Grace Auraleal awoke to a world on fire.
Startled, the priestess bolted upright in her bed, her heart hammering against her ribs like a caged bird desperate to escape. The thick fog of slumber clung to her like a shroud, as she fought to shake off the remnants of sleep. What force had torn her so abruptly from the embrace of her dreams, leaving her gasping for clarity? The sheets, twisted from her restless night, slipped down to pool around her waist. Darkness enveloped the chamber, the silence punctuated only by the gentle snores of her acolyte, blissfully unaware in the far corner, wrapped in her slumber. The hour was late, and Auraleal had been deep within a realm of dreams—dreams filled with dragons.
Behind her closed eyes, Auraleal had soared through endless skies, riding atop a magnificent silver dragon, its great leathery wings beating in rhythm with the exhilaration that coursed through her veins. She could still feel the warmth of its scales beneath her fingertips, the rush of wind sweeping past as they danced among the clouds. It all felt achingly real—the freedom, the power—an intoxicating dream that seemed to transcend the bounds of mere fantasy.
Yet what gnawed at her was the knowledge that such sensations were impossible in the waking world. No living soul could know the thrill of flight on a dragon’s back, for the last of their kind had perished six centuries ago, leaving only whispers and echoes of their once-mighty presence.
Auraleal had returned to earth, but the dragon had not entirely faded. The smell of smoke and ash clung to her, the acrid perfume of burned enemies lingering in the air like a haunting reminder of what once was. Smoke. So much smoke. It wrapped around her, suffocating and familiar.
That was when she heard them - the terrified screams that pierced the halls beyond her chamber. She could hear the fear that echoed inside them.
The Hall of Graces, their sanctuary, was ablaze.
A surge of terror coursed through Auraleal’s veins. With a frantic motion, she cast off the twisted blankets that clung to her like a shroud and stumbled from her bed, her heart pounding like a war drum echoing in the stillness. Her panicked gaze darted across the modest confines of her chamber, searching for the source of the noxious scent that clawed at her throat.
Coughing violently, Auraleal’s eyes narrowed at the base of her closed wooden door. Smoke billowed in like a malevolent fog, curling through the gap as if it sought her out, beckoning her into the chaos that lay beyond.
“By the gods!” she cursed, her voice hoarse as panic surged anew. In her haste, she stumbled again, the hem of her long, thin shift tangling about her ankles. Gritting her teeth, she hurried across the chamber, the few feet to the desk feeling like an eternity.
Atop the desk rested a shallow black bowl, exquisitely carved from dragon’s bone—a symbol of her rank and the sacred trust placed in her hands. Dragon bone was a treasure, reserved for only the highest-ranking priestesses, and inside the bowl lay the remnants of the previous night’s water, a vital part of every priestess’s evening rituals.
Peering down into the bowl, Auraleal felt a strange mix of relief and annoyance; there was indeed water still pooled within its depths. She had anticipated this, knowing full well the sacred essence should have been put away after her evening prayers. Yet, her acolyte, the scatterbrained Akilah, had undoubtedly been distracted while tidying up, leaving the precious water out to languish overnight—a mistake she made far too often.
But how could Auraleal ever be harsh with her? After all, Akilah, at only nine years of age, was still a child. Most others in her position were nearly a decade older when they first came to the Halls of Grace. No one had foreseen her predecessor dying so early. So young. She was the youngest of royal blood to be entrusted to their care; the blood of the dragon. Until only recently, the girl had lived amid the luxuries of the Grand Palace. As the niece of the Queen and daughter of an archduchess, she was accustomed to a life of ease where every whim was indulged.
Now, she was thrust into a world of service, expected to earn her place among the priestesses. A life far more simple and void of extravagance. Yet despite her royal upbringing, Akilah tried with a determination that surprised Auraleal, considering the stark contrast to her former life. Still, the girl was perpetually forgetful.
For once, however, Auraleal found herself grateful for that forgetfulness.
As the smoke continued to fill the room, Auraleal’s mind raced, a whirlwind of fear and urgency. With trembling fingers, she reached for the small, sharp knife that always rested on the table, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. With swift, decisive movements, she cut and tore two sizable strips from the hem of her shift, the fabric fraying under the pressure of her resolve. Imbuing the strips with the water that remained, she fashioned the first into a makeshift mask, tying it securely around her head to shield her nose and mouth. The damp cloth clung to her skin, offering a modicum of relief from the acrid smoke that clawed at her throat.
Beyond her chamber, the screams in the halls grew more frantic. Clutching the second damp strip, she rushed to her young acolyte, who lay undisturbed in her slumber. At that moment, in her sleep, Akilah appeared utterly peaceful, her round cherubic face framed by the tousled dark hair that had escaped the confines of her braid.
Auraleal felt an odd pang of guilt swell within her as she prepared to rouse Akilah. She knew all too well that the tranquil world of dreams the girl was lost in was about to dissolve, to be replaced by one steeped in fear and panic. The thought twisted in her heart like a thorn, for Akilah was still so young, so innocent. Yet the priestess understood that there was no time to linger in sentiment. The cries beyond the door grew only louder as more priestesses' awoke to the chaos. It was her duty to shield the girl from the encroaching darkness, even if it meant shattering her peaceful slumber.
Leaning down, she shook the girl awake. Akilah stirred, her eyes fluttering open in confusion.
“What’s happening?” she murmured, the child's voice thick with sleep.
“Get up, now! The Halls are on fire!” Auraleal’s voice grew taut, urgency threading through each word. “We need to leave—quickly! Take this and follow me!”
Without a moment's hesitation, Auraleal thrust the damp strip of her torn shift into the girl’s hands, gesturing toward her own makeshift mask.
Thankfully, the fog of sleep seemed to lift swiftly from Akilah’s mind. Nodding, the girl grasped the wet fabric and began tying it around her head, her large, liquid brown eyes widening with fear as the reality of their situation sank in.
As Akilah fumbled with her mask, struggling to secure it around her long, dark hair, a sudden creaking echoed ominously from the chamber door. The sound sent a jolt of alarm through Auraleal, and she spun around her heart racing. Thick smoke poured in through the open door, swirling like a living entity, and her eyes fell upon Helara, another priestess, standing shaken, with a cluster of acolytes cowering behind her.
Though older than Akilah, the younger acolytes appeared more frightened, their wide eyes reflecting the terror that gripped the room. Auraleal’s pulse quickened at the sight, recognizing the urgency of the moment.
“Get yourself and those acolytes out of here!” Auraleal frowned at Helara, her patience fraying. She had never known Helara to be quick-witted, but to waste time returning to her when she should have led the acolytes to safety was a lapse beyond even her usual folly.
“Someone has locked the Hall door!” Helara gasped, her voice choked with coughs.
By now, Akilah had sprung to her feet, standing resolutely at Auraleal’s side, her small, sun-kissed face obscured by the makeshift mask. Fear shone in her wide eyes, peering up at Auraleal.
“What? That is impossible! The main doors have never locked!” Auraleal exclaimed, disbelief coursing through her.
At least, not on purpose. Her mind reeled with questions. Had someone truly locked them in? Was the fire kindled with malicious intent?
“I assure you, Auraleal, it is locked!” Helara snapped, narrowing her watering eyes, the tremor in her voice betraying her fear.
In all their years within the Halls of Grace, Auraleal couldn’t recall Helara ever raising her voice, let alone snapping at her.
“Alright, alright. Have you seen Mother Grace?” Auraleal pressed, desperation creeping into her tone.
“No,” Helara shook her head, coughing violently into her hand. “No one has seen her!”
Auraleal’s heart continued to thunder painfully in her chest, the rush of blood echoing in her ears. Though the priestesses locked their dormitory doors at night, a few, including Helara and herself, possessed keys. But the main hall door remained always open; Grace’s Fall was a sanctuary for pilgrims, a hallowed place where the last dragon, Gracewing, had made her final descent to earth. Only the high priestess held the key to those sacred doors.
With smoke swirling ominously behind Helara, a wave of urgency crashed over Auraleal. “You all need masks!” she commanded, her voice sharp and insistent. “Tear strips from your hems. There should be enough water left in the bowl on my table—wet your masks with it!”
“But, Auraleal, the water in the dragon bone bowls is sacred!” Helara protested, her voice trembling.
“For Gracewing's sake Helara! We can’t afford to be bound by ritual right now!” Auraleal insisted, her resolve hardening against the chaos surrounding them. "Now make your masks and get to the main hall, I will meet you there. Take Akilah with you!"
Before Helara could voice her protest, Auraleal brushed past her and plunged into the smoke-filled corridors of the dormitories. The clamor of panic swelled around her, each sound a jarring note in the symphony of chaos. Auraleal's heart raced, terror, ringing in her ears like an ominous bell. The smoke stung her eyes, forcing her to blink back tears that threatened to spill, while the heat intensified as she neared the high priestess’s chambers, wrapping around her like a suffocating embrace.
By all the gods, old and new, please let her remain untouched, Auraleal prayed silently, desperation tightening her throat.
Years ago, she had been the High Priestess’s acolyte, just as Akilah was hers now, though Auraleal had been older when she began her journey. Her mother had died giving her life, and Mother Grace had been the first figure of maternal warmth in her world, guiding her through grief with gentle wisdom. Now, that bond felt all the more precious, a lifeline in the midst of calamity. Auraleal pushed onward, driven by the hope that the woman who had once nurtured her could still be found safe amid the turmoil that threatened to engulf them all.
“Let them believe as they will, Auraleal.” Mother Grace had once said to her, “Let them believe the power we guard lies in dirt and dragon bones. We are safer for it.”
Had someone discovered the secret? Had the true purpose behind the Halls of Grace been unveiled to unworthy eyes?
With each fleeting moment, the smoke enveloping Auraleal thickened, coiling around her like a malevolent serpent. Breathing became a labor, each inhalation a struggle against the rising heat that clawed at her throat. The flickering shadows danced on the walls, obscuring her vision and taunting her with uncertainty. Each passing second felt like an eternity, and it was becoming painfully clear that the chances of finding the high priestess alive dwindled with each step she took. Auraleal's heart sank deeper, burdened by the weight of that grim realization. Every labored breath, Auraleal felt the flicker of hope dimming in the encroaching darkness.
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The high priestess’s chamber lay at the far end of the dormitories, a sacred space aligned with the ancient burial mound of Gracewing, the last dragon to grace the skies of Illumasca. It was a place steeped in reverence, where whispers of the past mingled with the prayers of the present. Fortunately, as one of the higher-ranking servants of Grace, Auraleal’s chamber was not far from the high priestess’s, a proximity that had always provided her comfort. But now, that distance felt like a chasm as she pushed through the thickening smoke, her mind racing with urgency.
Auraleal quickened her pace, the desperation in her heart urging her onward. She had to reach the high priestess, to protect the legacy they both served.
“Auraleal, you will be the next guardian,” Mother Grace’s words were both a balm and a burden. “I trust only you to understand the truth of the power we protect. Only you would grasp its significance, and the sacrifices it demands to keep the realm safe.”
The high priestess’s words echoed, laced with both hope and foreboding, as Auraleal rounded the final corner. A heavy dread settled in her chest, the panic swelling like a tide, threatening to engulf her just as surely as the thick, black smoke billowed from Mother Grace’s door.
No! No! No!
Auraleal no longer possessed the voice to cry out; the smoke and searing heat had stolen it from her. With a trembling hand, she wiped her tears away, steeling herself to press onward. Each step toward Mother Grace’s chamber felt like a trial, the damp cloth wrapped around her mouth providing little comfort against the choking air. Coughing violently, she fought against the pain clawing at her lungs and the blistering heat that threatened to consume her. Every instinct screamed for her to turn back, to flee from the encroaching flames.
Every instinct screamed for her to turn back, to flee from the encroaching flames, but the bond she shared with the high priestess and the lives that depended on her anchored her resolve. She had to know, had to see if there was still hope. With a deep breath that burned her throat, she pressed forward, the smoke swirling around her like a dark shroud, determined to face whatever lay beyond that door.
The oak door was ajar, and it yielded easily under Auraleal’s hands, swinging open with a reluctant creak. The heat and smoke trapped inside rushed out to greet her, a suffocating wave that stole the breath from her lungs. The priestess felt her strength drain from her knees, and she crumpled to the hot stone floor, a gasp escaping her lips. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she pressed on, determination igniting within her like a beacon in the darkness. The heat seared her skin as she crawled forward on her hands and knees, inching toward the high priestess’s bed. Flames danced perilously close across the beams above her, casting flickering shadows that warped the familiar into something nightmarish.
With trembling resolve, Auraleal reached the bedside and slowly raised herself up, her heart pounding in her chest. She braced herself for what she might see, but nothing could have prepared her for the horror that awaited.
“Mother Grace!” Auraleal cried, her voice cracking as she reached out.
Blood. There was so much blood.
A huge crimson stain spilled across the bed. Though there was no life behind them, the High Priestess’s eyes remained open, filled with the fear of whatever she had experienced in her last moments. Below, on thin her neck, a hideous gash had been opened from ear to ear. It made for a second gruesome smile.
No! Please, gods, no! Auraleal’s mind screamed as she frantically tore away the blooded linen shift, exposing the high priestess’ wrinkled, blood-covered chest. Beyond the bright stain of blood, the chest was bare.
It was gone!
The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils as she frantically clawed through the sticky, crimson sheets, desperately searching for what she knew was no longer there. The necklace that once adorned the High Priestess’s throat was gone. Someone had stolen it from them. A guttural scream of anguish escaped Auraleal’s lips, reverberating through the blazing chamber.
The pain that had ravaged her lungs faded into the background, overshadowed by the weight of their failure. It was gone—and now they were all dead.
Despair clawed at her mind like the flames that licked hungrily at the walls, threatening to engulf her whole. Slowly, Auraleal sank back to the cold stone floor, the anguished screams of her fellow priestesses echoing in her ears.
She should still search for the key. She should still strive to free them, even if it seems futile. But what was the point? Did it matter if they perished now or if the power was unleashed upon the world? Surely death by fire was a cleaner fate—a kinder one.
No! The thought surged through her like a sudden gust, and she shook her head fiercely, desperate to banish such darkness. No! The power could still be reclaimed!
She couldn’t lose herself. Not now. That’s not what the high priestess would have wanted. That’s not what their mother would want.
With renewed determination, Auraleal pushed herself to her feet, summoning every ounce of strength within her. She had to try—no matter the cost.
Tears streamed down Auraleal's face, mingling with the ash that settled like a shroud upon her cheeks. She cast one final, sorrowful glance at her mother’s lifeless form, her heart aching with the weight of loss. With trembling hands, she arranged the elderly woman's limp arms across her chest, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.
“Goodbye, mother,” she whispered, her voice thick with grief, each syllable a delicate farewell.
The key lay in its familiar place, nestled in the top drawer of the nightstand beside the high priestess’s bed. Auraleal had half-expected its absence; how else could the doors to the main hall remain locked? A wave of despair threatened to engulf her, but she steeled herself, pushing those dark thoughts aside. Perhaps there was still a chance to save them, to protect them from a fate worse than death.
Grabbing the key ring from its resting place, Auraleal pushed herself away from the bedside and propelled her way towards the door. Determination fuelled her every step through the smoke filled halls. Despite barely being able to see past her own nose, Auraleal rushed towards the main hall. The journey was fraught with falling and fallen debris.
When the main hall finally came into view, it was a scene of utter chaos. Fiery droplets rained down from the long, rectangular roof, illuminating the darkness with a hellish glow. Shattered glass littered the floor like fallen stars, mingling with the ashes of their once-sacred space. Pages from their beloved tomes fluttered in the air, engulfed in flames, dancing wildly as if mourning the knowledge lost to the inferno.
At the far end, many of her fellow priestess’ gathered around the grand doors - the only way in or out of their sanctuary. Fists pounded feverishly upon the heavy wood doors that refused to budge. Screams of pain and fear rang out.
Determined not to succumb to despair, Auraleal pressed forward, her hands trembling and stained with blood as they clutched the key.
Please, gods, let this work. Let this free us! Her thoughts echoed in the depths of her mind, a desperate prayer woven with hope and fear.
As she stepped closer to the panicked throng of women, she raised her voice, cutting through the chaos. “Move aside, sisters! I have the key!”
Those who heard her hesitated, parting just enough for Auraleal to weave through the crush of bodies until she stood before the great arched doors.
Heart pounding, she swallowed hard, invoking the blessings of both old and new deities in a silent plea. With trembling hands, she inserted the key into the lock and turned it with a fervent wish. Her hopes surged as the satisfying click resonated in her ears, but they shattered just as swiftly when the heavy doors remained obstinately shut.
“No! No, no, no!” Auraleal muttered in disbelief, her voice barely above a whisper.
A cold dread settled in her gut. She had feared this moment—that the doors were sealed tight from the outside.
Slowly, Auraleal staggered backward. The key slipped from her limp hand and clattered to the floor as she fell back from the door. Quickly, it was lost beneath the stamped of bare, bloody feet, torn by the broken glass scattered about the hall. Not that Auraleal cared. It was useless anyhow.
The others surged forward, pressing past her in a rush to get to the door. They too would soon realize what she already had. Around her, their cries of joy returned to dismay. Fear filled the room once more when they realized their only chance of escape remained closed to them.
They were locked in from the outside. Someone had barricaded them in.
They had little chance of breaking down those doors. One of the great Sentinel Tree’s of the Synder Forest had died in order to serve as the doors to their great hall. Made from one of the heaviest and most dense woods in the world. These doors were strong. They were sacred. They were not going to break or bend. Especially not when they had been braced from the outside.
They were trapped.
Above, the roof creaked and groaned like a wounded animal. Flames licked hungrily at the rafters above them. It was only a matter of time before it collapsed, burying them all under its crushing weight.
This was it, she realized. There was no sense denying she had held onto a shred of hope. A hope that was now completely and utterly stolen from her.
There was no escape. Not for them. Not now. To know one’s death was imminent was a sobering moment. And what a death it would be. Auraleal felt numb. No doubt, people would speak with a sense of irony that the Priestess of the last Dragon would perish in flames. A cruel irony.
No one would have ever expected the Halls of Grace to burn. Or at least no one had over 600 years ago when they built it. Why else have it built with only one way in or out? Why else build windows so high and so narrow only a child might fit through?
A child!
Auraleal gasped. Instantly, she choked on the smoke that lay like a heavy shroud over the room. Doubling over, she hacked and coughed. The mask did precious little now. Her lungs burned. It was getting desperately hard to breathe.
Her head suddenly snapped up. With her dark, watery eyes, she anxiously scanned the crowd that pressed around her. The smoke made it as difficult to see as was it to breathe. But she must be here! She had to be!
Akilah!
Some of her fellow Graces had already tried and already failed. Even the most slender of them had only managed to cut themselves badly upon the glass shards still embedded in the window frame as she had tried to escape through. But none of them had managed.
Only Akilah, that small whip of a child, stood a chance of making it through. They would try to clear the glass as best they could. Although she would be cut and damaged, she would survive!
Perhaps not all hope had died.
Just then, a hand fell upon her shoulder. Auraleal spun around to find the very child she was looking for had already found her.
Staring up at her, Akilah’s eyes were just as wide and filled with fear as they had been when they last saw one another. She still wore the torn shift about her mouth.
Auraleal grabbed the child by the shoulders and peered directly into the fear-filled eyes. “Could you recognize the amulet the high priestess once wore? Tell me true, child!”
The child nodded her head, “Ye…yes, I could!” she stuttered behind her mask.
“Good,” Auraleal nodded, “You are the only one small enough to find through one of these damned windows!”
Auraleal’s heart raced as she clung to the hope that Akilah could be small enough to escape through the narrow windows. The smoke continued to fill the room, making it increasingly difficult to see and breathe. She knew that time was running out, and desperation fuelled her actions.
Gently releasing her grip on Akilah’s shoulders, Auraleal took a deep breath, feeling the acrid smoke filling her nostrils, as she tried to steady her trembling voice.
“Listen to me carefully,” she said, her words laced with urgency. “You must find that amulet, Akilah. You must find the Ebonstar. There is great danger locked away within.”
Akilah nodded once more and swallowed hard before she responded, “I will find it, Auraleal,” Her voice was determined despite her trembling.
Auraleal squeezed Akilah’s hand tightly, feeling the heat of the flames seeping through her skin, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. “You are brave, my child,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the roaring fire. “May Gracewing guide and protect you.”
With a final nod, Akilah turned to her fellow sisters. “Help me,” she snapped, “We must get Akilah through that window. She is the only one small enough. She might be able to dislodge whatever blocks us in!”
Chances were that Akilah could remove that which barricaded the great Sentinel Doors was slim. Not only was the child whip thin but also small for her age. But she needed the other priestess and acolytes to help her lift the child high enough to even attempt the escape.
With a firm grip on Akilah’s hand, Auraleal led her through the chaos. The shattered glass crunching beneath their steps, cutting at their feet. The acrid smell of smoke mingled with the metallic tang of blood as they carefully made their way towards the window. But none of that mattered anymore. “Akilah, if you only do one thing with your life, it is to find this amulet. Do not fail,” Auraleal urged, her voice filled with determination.
Together, with the help of another priestess, Auraleal hoisted Akilah up towards the window. The girl winced and whimpered in pain as the broken glass sliced into her delicate flesh, the sharp shards leaving trails of stinging wounds. Despite the agony, Akilah pressed on, driven by the urgency of their dire situation. With one final push, the child squeezed through the narrow opening, escaping the suffocating smoke and the raging inferno that surrounded them.
As Akilah tumbled onto the ground outside, Auraleal’s momentary rush of relief washed over her, clinging to the thread of hope that remained. A very fine, very fragile thread, but a thread none the less.
Looking up, Auraleal saw the Halls of Grace’s roof engulfed in an inferno, the flames dancing and crackling, consuming the timber. The cacophony of burning wood filled her ears, drowning out all other sounds. Suddenly, with a mighty groan, the roof gave way, crashing down into the hall below, unleashing a thunderous roar that echoed through the air.
The screams of the trapped went silent, replaced by the deafening symphony of destruction.