What occurred in the Eastern Vale was supposed to be impossible.

  Auguries were regularly taken; borders were actively scried; wards were in place to guard against the very event that could not, should not have happened.

  For these reasons the elves had been disbelieving as they stared up into the afternoon, discerning the shape high above them through the summer haze yet unwilling to trust that their faultless eyes showed true. Could it not have been the golden clouds? Had the wine and merriment made them see what could not have been?

  Were they not defended by the Luminary Vale? None would dare trespass against the might of the woodlands.

  Yet no one had told any of this to the final omen.

  Even had they done so, it would have made no difference…

  For a dragon insists.

  * * *

  Saphienne was one of the last to see the descent, and she gazed up at the immense silhouette against the heavens – unmistakable, regal, glorious – as it brushed the treetops above where she sat. The cracking of the boughs was accompanied by a roar that rolled the ground beneath her, and ahead of her the deafened crowd parted in panic and ran for the safety of more distant forest–

  Until, with a splash that sent waves against the shore in a tide that reached the edge of the woods where she sat, the great beast crashed down into the waters.

  Many were knocked prone and soaked, among them Faylar and Laewyn, who stumbled up and wheeled around in shock. Others had retreated, but they crept back in the prolonged stillness that ensued, watching the agitated surface settle toward peaceful reflection of the summertime.

  On the island, Iolas had clung to the structure covering the statue of the dancers, and he checked on Thessa and the children huddled there before he ventured out toward the edge…

  Then a geyser erupted, and a glistening limb struck into the grass ahead of him, struck and stuck claws that were sharp sickles rending earth.

  “Run!”

  Whoever screamed sent Iolas racing for the stepping stones, while behind him the leviathan levered free from the murky depths.

  Witnessed by Saphienne, the titan came up from submersion as though being born, water streaming from scales that were dazzling in the sunshine — coloured like a cloudless day but for where their sheen caught the light as like diluted blood, translucent where the glare from the lake shone through their edges, wreathing the dragon in a daytime halo. Four strong limbs dragged a body that rippled with muscle under a taut hide, followed by a sinuous tail that shivered and lashed, led by a head crowned with upturned horns that captured and pitilessly cast down the sun. Grand in proportion, larger than the tree covering shrieking Thessa, the dragon raised up upon rear legs that might have trampled an impression into rock, and serpentine was the neck that swung to and fro in that rearing.

  Stretching wide, wings unfurled, one of flesh and blood, the other of conjured flame.

  Then came the Wardens of the Wilds through the chaos, those in armour racing to the island with bows drawing, those clothed in festival garb going for the stragglers who were pinned in fear.

  “Flee, ye elves! Fly, my sisters!”

  Possessing Laelansa, Mother Marigold urged all present to disperse as she fled, her reverberating cry fanning the winds to frantic flight as she receded.

  “Hie thee away! Quit the field this day! Ruin has come!”

  Then arrows were loosed near and far, all striking true, yet few sticking fast to the armour they assailed.

  Bellowing indignation, the dragon swept tail across the water, sending a flood to brush aside all assailants. The wardens were thrown back from the crossing, were advanced upon as the tyrant drew a shuddering breath–

  And Saphienne beheld dragon’s fire.

  Hotter than the enchanted forge that Taerelle had admired, blue flame raked along the shoreline, controlled where it poured from maw to liquify the sand, thrumming as it scoured a line before the wardens — boiling the lake nearby. Where the fire lingered, the molten glass reformed into blooming facets of azure quartz that jutted up in demarcation.

  And the guttural roar that followed broke the wardens, who screamed in mortal terror as they abandoned their duty and quit the field–

  Leaving Thessa and the children trapped.

  * * *

  How splendid it was. How beautiful.

  Saphienne had never witnessed anything as perfect.

  She stood up with immaculate composure, awed that the world could, despite its unfathomable cruelty, be at last so kind.

  Here was all that she needed. Here was presented the termination of her troubles, guiltless and freeing.

  Were the gods real, in the end? She couldn’t know. Yet she took off her sandals anyway, and left them with her spellbook as she strolled down from the trees, savouring what she decided were her final moments.

  Kylantha awaited. She would rest in her arms.

  “Saphienne!”

  Iolas had reached the safety of the trees, but he came after her, grabbing her arm. “Saphienne, stop–”

  How wonderful of him. Saphienne turned and cupped his cheek as she wielded a violet sigil she had never used, that she ought never use, beguiling him with her touch as she delivered a compulsion he couldn’t deny.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “Take yourself to safety; and later, tell Phelorna that I scried for Kylantha — tell her that her daughter is happy and well, surrounded by people who are kinder and more loving than we could ever be. Tell Phelorna that I am sorry, and tell Filaurel and Laelansa that I love them.”

  His expression softened. “I will. I love you too, Saphienne.”

  She left him standing there as she strode away to cast another spell, trusting in the fascination that would make him flee.

  * * *

  Helpless, the elves watched as the dragon menaced the cowering children, batting at the lanterns that hung from the fir.

  “Dragon!”

  Wreathed in sorcerous glamour that demanded all attention, Saphienne crossed wet stepping stones that were concealed by the sun, appearing as though she walked on water as she called out in the language of dragons.

  “Your business lies with me!”

  Craning to see who dared so brazenly address themselves, the dragon glowered, gaze shimmering opaline about pupils narrowed to reptilian slits. Growling greeted her as the interloper stalked her with predatory ease.

  “You do not belong in these woodlands!” As Saphienne spoke, she surreptitiously wove together a hallucination to drape upon the tree, concealing Thessa and the children from where the great serpent lurked. “Begone from this shore!”

  Then the dragon opened a jaw filled with teeth that were knives, keen for the flensing and the tearing. Hissing, an overwhelming voice in the same forked tongue struck the assembles elves like a blow.

  “A dragon is not commanded by any elf; I go where I please.”

  She had drawn focus, but she needed to hold it. “You intrude into territory held by the Luminary Vale,” she shouted in turn, continuing her approach. “Your presence is unwelcome. Go, or be driven off!”

  Another hiss, scales rolling back to show deeper fangs. “You speak our words with fitting scorn. You amuse, so I forgive your transgression. Depart my presence; I will grant you no further indulgence.”

  Thessa was low to the ground as she crawled from the cover of the tree, yet the children within were too frightened to follow.

  Saphienne stopped; she drew herself up to her full height. “You do not frighten me, wyrm. I am Saphienne of the Eastern Vale, Master of Hallucination and Transmutation both, accepted by the Luminary Vale–”

  “Enough.”

  The dragon’s tail slapped the lake and flicked–

  Saphienne was quick with her ward, and the wash rolled harmlessly around her unworried countenance. She folded her arms, defiant.

  Having already turned away, the dragon glanced back in disdain. “Elven magic…” Against the rippling heavens of the lake, the fiery wing crackled as it again extended. “…See here true spellcraft. You turn aside water, but what you wield will not resist my fire. Leave!”

  Hands held around them, Thessa was ushering the children to the beach.

  Saphienne had almost succeeded; now was the time to make ready her death. “Your sound and fury signify nothing: I am unimpressed. Cease your posturing,” she demanded, leaning forward, “and pretend no more to potency in your flame. I hear the cowardice behind your words.”

  Rumbling, the dragon faced her across the island. “You speak beyond your size–”

  “I think not.”

  The dragon hissed, long and low. “…So you do, elf.”

  Breathing full, the dragon conjured fire within chest, and Saphienne was close enough to feel the awesome might of the magic there gathering.

  As flame burst from that most terrible mouth, she smiled in release, shut her eyes, and dismissed her pointless ward.

  * * *

  Cries of horror filled the air as the elves beheld Saphienne consumed.

  * * *

  Within the maelstrom, Saphienne felt the heat take her, and relaxed into the sting that would soon follow–

  Yet she was not burning.

  Blinking, she raised her head to see the flame divided around her, passing inches either side, obliterating the good earth to leave her upon a wedge that proceeded–

  To where the dragon’s tongue glowed, white-hot, pressed against roof of mouth, splitting the lethal flow into harmless halves.

  As the eerie fire lapsed, molten rock crystallised at her feet.

  Rearing, eyes wide, the dragon bellowed in astonishment. “You seek death!”

  This was not what she intended. Calling once more on the sigil she’d employed against Iolas, she gathered violet light in her hand and pressed forward in demand. “Craven! Strike me down!”

  And the dragon backed away. “You are mad! Only the mad dare contest a dragon!”

  “I see no wyrm — only a pretender!”

  Roused by her challenge, the tyrant snarled a syllable that hung discordant upon the air, erratic resonance sweeping through Saphienne and collapsing the spell. Then, as her magic faltered, the cracking tail effortlessly pushed her from her feet, and the beast loomed above where she sprawled unresisting–

  The dragon blinked.

  “Coward!” Her tears, like her jeers, were for herself. “You have no will!”

  Lowering a head the size of her torso to sniff at her arm, which had run red with a self-inflicted wound, the creature of myth studied her with pupils so wide they rounded.

  Then the fiend receded. When next she was addressed, it was in unconcealed marvel. “…You are a dragon.”

  Saphienne blinked.

  “The blood of dragons is upon your hand.”

  Uncomprehending, she stared down at the crimson smears where she’d pricked her own skin, observing how they glittered in the late day. “…I do not– what you mean is–”

  “You are a dragon!” Grass was scythed into the air by the thrashing tail. “Fearless! Unbowed before the world! A dragon you are.”

  She sat up slowly, quiet in her despair. “…You are mistaken. I am an elf of the woodlands.”

  “No.”

  Rolling shoulders dismissed the conjured right wing, revealing the stump that the spell had completed, raw and bloody where bone and sinew had been torn away–

  And glittering in the daylight.

  “I smell your pride.” Circling, the dreadful serpent flicked tongue upon air, tasting the perfume of her blood and tears. “I inhale your passions. You are mad, but your madness arises from ignorance. You deny yourself, wyrmling.”

  “…You are deluded.” She shook, and shook her head. “You are addled by your landing in the lake.”

  A hiss — which Saphienne sensed humour in, belatedly knowing a dragon’s laughter. “I did not land; I fell upon this place. The thorn in my side dug within in flight…”

  As she stared, rapt, her aggressor sat on broad haunches, exposing where lancing steel pushed up and through the scales where hip met leg. Gripping with nimble claws, bracing with forbidding talons, the dragon drew out the lance, roaring the birds to flight from distant trees as blood spilled upon the ground.

  Steam billowed from the metal where it clattered beside her head.

  “A vexing wound.” The radiant horns tilted, sparkling as they lit her face with reflected light. “You vex me as greatly as did the so-called ‘dragonslayer.’ You are wounded, and think yourself defeated. But the false Alonso lies dead of hubris, and you yet live.”

  Why were her cheeks wet? Was it from the sprinkled blood?

  “A dragon cannot be defeated,” said the yawning terror. “A dragon triumphs over error, submits to greater truth, withdraws to hone their argument, or dies. But death is no defeat! This is our way. This is your way; there is no other.”

  She lowered her gaze with her voice. “Then kill me.”

  “I refuse!” No longer bleeding freely, her tormentor reclaimed their footing. “You who seek death must do so with purpose. Cease your shameful suffering!” The wyrm closed the distance. “Raise your cause! Arise, and fight!”

  Yet she could only stare.

  “…Pitiful.” The dragon’s displeasure rolled scathing across her. “What a mewling hatchling you are. How contemptible are these elves you surround yourself with. You should be angry to–”

  Alas, Saphienne was not the only one who would sacrifice herself.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Rushing in where her sisters feared to tread, blowing a spring gale of longing about the woman she loved, Hyacinth hurled herself upon the monster she believed poised to murder Saphienne.

  * * *

  How did the dragon react to spiritual possession?

  Briefly, yellow flickered against opaline.

  “Amusing! Your pet has a measure of your guttering fire!” The dragon hissed long and sharp. “The promise of rebirth is afraid, and would have you run from my danger while I am held fast; this flower is deluded enough to believe I can be tamed!”

  Until the baring of those wicked teeth, which confronted her with an evil grimace, Saphienne had been without fear.

  “Yet I will never be deterred: no spirit may dissuade a dragon. They do not possess us! That which you call Hyacinth is now my possession.”

  Uncontrolled, her left hand slid into the concealed pocket of her gown and fetched out the unbreakable coin to squeeze against her scar and blood. She rose, no longer content to die if Hyacinth was to be harmed. “Release my friend.”

  “Friend!” Heavy the steps that wound around Saphienne. “You lie! This shadow of the elves is not your friend! You would have me listen, so speak to me truthfully.”

  Her grip tightened. “Release my servant.”

  “Again you lie.”

  Her voice rose. “Return my possession!”

  And the dragon roared in jubilation. “There is your voice! There is the fanning of the flames!” Shining horns rushed to her, their points stopping perilously short of her unwavering, midnight forest eyes. “But I have yet to taste your breath, wyrmling. You will make me submit to your will through fire.”

  Fight a dragon?

  Saphienne leant back in question. “…You will relinquish what you hold when I die.”

  “No.” The dragon’s rumble ran through her chest. “Seek to win. Seek to live. Seek to overcome that which contests you. Meet my challenge, or I will pluck the petals from this plaything to scatter on your remains.”

  There was no other way. She craned until her lashes brushed the threat — yet she did not flinch. “You will return what is mine, and you will leave.”

  “A dragon is not commanded by any elf! I go where I please.”

  Red flashed in her hand as she loosed her magic through her crimson sigil, conjuring flame in a torrent that rushed more intensely than when it had consumed her pale grey robes, searing yellow that exploded in the face of her enemy–

  Yet the dragon did not even close an eyelid, holding fast as the fire that could melt iron deflected harmlessly around a grinning snout.

  Beaten, she let the spell collapse, dropping her arm.

  “…Pathetic.” The sneer of the beast was disappointed. “Elven magic is beneath you. I did not demand that from you. Show me your flame, wyrmling!”

  She was again passionless; the world had led her on one last time, only to deliver an insult with the final blow. “…That is my flame…”

  Growling, the dragon swung away, kicking up soil in distemper before sitting.

  Saphienne was so very weary.

  “I see why you are weak.” The left wing twitched as it unfolded above her. “You who would stand against me, first stand opposite.”

  What game was being played? Her legs carried her over the broken ground, until she stood before where her antagonist waited.

  “Learn.”

  Inhaling as if swallowing the wind, again the dragon blazed crackling breath to be parted by tongue, spilling a blue inferno around her that reduced and reconstituted whatever it fed upon.

  Unable to look away, this time Saphienne beheld swirls within the outpouring heat, feeling the meaning of the magic resonating in her chest. She twitched her fingertips in the gesture of unveiling, casting the divination that revealed spells–

  And fell backwards, dizzied by the complex, whirling patterns that spread beyond Conjuration alone.

  She was shaken when the display concluded. “…I cannot cast–”

  Irate, the dragon stepped forward, pinning her with claws spread about her chest. “My fire is mine alone! You could never match the like.”

  “–I do not know what–”

  And the leviathan roared in her face.

  She calmed, surrounded and reflected by growing quartz.

  Narrow of pupil, the head of the dragon canted. “Stop. Do not behave as an elf. Do not see what an elf sees; do not hear what an elf hears; do not breathe as an elf breathes; do not taste as an elf tastes; do not live as an elf lives, for elves scarcely live at all.”

  Released, she did not immediately stand.

  “Learn; receive; recognise.”

  Now when the fire rained about her, Saphienne dismissed the divination, closing her eyes to better feel what was stirred within herself.

  * * *

  Azure as the sky unclouded.

  Sheened with blood submerged – yet not diminished – in the waters of life.

  Claiming by right the sunlight as raiment.

  Unbowed, indominable, and yet fiercely magnifying to all.

  Tyrant to oneself alone.

  * * *

  Her gaze brightened to emerald as she drank in the sign of the dragon’s fire, beholding an icon in which she read first the meaning embodied, and then the truth reflected from below the caverns of her heart.

  What had submitted to her was allowed to uncoil again — she uncoiled, not in wrath, but in wonder, stretching to touch the fire that was an empty vessel, tracing the swirls that were filled with a vitality other than her own.

  In her hand, one side of the coin was the tepid Evocation of Flame; she turned it over as she submerged the sigil in the depths of herself.

  And on the other face a spiral smoothly took shape: not downward, not lashing out, but inward and up.

  Saphienne held herself as she climbed to her feet, baring her teeth.

  The dragon’s lungs reverberated in a deep purr as the transmission ended. “Now you have tasted my fire! Show me yours, wyrmling.”

  Only one symbolic act could encapsulate the certainty within.

  Saphienne yelled, and wild, flickering flames of dark green flurried forth from her hands to snap at her adversary.

  Hissing, the dragon reared above her. “Your fire is cold! I am unmoved.”

  Angered as she sagged, Saphienne scowled. “Fuck you!”

  Tripping her with flexing tail, the leviathan slammed down again to brace on all limbs. “Mere words cannot convey your heat: move me with deeds!”

  Righting herself, she shouted where she crouched, and again the newmade sigil was a channel for the fire that seethed within her breast, hotter now, jade in her gaze and in her tongues as they bathed her opponent.

  “Unfocused.” Blunt backs of claws swatted her aside. “Do as you must!”

  Again she flared where she coiled, her growl tightening her fury into a column that nevertheless raged ineffectually against a scaled chest.

  “Passion and purpose are not enough to avail you!” The dragon leaned close. “Tell me who you are!”

  “Saphienne!” Her flame was steady, yet unchanged.

  “Liar!”

  “Master Saphienne!” Her fire burned hotter.

  “Liar!”

  Her lips stretched away from her sharp teeth. “…A dragon…”

  “I do not hear you!”

  “A dragon!” Verdigris incandescence whistled against the warming scales.

  “Convince me!”

  Saphienne surged upward as she threw herself onto her pyre, and her roar could not be contained by the form of an elf — “A dragon!”

  Become then her fire vivid green, verdant green, the colour of winter’s death and the first, most tremulous fingers of spring that reached and reached and would never rescind but that they were cut down, beaming irresistible upon a single scale that glowed and bent and warped under the onslaught, forcing the dragon to shield body with wing that was discoloured in turn by the mounting pressure.

  “Enough, wyrmling!”

  Yet though her throat was tearing, Saphienne did not relent.

  “Cease, dragon!”

  Still she insisted on herself.

  Hissing through what was not all laughter, yet not at all distressed, the dragon cried out in submission. “I concede your merit, wyrm!”

  She granted her lesser a respite.

  Panting, dripping sweat as though she had hauled herself from the bottom of the lake, Saphienne stalked forward with murder bright in her sight. “You will yield!”

  How sweet the breeze that blew from that hide to flurry behind her!

  * * *

  Bested, but undefeated, the dragon sank low. “A dragon is not commanded by any elf; I yield to my own. I will go.”

  Saphienne blinked.

  Her initiator gaped a draconic grin, then lumbered to the shore, stooping to drink.

  Recollecting herself, Saphienne went after what was not a cruel behemoth at all. “…You have been injured by our dispute…”

  The refreshed dragon was dismissive. “There is no play without danger. What does not kill me makes me stronger. A dragon recovers from any wound that is not made to scar.” The stump where had once furled a wing flexed. “This was done by mightier claws than yours, and yet will heal.”

  She hesitated. “I do not know what happened to you.”

  “A great wyrm, long slumbering, has reawakened in the east.” Whispering in a susurrus that was supported by the waters, the dragon conjured, blazing fire once more replacing the missing wing. “Many now gather there in support — but I did not join their flight. Cast out, I rested, and was set upon, then flew from slings of outrage at my defence.”

  Saphienne observed the few elven arrows that remained caught between the sparkling scales; she was analytical as she watched the dragon return to the tree that sheltered the statue, there to delicately cut away the garment that hid the art from tilting scrutiny. “…Your roar as you fell here… it was a warning…”

  “A dragon crushes the unwary.” The beast who was no beast faced her. “Do as you will is the law; take for your own whatever you desire; let no one stop your becoming. You are a wyrm among elves: know well what you make of yourself.”

  Wings spreading, the leviathan–

  “Wait.” Saphienne did not request.

  A little more consideration was given to her. “…Speak.”

  “Tell me your name.”

  Then the dragon opened a jaw filled with teeth that were smiling, keen for the sharing and the teasing, voice overwhelming yet kind.

  “Parthenos,” she answered.

  Then she ran the length of the shore and lifted into the air, beating her wings of scale and flame – strong and mending – as she ascended in circles that narrowed as she went higher, until Saphienne lost her silhouette against the boundless sky.

  * * *

  Beneath her bare feet, Saphienne felt the inscribed metamorphoses of frogs and toads reversing as she stepped along the stones to the silent beach.

  “…Saphienne?”

  She peered up to the treeline, where a novice priest fought with ruddled yellow until the protective spirit could restrain her no longer.

  “Saphienne!”

  She nearly fell when Laelansa staggered into her, blinking as tears were wept across her shoulder — where the spell she’d cast that morning prevented them from blemishing her unruffled appearance.

  “Saphienne!”

  “I’m all right,” she rasped as she embraced her girlfriend, feeling weight in the words that had been missing before. “I’m not hurt. I’m safe. We’re safe.”

  Other faces appeared on the edge of the forest, among them Laewyn failing to hold Faylar as he slipped loose and came to grab her arm.

  “Saphienne! Fuck me!” Faylar spoke loudly, unable to weather his emotions. “What– what did you do? The– what about–” He swallowed. “The dragon: is it–”

  “Gone.” Heavy, she buried her face in Laelansa’s hair. “Never to return.”

  “You– I heard its concession! You defeated it!”

  She felt a sad smile beginning. “That wasn’t quite–”

  But her explanation was lost as screaming sundered the quiet, and she stared up at where hundreds of her neighbours from near and far were raising fists in anger–

  No, not anger: jubilation.

  They were not screaming at Saphienne.

  They were cheering.

  They were cheering for her.

  * * *

  Too many people crowded her, clapped their hands upon her, until Saphienne was lifted up onto heaving shoulders and paraded above the swell. She tried to tell them to put her down, to refuse their adulation, but no one could hear her, for the whole vale was driven mad with relief at her triumph.

  Minutes later a breathless Almon charged onto the beach, leading magicians and wardens resolute that they were going to their deaths, the latter armed with enchantments from an unknown storehouse: black rods that hummed with force, and an overlarge knife that Saphienne would later realise was a sword that pulsed in its sheath. They halted in bewilderment at the scene, unable to comprehend as they were told of the victory.

  All had ran from the south of the village, fetched in panic by Jorildyn. Disbelieving, the most accomplished among the wizards and sorcerers demanded an explanation, but before Saphienne could get away from her admirers another took her place. Faylar did his best to translate again what little he’d understood of what he’d seen, repeating what he’d first stammered out to his fellow witnesses, who supported his account. Apart from Saphienne, he was the only person present who knew the tongue of dragons…

  …And he could barely understand it spoken.

  From the distance, he’d watched Saphienne interpose herself to save the children from the monster, drawing the ire of the beast as she hid them with a hallucination. To give them time to flee she’d engaged the great and terrible dragon with insults, refusing to be cowed, making herself the target of its rising wrath.

  Then, the dragon had tried to burn her — but her ward had stood firm against a dragon’s fire! She’d advanced on the dragon, only to be knocked down and set upon–

  Yet her guardian spirit had saved her, distracting her assailant long enough for her to rally to meet it. In the legendary duel that followed, Saphienne humbled their malefactor, demanding that it acknowledge her supremacy, release Hyacinth, and flee the woodlands forevermore.

  Pleading for mercy, the fiery serpent had been forced to acknowledge her as the equal of a dragon. Soon after, raging, it had swiped at the statue, then fled upon the wing from her warning rebuke.

  All of this was too much for Almon; he collapsed on the shore, and had to be supported away by his brother.

  * * *

  Songs; speeches; celebrations until after the sun had set.

  They intended to keep her all night.

  Not that she was entirely unwilling; in the aftermath, Laelansa and Faylar and Laewyn had refused to leave her, joined by a rattled Celaena, then soon by a distraught Filaurel, then Thessa — who was so grateful that all she could do was smother Saphienne with weeping kisses. Iolas, too, found her when she’d returned to the village, having swiftly completed what he’d been tasked with by her fascination.

  Tried though she had to tell her friends she wasn’t a hero, they’d only laughed.

  At last she convinced them to sneak her away from the revelry, but the price they demanded was a promise to never again let life deprive them of her. Iolas even drunkenly offered to quit the wizardry that had come between Saphienne and himself, moaning that the Great Art had become quite impenetrable.

  Saphienne hadn’t touched the wine, but nor was she sober when she agreed.

  * * *

  Laelansa would have carried her to bed, but Saphienne demurred, telling her beloved to warm the sheets as she went out with her spellbook to the ritual space behind the house.

  No elven notation could describe the draconic sigil she held. Despite this, she paced in narrowing circles as she tried to fathom how to capture it, unwilling to relinquish what had been so sorely won.

  After she exhausted her imagination, the answer arrived, unique to her.

  “I am what I make of the world…”

  With all the selfhood she could summon, she scoured the stone floor with her pale fire, inscribing what she didn’t fully understand, but felt alive within herself.

  “…The world is what it makes of me.”

  Come morning, she would discover the markings overgrown with verdure.

  * * *

  In the room she’d made a studio, Saphienne quietly drew the curtains and closed over the door, wishing not to alert Laelansa. She hoped the woman she loved would be asleep when she joined her… but most of all, and without a task to be done, she needed a moment to herself.

  She leant against the frame of the mirror; her smile was wry.

  What a comedy of errors the day had been!

  At least her encounter with the dragon had restored her to reason. She’d come so very close to choosing death in her grief — only to commit herself to life within the woodlands at the last moment.

  That was what had happened. Yes.

  She held her own gaze in the mirror, unable to ignore the lie within it.

  Well, she wasn’t destroyed. Clearly, her wyrd was not yet done with her, merely deferred until another time, when she would have to choose to be–

  …To stay. When she would have to choose to stay.

  Her heartbeat was palpable.

  “I’m an elf.”

  Why had she said that? It was obvious. The dragon had been mistaken — no, had amused herself by making Saphienne perform, enforcing the role the magician had assumed when she dared to profane the tongue of her kind.

  The dragon’s kind, that was.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose.

  In suicidal madness, submerged beneath the myriad sorrows she was now unsteadily repressing, she’d lost her mind, let herself get swept up in what the dragon herself had admitted was only a game. She’d played as a dragon; as a hatchling; played so ridiculously that she couldn’t imagine explaining to everyone what an embarrassment she’d become.

  Except…

  Saphienne crossed her arms.

  Except she wasn’t embarrassed, was she? The flush in her skin wasn’t mortification, but the thrill of… victory? Triumph?

  Affirmation, perhaps. But of what?

  “I’m not an– I’m not a…”

  Why couldn’t she say it?

  Saphienne regarded herself with sceptical, irrational eyes.

  “…I’ll prove it.”

  Although she was almost spent, she had sufficient magical reserves remaining to seat herself with her spellbook and prepare a figment she’d previously used to help with her tailoring, turning the curiously warm coin in her palm as she readied the cerulean sigil dusted with violet. When ready, she set aside her jewellery, stripped off her gown to hang it on the mannequin, then shed her undergarments, naked as a newborn as she stood back before the mirror.

  Shimmering, visible only to the one who willed it into being, the malleable figment she cast surrounded her in luminous mist, rendering her features indistinct in her mind where she gazed long into the mirror. While whatever she saw was a fabrication, she could see whatever lie she wished.

  She started simply: herself, but with her skin replaced by scales in sky blue.

  Saphienne snorted at the ludicrous image taking shape in the glass. No, definitely not: she looked hideous. She didn’t look anything like a–

  …Well, not hideous. That colour simply didn’t suit her.

  In rapid succession she tried rosy gold, then deep green, then gold that was pale and lustrous, better to compliment her richer, blonde tresses. Yet the arrangement was displeasing to her, and she thinned the scales until they were a patina, scattered along her shins, around her thighs, across her pubis then up her sides and below her bosom, gilding her shoulders and outer arms and wrists, rising up her neck while keeping her throat exposed, framing the symmetry in her face.

  Still not a dragon… but not wholly an elf.

  Wings? No; they would clash with her spreading hair. But a tail wound down, coiled about her long legs, sleek and prehensile.

  Her hands and feet were too blunt; claws and talons gleamed.

  What about her head? Her ears she scaled, then frilled. In place of the floral coronet, curling horns in the same metal as the scales, staining verdigris toward their roots, thereby to show off the eyes they framed — which were too soft, too elven, too round within, pupils better narrowing to thin slits–

  Then widening as Saphienne gasped:

  She was gorgeous.

  * * *

  Having been spying on her girlfriend unperceived, Laelansa giggled as she nudged the door fully open, draped in her nightclothes where she leant on the frame. “I wondered when you’d notice me.”

  Pretending that she had, Saphienne nodded, transfixed by the reflection that showed in her mind alone; she had to reassure herself that her girlfriend couldn’t see what she did. “…I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

  “Not without you.” Laelansa came into the room with confidence that was a little too exaggerated, unambiguously willing herself to be brave as she stood behind Saphienne and encircled her in adoring arms. “But I can see why you were distracted…”

  As Laelansa kissed the nape of Saphienne’s neck–

  Ah, but what happened then is not a tale to be told in the daytime.

  * * *

  That night, brought about by the arrival of the dragon, pale green dragonflare shone weird yet undeniable above the Eastern Vale.

  End of Chapter 111

  End of Autumn

  If you're enjoying this story, please favourite it so others know!

  Chapter 112 releases Friday the 6th of February 2026.

  Thanks for reading!