When Legend Begin To Burn
1231 Words
Fire did not fall from the sky.
It rose from the earth.
Yiya felt it coil beneath her claws as she stood at the edge of the nameless valley, wings spread wide against the darkening clouds. The ancient wards shimmered and strained, their light bending under the pressure of magic pressed relentlessly from the outside. The High Regent’s forces had encircled the ruins with calculated precision, sigils flaring in the air like open wounds in the sky.
They had come prepared.
“They have learned too much,” Yiya growled, her voice vibrating through stone and bone alike.
Behind her, the toddler princess stood unsteadily within the protective curve of Yiya’s tail. The child sensed the danger now. She was no longer laughing. Her small hands clutched the fabric of her ceremonial tunic, eyes wide as she watched robed figures move beyond the mist.
The High Regent stepped forward.
His crown was not gold but light—woven spellcraft hovering above his brow, shifting with each measured breath. Power radiated from him in disciplined waves, refined and cold.
“Yiya,” he called, his voice amplified unnaturally. “Guardian of a broken promise.”
Yiya’s eyes narrowed.
“You speak of promises as though you ever honored one,” she replied.
The Regent raised a hand. The air thickened instantly, heavy with binding magic.
“The covenant no longer serves the realm,” he said. “It is unstable. Inefficient. The child will be bound properly, and the seal restored permanently.”
Yiya laughed—a sound like splitting stone.
“Permanence is just another word for imprisonment,” she said. “You fear choice because you cannot control it.”
A murmur rippled through the mages behind him.
The Regent’s expression hardened.
“You would doom the world for a child?”
Yiya did not hesitate.
“Yes.”
The word landed like a strike of thunder.
The toddler princess whimpered softly, sensing the escalation. Yiya lowered her head and murmured to her, voice soft despite the fire roaring within her chest.
“Stay behind me,” she said. “No matter what you see.”
The child nodded—far too solemn for one so young.
The Regent gave a sharp gesture.
The attack began.
Sigils ignited simultaneously, beams of compressed magic slamming into the valley’s wards. The protective lattice flared blindingly bright, then fractured with a sound like glass breaking. Stone exploded outward. Trees were ripped from the ground, their roots screaming as they were torn free.
Yiya roared.
She surged forward, fire finally unleashed—not wild, but controlled, a blazing arc that scorched the ground between her and the advancing mages. The heat warped the air, forcing the front line back in panic.
“Hold formation!” the Regent shouted.
Chains of light shot forward, wrapping around Yiya’s forelimbs, biting deep into her scales. Pain flared white-hot, but Yiya braced herself, claws digging trenches into the earth.
She did not fall.
“You forget,” Yiya snarled, flames curling between her teeth, “who taught your ancestors fear.”
She tore free.
The chains shattered, dissolving into sparks as Yiya lunged, wings beating violently. Fire and magic collided in a deafening clash, the valley shaking under the force.
But they were many.
Too many.
A bolt of binding magic slipped past Yiya’s defenses and struck the ground behind her—right where the child stood.
“No!”
Yiya twisted sharply, throwing her body sideways. The spell grazed her flank instead, searing through scale and flesh. She roared in agony, staggering but staying upright.
The toddler screamed.
Yiya turned back just in time to see two wardens break through the chaos, sprinting toward the child with containment glyphs blazing in their hands.
Something ancient and terrible rose inside her.
Yiya did not breathe fire.
She breathed memory.
The ground split open.
A shockwave erupted outward, throwing soldiers and mages alike off their feet. The ruins answered her call, ancient stones lifting from the earth, forming a ring of living defense around the child.
Yiya moved in a blur, placing herself before the princess once more, blood steaming along her wounded side.
“Enough,” the Regent shouted. “Bind her now!”
The magic surged.
Yiya knew the truth then, clear and merciless.
She could win this battle.
But she would lose the war.
They would never stop coming.
The child was crying now—frightened, overwhelmed. Yiya lowered her head, touching her brow gently to the child’s forehead as chaos roared around them.
“Listen to me,” Yiya said urgently. “What I am about to do will change everything.”
The child hiccupped, tears streaking her cheeks.
“There is a path they cannot follow,” Yiya continued. “But it will cost us time. And it will make the world hate me even more.”
The child’s small hands gripped Yiya’s scales.
“Yes,” she whispered—not in words, but in feeling.
That was consent enough.
Yiya rose.
She turned toward the mountain range beyond the valley—the deeper, older peaks where reality itself thinned. Where dragons once vanished into myth.
She drew in a breath so deep the sky seemed to bend.
Fire roared—not outward, but inward—collapsing into a blinding core within her chest. The air screamed as ancient symbols ignited along her scales, blazing like stars being born.
The Regent’s eyes widened.
“No,” he breathed. “You wouldn’t dare—”
Yiya spoke a single word.
A word that had not been spoken since the first covenant fell.
The world folded.
Space twisted violently, the ground tearing open into a spiraling rift of light and shadow. Wind howled inward, dragging debris, spells, and screaming soldiers toward the void.
Yiya wrapped herself around the child, wings locking tight as the pull intensified.
The Regent reached out desperately, magic flaring—but the rift consumed his spell, unraveling it into nothing.
“You cannot erase yourself!” he shouted.
Yiya met his gaze across the collapsing battlefield.
“I am not erasing myself,” she said. “I am protecting the future.”
With a final thunderous roar, Yiya leapt.
The rift swallowed dragon and child alike.
Then it snapped shut.
Silence crashed down upon the valley.
Where Yiya had stood, only scorched earth and shattered ruins remained.
The soldiers stared in stunned horror.
The High Regent sank slowly to his knees.
“She’s gone,” someone whispered.
The Regent clenched his fists, fury and fear twisting his features.
“No,” he said. “She’s hidden.”
Far beyond the kingdom’s reach, beyond maps and memory, Yiya emerged from the rift and collapsed onto solid ground. The land here was strange—quiet, unreal, untouched by history.
She curled protectively around the child, breathing hard, blood dark against the pale stone.
The toddler princess pressed her face into Yiya’s chest, clinging tightly.
“It’s over,” Yiya whispered, though she knew it was not. “For now.”
Above them, unfamiliar stars burned in an unfamiliar sky.
Yiya closed her eyes.
She had crossed the final boundary.
The world would call her lost. A myth. A monster who vanished with a stolen princess.
But legends had a way of returning.
And when Yiya did, the truth would burn brighter than any fire.
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