Fire.
Fire was all he could see.
Fire was all that he was.
He burned.
His throat was raw.
His anger was rawer.
Fury rippled from him in waves.
Fury at the world.
Fury at himself.
He had failed.
Again he failed to protect those he loved.
Why?
Why hadn't he learned?
Why hadn't he been faster?
Why hadn't he been stronger?
Had he been afraid?
His nails dug into his hands.
His blood fell to the floor.
He cared not.
His blood had already been spilt.
Her golden locks already marred with dark crimson.
A dragon felled with steel.
His sunny little dragon.
His little girl cold at his feet.
Blades protruded from her form.
Tear tracks ran down from her still eyes.
Eyes set in fear.
Eyes set in pain.
Eyes set in sadness.
He wanted to cry.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to scoop her into his arms.
He wanted to tell her that it would all be okay.
He wanted to die with her.
Instead, he burned.
A cold fury burst from his body.
Fire hotter than the sun and as cold as his heart.
He would burn.
He would become fire itself.
That was his promise to her.
They would know his fury.
He would burn until they fell to ashes.
He would burn them all.
No.
That wasn't right.
That wasn't the answer.
He would become fire itself.
But not a raging wildfire.
A controlled, concentrated flame.
A fire that burned all that he was.
All except his purpose.
He still had something to protect.
A girl as red as his blood.
As hers.
She was all he had left.
The lingering petal of a dead rose.
They had loved her, he and his dragon.
And so he would protect her.
He wouldn't make the same mistake again.
He would become the flames that burned that which sought to harm her.
Not a fire of vengeance.
A fire to protect.
A fire to nurture.
So that she could live.
So that she could laugh.
So that she could smile.
For her sake and for the sake of those he had already lost.
For fire was all he could see.
And fire was all that he was.