A Dance With Flame

Prologue

It's been far too long.

Well, without further ado...

ENJOY!

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Smoke.

Fire.

Death.

Destruction.

Smoke rises to the moonless sky above, twisting towards the dark heavens in ever-growing, sinister pillars of ash and ember. How horrid a sight to see it is, the stark flurries of winter that once danced so delicately in the stray night breeze choked from existence by the plume's shadow and descending soot.

Through the dark veil of suffocating black snow, a city finds itself under siege. The people of the town scream and run for their lives, coughing and choking on the toxic air and the heat of the fire consuming the world around them.

The enemy storms through the streets like thunder over the land, speartips pointed skyward, and banners stained the color of blood with the symbol of a dragon's prowess waving victoriously in the hot breeze.

They mount and ride on big, burly draft-horses with thunderous hooves and dark, glinting eyes; they run down all who stand to oppose them. The soldiers adorn the colors black and red, a mirage of death and deliverance to those who find themselves so misfortunate as to end up in their way.

The soldiers and guardians of this city adorn armor of black and purple, a symbol of regality and hope. They meet the enemy on horseback and on foot, rearing spears and arrows at the foe with every intent on defending their home, people, and emperor.

But there is no hope of stopping a force such as this. They have come for the enemy.

The Crimson Clan has come to slaughter the Ebony Nation and their dragons...

And one of the very last Ebony Dragons is already a foot in the grave. The fragmented spirit of the original beast has coursed through the veins of the Royal Family for centuries, but can all come to an end tonight...

And end with the death of the young princess.

A palace overshadows the smoldering city. In its stature, grand flames devour the stone, the marble, and the wood; the inferno's insatiable hunger and power cripples the very foundations of the once magnificent and glorious building into a collapsing pile of rubble. But even with the hungry inferno threatening to claim the lives of all, a woman, burned, battered, and broken, runs through the smoldering halls and suffocating air with her daughter in her arms.

The empress glances down at the young girl cradled in her arms; her eyes, impossibly tired yet wide and alert, become misty as the young girl whimpers and squirms in pain. How despicable it is to see a mother embracing her child on the verge of death.

She runs through the halls, hearing the enemy's thunderous cries approaching with such fury and rage that chills run rampant through her entire body. But, when paired with fatigue and blood loss, there is only so far she can go before her internal flame eventually smolders.

In her arms, the whimpers of her daughter become heart-aching sobs, cries that stab at her heart more vitally than any arrow or knife can achieve. There is only so much fabric and bandages one can hastily apply before the blood seeps through.

"Oh no - no, no, no no-" The empress finds herself slowing down, as any mother would. However, as her pace slows, the sheer tiredness stabbing at her bones and mind seizes its opportunity. She collapses to her knees, the hard ground greeting the woman's descent with excruciating aches and unwavering fortitude. "AH!"