear and everything, eyes pierced her twiseted soul and it's finger pointed at her black heart as it commanded.

For even the dragon must serve the lord of the mountain; and I have use for you...