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Pale dawn fell over Syra thumbing at the two slips of parchment in her hands. Her cheeks were rosier, but anxiety pulsed in her fingertips as she traced the runes scrawled across the spelltags Valen had given her.

Petra and Cassius should meet you on the way to Landelle, he had said before they parted, Place these on their chests before you arrive. It will make the trip easier.

She had done well in her runic studies, but she struggled to discern the archaic script further than, 'dragon', 'human', and 'so says I'. The latter obviously referring to the blood-stained thumbprint used to power the spell.

She slid the tags into her pocket with a sigh. Valen had brought her new clothes as a promise to bargain for a lighter sentencing, but despite her trust in her mentor, she also knew Rogan to be a stickler for the law, and she had broken more than that.

Syra started at the sound of the lock clinking and felt her stomach lurch at the sight of a stoic, but pale, Aidan standing in the doorway. Whether out of instinct or raw nerves, she shot from her seat with outspread arms. But they met empty air as he faltered back a pace. Syra froze a moment, her hands quivering inches from his averted gaze.

"Here," he said, his voice a tad hoarse, and held out a backpack, widening the gap between them, "Valen sent this for you."

"Um, thanks," she said with slight hesitation, taking the pack and examining its contents.

"That should be enough to reach Landelle," he said, peering down at Syra's tight grip on the canvas bag.

She picked at loose strand and gave him a weak smile, "Thank you, Aidan."

"You can thank Valen, not me," Aidan said turning away.

"Wait!" Syra said, starting after him, "I—"

"I have nothing to say to you," he snapped over a stiff shoulder.

"Nothing? I might be executed today and you have nothing at all to say?"

There was a paused as his jaw tensed.

"Why?" he finally asked, unmoving and eyes distant, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You really think I could? With how everyone sees us? How your father sees us? You'd certainly never look at me the same. You'd hate me...just like now."

"I deserved to know the truth," he said low, leering down at her, anger and pain swirling behind his eyes. "And you know, that's not even the worst part."

"W-what do you mean?"

His jaw tensed, "You accepted my proposal. You accepted it knowing full well that you'd be lying not just to me, but to everyone. You were willing to lie to everyone—everyone that I'm trying to protect—and for what? Your own agenda? Your own ego?" He scoffed down at her, "Catching yourself a prince? Oh, I bet that felt good: riding the human prince like some damn party pony."

"That's not it at all! Not completely, at least."

"Oh, no? Well, then spare some truth for once."

"I did come here with a mission, but it's not what you think. It's not to spy or anything like that—it's to...well, it's complicated. But I swear to Aranida it wasn't to hurt you, or anyone! If anything, I...I was scared of losing you." She cringed internally at the irony.

Aidan laughed, "And how'd that turn out?"

"I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear! I just—"

Aidan raised a hand for silence, "I got my answer. Now get ready. The guards are on their way to fetch you for the sentencing."

He locked the door behind him but paused, "Goodbye, Syra."

Syra braced herself against the door as her legs slowly gave from under her, her ears filled with the sound of his fading footsteps and her stifled wail.

***

It wasn't the presence of the hooded undertaker that sent chills across her skin, but the miasma that steamed from the burning eyes of the people gathered below the castle's main stairway. The old bookstore owner, the tea merchant and his boy, even Revinia all stared up in confused rage. Rage at all they had lost. Rage at that, somehow, their loss was caused by the young woman standing in front of them. Rage at that same young woman being an infernal beast that deceived their trust and adoration.

If she was completely honest, she couldn't blame them. Daybreak revealed the damage to be more severe than expected. A full third of the market district was rubble and citizens were still being pulled from collapsed buildings. Even the air stung of ash from the smoke clinging to smoldering piles of debris.

I wonder how Nelly and them are doing. Aidan must've said something to them—Nelly would've ensured that. But I don't see them. Damn, they must really hate me now—

The crowd hushed as Rogan descended the stairs with a silencing hand. Syra turned to face him, but her head was forced low by her guard's iron grip.

"I see Valen still harbors trust in his scaly friends," Rogan hushed, noting her attire and backpack. "Some people never change."

He faced his audience with a stern brow.

"Citizens of Altaira!" Rogan began with a hearty roar, "I am sure you have heard the rumors. And it pains me to confirm them." He glanced briefly at Syra's bowed head, "It has come to my attention that our beloved city has yet again been betrayed. Not by another kingdom, or even by a neighboring city. No," pain softened his voice as his gaze traced the woven strands of hair he once watched Valen braid with fatherly delight, "but by one of our own. Or at least, what we thought was one of ours."

Whispers mingled among the crowd and Rogan cleared his throat, "Nine years ago, I welcomed a young girl into our Academy. One thought to have been orphaned in the dragon attack...a throwaway."

The crowd simmered with unease at the mention of the taboo.

"But she was Gifted. Quite gifted, indeed, as you've seen yourselves over the years. This is no doubt because our own Master Valen saw promise and took her in. All in hopes that she would one day bless our kingdom as a powerful mage. And she did."

Pride whispered through the crack in his voice, "She excelled through the academy, healed countless soldiers on the western front and many of you on occasion. She even challenged Erdenir, the Wyrmulence himself. And for that was made Soldier a whole year early!" Rogan boomed with a chuckle of near disbelief and held out a hand for validation from Orlek, the captain of the guard and Syra's superior. The half-nord merely gave a disheartened nod, eyes unable to look at his previous pupil.

"No one expected it from one so young. And from a throwaway at that. Our precious Bronzed Valkyrie: 'the girl who tamed the western dragons'." His eyes narrowed and bored into her, "But now I have to question if she 'tamed' them at all, or if she simply struck a deal with them. For it turns out that this mage—this...witch, is nothing but a serpent in human clothing! A beguiling shapeshifter!"

The plaza rang with fury and Rogan let his words come firm and distinct, "A dragon."

Roars of, 'Spy!" and Traitor!' permeated the thick atmosphere and the undertaker fidgeted with his blade. Syra's guard didn't need to hold her head; she let it fall herself.

So much for my special mission.

"I hear your anger!" Rogan held up his hands for silence, "I truly do. I too am angry, and disgusted, and hurt...and if this were a simple matter of laws broken, then it would surely be a swift execution." He paused, glancing up at the window where Aidan stood watching, "But simple it is not. As many of you witnessed during the tragedy yesterday, this...beast, this... lizard broke her illusion to save your lives. And one of those lives was my son's."

There was a boiling over of protests and spitting, but Rogan spoke on, "I know your anger demands blood, as does mine! But that debt has already been paid, in blood not spilt."

The crowd was in outright confusion at this point. Unsure whether they should be angry or sad, or whether to sling their feces in Syra's general direction.

"That beast's life doesn't count for shit!" One man bellowed, spit flying from his reddened face.

"And if I acted on that, then we'd all be just as bad as them!" Rogan snapped, then sighed. He gave Syra one last, forlorn glance, "Just a bunch of creatures with no code."

"A life for a life: that is my decision!" Rogan said, rounding on Syra who was made to stand upright.

"Syra Ferra—no, Syra Montari, for the crime of treason you are hereby banished from the Kingdom of Altaira and all its principalities! From this point on, you will have no title and be harbored by no citizen. Should you return, I will revoke my compassion and you will be executed with haste. Is that understood?"

Syra avoided his gaze, but thought she caught the swelling of tears about his stern eyes, "Yes, sir."

"Take her to the gates," Rogan commanded of his guards.

"I know it doesn't count for much, but," Syra said meekly as she passed him, "...thank you."

Rogan fought against the knot in his throat and Syra craned her head towards the castle's western tower where Aidan stood with Valen overlooking the procession.

Goodbye, Aidan.

***

Sun-high brought a comforting breeze and Syra had stopped to rest with the bread and dried venison Valen had graciously included. Despite the events of yesterday, the road to the capital was still bringing in guests, mostly merchants and performers hoping to capitalize on the festivities. None of which seemed to give Syra much notice.

Word must've not reached town yet, she thought.

From her seat astride a felled trunk, the crystalline spear of the Transpoint glinted through the canopy. Carved from the heart of a large meteorite, the mossy-green monolith shone from its austrum bindings in multi-faceted glory as a triumph of human alchemy—Altaira's own "Star at River's End" and breakthrough in transportation. Or, at least for those who could afford it.

That sure would make the trip much easier, she thought.

But her pockets were empty and transpoint shards were especially pricey nowadays.

She was halfway debating stowing away in a caravan when a rumbling came through the earth and the air thickened with a low hum. A violet light grew from within the Transpoint, radiating in prisms and spiraling outwards. A burst of light and wind followed the appearance of a small cart guarded by three roughly dressed men.

"Good god, that was horrible," One man of grizzled beard said, his face paling and bracing himself on the cart.

"Quit yer bellyaching," said his burlier comrade, tossing a metal compact into the cart and flexing his singed hand, "You didn't have to hold the blasted thing."

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"I told you to wear gloves. But did you listen? No," the third and scrawnier man mocked.

"Shut it, Grant. It was your fault we had to use this thing in the first place. Waste of rali if you ask me."

"At least we got away from that old hag," Grant said, checking the contents of the cart for damage, "We should get a hefty return on all this magical shit."

"Hope you got something for a sour stomach," Han said through gags.

"Hey! No yacking on the merchandise!" Reese yelled and shoved Han away from the cart just in time for him to retch. "When you're done, help us push."

Reese took up the yolk and Grant heaved at the rear, but the cart did not budge. Even with Han's added grunt, the wheels refused to turn and dug a deeper trench the harder they shoved.

Syra watched them struggle with curious intent.

Maybe if I help them I can get a ride.

"Excuse me!" Syra said, stepping out from the treeline, "Did you need some help?"

The men appeared startled at first and hesitant to answer, simply whispering amongst themselves.

They're probably just uneasy, she thought, I did just show up out of nowhere.

"The wheels," she called, nearing them with slow steps, "there could be something jammed in there. I could take a look and see what I can do." She offered a polite grin to the gruff fellows overlooking her. But their confusion didn't last long when Reese caught the glint of the gold hoop adorning her upper ear.

"Oi, yer a mage!" said Reese, pointing to the earring, "Didn't catch that at first."

"O-oh...yes!" Syra stuttered. She didn't technically have the title anymore, but that didn't mean she couldn't use her skills. "I thought perhaps I could try to mend anything that might have broken."

"Well aren't you the kindly type," Reese mused, exchanging silent words between his partners, "Whelp, go on ahead an' see what you can do. Don't let an old feller like me stop a mage from workin'."

"Shouldn't take that long," Syra said, kneeling down beside the wooden wheel and examining the spokes and rigging with dainty fingers, "These carts don't take much to figure out."

"Is that so?" Reese pried, giving a nod to Han who took to searching the cart with quiet efficiency.

"Yeah," she said, finding nothing that obstructed the wheel directly and crawling under the carriage to check the back wheels, "I'm no smith, but I figure if I can understand it, then it has to be pretty simple."

When Syra disappeared from view, the men faked laughter and Han tossed a bundle of rope to Reese.

Syra suspected nothing until she was by the rear and caught a faint whispering hidden by the men's voices.

"Hey!" It called from above her, "You need to run!" The tiny voice sounded muffled and she strained to hear.

"What?" she hushed back.

"It's a trap. You need to run. Fast! Go now while they can't see you."

Syra stopped to rationalize the voice and what kind of ploy she had gotten herself into, but she had paused too long.

"You alright under there, little mage?" Reese called.

"Yes, just fine!" she said, returning from thought, "But I was wrong--it's that back wheel. The joint snapped. I can fix it, but I'll need my supplies." She lied, hoping to make a quick exit. But they were prepared for her when she crawled out from under the cart.

Seeing the men hovering over her, Syra sprung from underneath the cart, sliding under Reese. She managed to dodge his hooked arm, but that brought her careening into a waiting Han. Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders and she felt her feet leaving the ground.

In an instant, Syra slammed her feet against the road, rocketing her head up into Han's chin. He stumbled back with a groan but kept his grip, albeit looser now. Syra reared her legs upward then shoved then downward, tugging on his arms and pulling him down with them. The change in momentum caught him off-guard and he tumbled forward over Syra who ducked and sprinted away.

"Oh no, you don't!" Grant spat, grabbing the rope from Reese and speeding after her.

Syra's legs pumped against the hard-packed dirt, but the thud of long legs quickly closed in.

Damn it! She veered off sharply into the trees. Maybe she could lose him in the brush.

Her feet danced and leaped over logs and around thickets of briar. She heard him curse the low-hanging branches as his pace slowed. But they were soon joined by the heavy beats of two others on either flank.

Shit, they're gonna cut me off!

Ahead was her one chance: a stream too wide to jump, but with one lone, narrow log stretching its breadth.

That'll never hold their weight, she thought, forcing herself to push past the burning in her thighs.

The bandits seemed to catch on to her ploy as Reese and Han angled their approach directly towards the woodland bridge. But she was nearly there. She could soar across that log in three quick steps and they would be sent crashing into the frigid water below.

Almost there...almost there, she chanted through strained breaths.

The encroaching men blurred into the greenery as she made her last strides to safety. It was in her last leap that a tawny line stretched across her vision, quickly followed by a stinging across her gut and an abrupt halt that flung her onto her back. The rope, she realized, coughing back the breath she had lost.

"Tie 'er up!" Reese commanded with reddened face, "Tightly now, bitch made me break a sweat."

Syra spun to her feet, but Han had her pinned under his bulk and Grant's hands worked fast to bind her arms to her sides. In a desperate move, Syra hunched over and surged burning mana through her hands trying to ignite the rope. But the warm glow merely fizzled around the bindings. She froze in shock and confusion.

The trees echoed Reese's laughter, "Don't waste your energy! That rope is pure Arrun fiber. You might as well be bound in iron."

In her current state, Syra could only recall the material being used to hunt magical creatures.

How befitting, she thought with a sneer.

She struggled against the ropes, but only managed to scrape up her skin against its rough fibers, "What do you want with me, anyway?"

Reese sneered down at the squirming girl, "Rali, of course! I know plenty of backalley folks itchin' to get their hands on a mage. This one alchemist I know," he crouched with his face inches from hers, "he can make all kinds of potions from the mana sucked out of 'em. Strength, healing, even youthfulness given the right...donor. And, as it turns out, the younger the better! Ain't that just fascinating?" Reese feigned bewilderment and gave her cheek a rough pinch. "I'm sure he'll pay a pretty coin for you."

"Speakin' of pretty..." He examined her face with a firm grip on her chin, "You got a nice face, but," his eyes traced her toned but petite frame in disappointment, "only that ass would be worth grabbin'."

Syra yanked her head away, but her spunk only made him laugh.

"No matter, that's just my opinion. There are plenty others who prefer them kiddish anyway. And, frankly, you'll probably get passed around to the lot of them. But only just long enough for your reserves to replenish, and then it'll be right back to the alchemist to be drained all over again." He gave a wry grin and patted her head, "Just thought you ought to know beforehand."

Syra's chest burned.

Is that true? Are there alchemists that would really do such horrid things?

"You're lying," she hissed through gritted teeth. "No true alchemist would involve themselves in such dealings. They have a code. And honor. Unlike you fuc—"

"Oh, you poor little fool," Reese cooed. "Indeed there are. Otherwise, there'd be a lot more throwaways out there." He let reality sink in a bit, relishing her wide-eyed expression, before turning to Han, "Gag her."

Han took a small bottle from his pocket and poured a clear liquid out onto a cloth. Grant held Syra tight against him, despite her squirming, and Han wrapped the cloth around her nose and mouth.

With one breath her eyes flashed green, her pupils flickering between slits and circles. She screamed. Her lungs burned. Her body stung and seized. Her scream became a hoarse roar that faded like a spark as her limbs went limp. She couldn't feel her fingers...toes...or legs, and within a minute her whole body was numb and her head fuzzy. Sound left her ears and she fought against the blackness swarming her periphery. The last visage left to her was that of a bronze coin hung about Reese's tattooed neck.

***

The cackling of men's banter, along with a dull soreness and dry mouth, roused Syra to consciousness. The road was gone. Only brush and trees surrounded them, with the faint trace of a narrow trail beginning to be overgrown.

Syra picked up the scent of stale mutton as her senses returned to her. Her breath froze within her chest, seeing her capturers just feet away as the memories came rushing back.

Where are we? She thought in a panic, looking about, How late is it? She needed to reach Landelle by nightfall, but now sunlight shown gold through the treetops and she had lost her sense of direction.

"Well look who's awake?" Grant said, causing Syra to jump, "That didn't take long."

"No, it didn't," said Reese a tad disappointed, "Quite sturdy, that one. We're just gonna have to use the whole bottle. Han!" he motioned for Han to take care of things before returning to his meal.

Han said nothing while pulling the small bottle again from his pocket, his face still a slight pale.

He must still be recovering from his trip through the Transpoint, Syra thought with a spark of hope. Some people never took well to it. She used his sluggishness as an opportunity to get her feet up under herself, using a tree for support as her arms were still bound.

"Not this again," Han said with a sigh of exasperation.

Syra sprung away from him, but her legs were weak and shaky and she stumbled after a few paces. Han was quickly upon her and grabbed her by the braid, yanking her backwards. She pulled against his grip and heard several strands snap. But his hand found her face and forced her head back into his chest.

"Quit squirming!" Han commanded, retrieving the cloth with his free hand.

"Suck a toad!" Syra hissed, latching her teeth around his hand and clamping down. Han screamed and she tasted metal.

"You little cunt!"

Han recoiled but hooked his arm around her neck, jamming his elbow up under her jaw and wrapped his legs around her waist, "Just shut up and take it!" He spat, pouring the remaining liquid into the cloth.

Retracting from the musky wad, she did the only thing left to do. She screamed. Not a shrill shriek of fear, a roar. A throat-burning call-to-arms amplified by all the mana she could afford.

I might not be able to burn these ropes, she thought, but ropes can't bind sound.

Flocks fled their perches and Han flinched from the blow to his eardrums.

"What the hell are you doing?" Reese yelled, plugging his own ears, "Knock 'er out already!

"I'm trying!"

Syra used his weakened hold to slam the back of her head, once again, into his face. This time she heard the distinct snap of a nose.

"Bloody hell!" Han bellowed, releasing Syra as his hands flew to his swelling snout.

"Don't let 'er g—" said Reese, in time to watch Syra bolt from Han's grip, "Damn it!"

Syra was about to duck into a thicket when she noticed the shining of metal on one side of the cart. Swords! If she could get a hold of one, then it would be a fair fight.

She doubled back, leading her pursuers into low-hanging foliage and headed straight for the short sword that glinted as if beckoning.

"Get yer ass out of my face!" Reese berated Han who had to stoop to clear the spiny arches of briar.

Syra crouched with her back to the blades, slicing at the rope. Time slowed as she felt the strands snap one by one. Just...a few...more. She hurried as they broke through the vegetation and bared down on her.

Then there were hoof beats, and the grazing of metal. And Syra watched as the men fell backwards away from the rearing hooves of the chestnut stallion beside her. Its rider, cloaked with hood, pointed a steady blade.

"Back off." It commanded, and Syra faltered. She knew that voice.

"Like hell we will!" Reese said, finding his footing, "Our catch, our prize!" He drew his own sword, a basic blade of little refinement.

The figure dismounted with a nimble landing. As it did, Syra caught a glimpse of its face from under the hood.

"Ai—" The clash of swords cut her off.

With a quick shove, Aidan knocked Reese some paces back then knelt to sever the rest of the rope. "Let's go," he said, their eyes meeting.

Syra leapt to her feet and drew the short sword, finding comfort in its weight and leather handle.

Back-to-back they fought, swerving, twisting, and jabbing in continuous motion, their breath and footsteps music to a dance well-rehearsed. Round in circles they went. The clearing rang with grunts and yowls, and the meeting of metal against metal, cloth, and skin.

"Leave. Now," said Aidan through controlled breaths.

Reese stood huffing on an injured leg, blood soaking through his britches and sleeves where Aidan's blade had sliced, "No."

Aidan widened his stance and tightened his grip on his sword, eyes fixed on Reese, "Last chance."

"H-hey Reese, m-maybe we should just cut our loses," said Grant, leaning heavily on his sword with blood trailing from the gash above his eye.

Han offered an agreeable nod, as he wasn't in any better shape, but that seemed to spur Reese on.

"Cowards!" he yelled, spitting out a mixture of saliva, blood, and sweat. He ignored his comrades and lunged with sword raised. But in his ignorance he failed to see the small shadow bend around Aidan and spring towards his unguarded torso.

And so Reese stood there, Aidan blocking his blow, with little Syra hilt-deep into his side. A small whine came from his crusted mouth and his jaw clenched from pain. But more than pain, Syra saw surprise splattered across his face.

"He said, 'last chance'," she hushed up at him.

"You stupid, stupid girl!" Reese growled, gritting his teeth and rearing his sword backwards. Forgetting about the slab of metal through his middle, he spun her around and shoved the blade-edge up against her throat.

"Whatcha gonna do now, hero?" he mocked Aidan who stared him down. "You just gonna stand there?"

Just above the treetops, Syra spotted a shimmer in the sunlight. Two shimmers, actually, and approaching fast.

"Aidan, you have to d—"

"It's alright, I'll handle this."

"No, you dumbass," Syra said, twisting the blade in Reese's side and causing him scream and drop his sword, "DUCK!"

She leaped onto him and pulled him to the ground, just moments before a plume of red-hot flames shot over them and encapsulated Reese.

A strong burst of wind was followed by Grant's scream, "Dragons!"

Aidan's eyes went wide as he watched the large red and gold creatures circle above like vultures.

"They're coming back!" Han yelled to Grant, running over to an unconscious Reese, who was still alive but badly charred, "Help me drag him!"

"Aidan, let's go!" Syra said, shaking him out of his trance.

The two scurried from the clearing into the safety of the trees.

"What about them?" Aidan asked, watching Han and Grant struggle with their injuries to drag Reese out of the clearing.

Within seconds a shadow fell over the men and more flames came. This time it was blue flames that caught their backsides as they managed to scamper out of range.

Blue fire... Syra thought with brief pause.

"Come on, before they come back!" Aidan tugged at her arm but she did not budge.

"No," Syra said, pulling from his grasp and running back into the clearing.

"What the hell—are you insane?!"

"Trust me!"

"Hell no!"

Syra stood herself in the very middle of the meadow, watching the metallic figures bank inwards towards her.

"Syra move!" Aidan yelled.

She did not.

Before her, the two serpents swooped low, but did not loose their fire.

I was right.

Wind billowed through the trees, whipping her hair and cloak as they landed side-by-side mere feet away. Leathery wings folded and bright eyes of azure and gold stared down from their towering perches. The golden one dipped its head and sniffed, spurring Aidan to leave his retreat.

"Don't come any closer!" Aidan threatened, running between Syra and the giants with sword raised, "We have no quarrel with you, so please, leave us be!"

It studied Aidan for a moment then dismissed him, turning to its partner.

"It's her," it spoke, surprising Syra with its loudness.

"Of course, it's her!" said the copper drake in slight annoyance, "I'd know that whine anywhere."

Aidan hesitated, confused by their words and Syra's lax demeanor, "You...know them?"

Syra turned an awkward smile to Aidan, "Um, yes! This is Cassius...and Petra," she said motioning to the gold and copper dragons, respectively, "They're my siblings."