Sivi could barely hear the large doors shut, not when the water dragon Liadrin descended.

Her shining, razor-sharp claws dented and fractured the once embellished courtyard. The ancient trees and rotten buildings swayed when Liadrin's sickle-shaped, blue wings folded neatly over her back. She dipped her slender, neck and narrowed her cat-like eyes at Sivi. Her blue, scale-covered body, played with the sunlight, refracting it around Liadrin, making her appear as an angel from the heavens. Behind Liadrin’s webbed, serpentine frills around her neck, Sivi noticed her tail swaying innocuously with the wind, crystalline points facing upwards. Her jaws opened a fraction and Liandrin puffed out a gentle, winter breeze. Snow collected on the white fences, lingering a moment before melting away.

“This Queendom has surely seen better days.” Liadrin purred, lightly caressing the railing with her fore-claws, “and you, you my dear Queen. You don’t look so well.”

“What do you want Liadrin?” Sivi hissed.

Liadrin reared up, extending to her full height. The dragon looked down her nose at Sivi. “I just wanted to check on the wellbeing of my business partner. But fine, business it is.” She retracted her forearms from the railing and fell to all fours. “First, my offering.”

Sivi extended her hand to the side. In a clasp of sound and light, a silver, forked scimitar coagulated and fell into her frail hands. Her hands warmed to the touch of the worn-out leather. Its hilt looked like the tail feathers of a bird, pointed away from the cutting edge of the deadly blade. Where the metal feathers met, a small flat ruby lay and from there, golden engravings travelled up the blade, embellishing the middle section of the sword without tarnishing the cutting edge. The blade seemed far too heavy for Sivi’s weak build, but somehow, it was perfect.

“Zulfiqar,” Liadrin mused. She flicked her tongue greedily, eyes latched onto the legendary blade. “Are you running out of trinkets to offer me?” Sivi said nothing, her eyes lingered on Zulfiqar. “It’s a shame you have to part with such a magnificent treasure.”

Sivi whirled the blade with skill she didn’t have. “Do you not want it?” The hunger in Liadrin’s eyes was answer enough. Sivi threw the falchion at the blue dragon. She all but dove for the blade; it vanished into light and sound the moment it touched her scaled body.

Sivi clenched her fists, it was as if a part of her had disappeared along with the blade.

“How goes the cattle?” Water souls orbited above the dragons head. It was a silent message to her: offer a displeasing message, and your city and people, will pay the price.

Sivi looked away from the dragons stare, “It’ll take years to repair the damage. Though, if you wish for it, you could have a banquet in a few months.”

“Release a third of the cattle. It’ll be fun to hunt them down.” She raised her wings, preparing to take flight. “I’ll be back in a fortnight and I’m expecting great things.” Liadrin grinned, “You know what happens when I’m disappointed right?” Sivi nodded submittingly. “Say it,” Liadrin whispered, voice deadly cold.

“You’ll destroy my precious Queendom.” Somehow, Sivi kept her voice from cracking.

“Good girl.” Liadrin took flight. Sivi stumbled backwards from the blast of wind.

Kirie pushed open the large doors and handed her a fur coat. Suddenly, a cacophony of raucous vibrations hit Sivi like a hammer. Her eyes clenched shut. When she opened them, she was greeted by a city covered by a blanket of white. Kirie tousled her blond hair, shaking the snow off of her locks, then she reached forward and did the same for Sivi. Sivi let her, for there wasn’t anyone watching; they weren't assuming the roles of Queen and maid but of friends.

“I hate her,” Kirie said with an astounding amount of emotion when she finished.

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“Go tell everyone that it’s safe now.”

Kirie bowed respectfully and exited the terrace, closing the doors quietly on her way out.

She donned the coat and leaned back on the fence. Her stomach rumbled as she sighed. The day had only just begun.

A soft feminine hand, only a little thicker than Sivi’s own, clamped onto her mouth, muffling her attempts to scream. “Don’t scream.” The first thing she noticed when she stopped struggling were the tattoos on her captor's forearms. Innumerable. Intricate. Each one unique.

The hand moved away from her mouth and instead locked onto her opposite shoulder. Sivi felt the weight of the unidentified girl rest upon her. “Aren’t you tired of being bullied by Liadrin?” Shivers went down her spine, it felt worse than Liadrin's cold breath. “You should try finding a mate for her, maybe then she’d get off your back.”

“Who are you?” Sivi forced authority and regality into her voice, assuming the persona of someone who should be heeded.

A yellow blade shimmered into existence, plunging tip first into the soft, wooden floor. Even after it completely solidified, the light that gave it birth did not recede. A faint glow lingered, hugging the edges of the blade, like an angelic aura.

“What is that?” Sivi said reflexively, unable to hide her astonishment.

“If you don’t know what it is, I’m taking it back.”

Sivi knew what it was. Claíomh Solais. The Sword of Light. The Shining Sword. It goes by many names, and despite discrepancies in translation and stories, this blade is irrevocably considered—by every sentient race—to be among the ten greatest weapons ever created.

Sivi reached out and stroked the pommel of the fabled blade. “Why?”

“To give you a chance. To help you beat the insurmountable threat known as Liadrin.”

Before speaking any further, Sivi gripped firmly on Claíomh Solais’ hilt. She closed her eyes and bonded with the blade. A black tattoo formed on her wrist, replacing the one she lost when she gave Zulfiqar away. The blade vanished, leaving an imprint of light that slowly trickled away. “If you wanted to help,” she began when Claíomh Solais was safely stored inside of her, “why didn’t you beat Liadrin with Claíomh Solais? That would have been far more helpful.”

“Because,” she whispered, light as a feather, into Sivi’s ear, “if you want something, you should do it yourself. That blade is just one possible option.” Sivi felt a sharp nip on her neck. “Arguably, that is more useful.”

Sivi stroked where she was bitten. She knew what was there. A black tattoo.

“Ultimately, a tool is useless unless it is used. So make a choice, my dear Queen who doesn't quite fit in the shoes you wear. Before you can't make any at all.”

“Wait!” Sivi whirled around. But the woman was already gone.

She continued staring off in the distance, watching her people busy themselves with mindless actions, all the while searching for any trace of the stranger she just talked to.

A snow-white owl landed on the ledge above Sivi. It shook itself and a dried-up parchment fell onto Sivi's sky-facing palm. On it was a barely legible, black scrawl.

I apologize,

I have yet to acquire any noteworthy trinkets.

H.K Arturus

That was it. There wasn’t any hidden message, just another piece of bad news. Sivi crumpled to paper, and without a second thought, burned it to ash. Even when the ashes had all drifted away, Sivi stoked the orange flame in her hands, melting the snow on the guardrail. She clenched her hand into a fist, snuffing the flame. Then, she felt for the black mark on her neck. “Should I just end the suffering?” she fumed contemplatively.

“No.” Firm hands grasped hers and pried them away from her neck. “You can’t do it Sivi,” Kirie pleaded. “It isn’t worth it.”

Sivi forcefully ripped herself from Kirie’s grasp. “You overstep yourself.” The words tasted sour the moment the left her mouth, but for some insane reason, Sivi decided that she had to keep up her Queenly appearance. So she barreled on, spitting out words she didn't mean. “You are my maid. You have no right to dictate what I do. You are a tone-deaf mute who has no right to lick the soles of my shoes.” Sivi almost vomited at her own words but she kept going. “Your ancestors are rolling over right now. Leave me and contemplate your actions.”

Kirie jerked as if struck. Her green eyes flared brightly, indicating a surge of intense emotion. “Fine,” Kirie seethed. Her hands were clenched by her side, shoulders tense. “Get dressed. Your meetings start in the throne room when the sickle-berries bloom.” She stormed off the terrace, slamming the large, silverwood doors shut.

Sivi should have gone after her. Should have apologized right away, but she didn’t. She just watched, motionless, as her best and only friend walked away.