The Knight Who Breathed Fire

FIVE | v

[ REQUESTING FOR ANYONE who will do cover requests: I'm thinking of changing the title to
"The Dragon Who Saved the World" or "The Knight Who Breathed Fire".
Suggestion or thoughts? ]

Dedicated to Alyssa Holbrooke,
because she has fought with her battles
in a sort of tenacity I hope Maya can embody.

[ •∞• ]

FIVE | The Fire In Her Heart Wasn't Metaphorical

THE ACCOLADE IS LESS THAN A WEEK AWAY and Maya is feeling the shock settle in place of the former tenacity of her spirit. It is a war with her own self to not spend her insomniac nights training until she is more broken bone than intact warrior.

"You're driving me insane with that rocking you're doing under the table, Maya," her sister, Mae, whines, reaching over to place one of her paint splattered fingers to Maya's knee.

Maya stills, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry, it's just—"

"Nerves, I know." Mae says soothingly, "but it won't do you any good if your nerves end up being fried, either."

"You know I can't help it, Mae," Maya says, "it's like my skin is buzzing and I can't make it stop moving. I'll be sitting still like this but I just want to run for miles away. This isn't even the same as when I'm running, because then I just feel unbearably tired."

They're sitting in the small shop her father had designed in their wooden house to accommodate for Mae's artwork. Her newest project, Paint the Colours of the Blood, a symbolic representation of how diverse everybody was in their kingdom and the fascinating beauty of it all, meant every visible spot of the room was now holding a fraction of her work.

"What's the point of just using your paintbrush to dab random shapes on the page, Mae?" Maya asks, trying to ignore the constant urge to hurl (herself or in the bathroom, she's unsure).

Maya's answer is only found through a secret smile thrown her way. "What's that smile for? Don't torture me like this! C'mon, tell me!"

"How about this," her sister bargains, her youthful spark apparent in the twinkle of her oceanic eyes. "I know you're going to do something pretty stupid on the day of the accolade, probably pull a muscle from training and all that—don't test me! You did that for every single one of your contests!"

Maya huffs. "Okay, so maybe I get a little intense in my practice, but that doesn't explain what that has anything to do with your painting."

Her sister scoffs, looking older than Maya despite being three years younger. "You broke your arm before you did the field day when you fourteen because you woke up one night before and thought, 'maybe I should try out those rings again!' Or that time you twisted your ankle before that defence demonstration of yours because you wanted to 'go through the routine one last time', or—"

"I am an awful person when it comes to actually fulfilling my duties, meaning you are going to find a way in keeping me occupied long enough to the accolade unscathed—I get it."

"And here I thought you'd hit all the brain cells out of your head," Mae teases, "so I'll tell you and show you the final copy of my painting if you take my shift on the seventeenth of this month."

"That's the day of the accolade!"

"Good, you know your dates. So it's from one to four pm—"

"Mae!" Maya says, aghast. "That's only an hour before I have to get prepared!"