It was a perfect day for seven-year-old Zyryxa. She rode with her mother through endless stretches of tundra, hills, valleys, gelubor forest, and frozen glades, Tyxl’s cold scales glimmering in the sunlight beneath them.

Zyryxa was a princess, and her mother was the knight. This princess didn’t need protection; she had her own throwing axes and was determined to catch her own drake today. The knight was there for pleasant conversation and to assuage the concerns of the princess’s parents. Like any devoted knight, Zyrthalla fed the princess’s dreams with unwavering faith in her liege.

When Zyryxa found tracks in the snow, Zyrthalla pretended to be surprised and impressed, though she had subtly guided them to the footprints.

They secured Tyxl to a sturdy rock and, Zyryxa’s heart pounding, followed the tracks on foot. Zyryxa, gripping her long-hafted throwing axe with a net bound to her back, tracked the drake like an Isihlan shadow—moving from cover to cover, spending excessive daylight searching for signs of her quarry.

Zyrthalla never rushed her. She exaggerated her own stealth, asking the princess to signal her when it was safe to move, using a hand motion they agreed upon. Zyryxa leapt into snow behind fallen gelubor, slid up hills on her belly, lifted her knees high, and set her feet gently to avoid making a sound. She followed the tracks until she spotted the small coldscale. The creature chewed on a rock the size of seven-year-old Zyryxa’s head, oblivious to the little princess clutching her axe.

Imagining herself as a dragon knight like her mother, Zyryxa hurled the axe overhead as if battling mighty Duilahir for her rightful bond. It spun through the air and struck the drake’s side, cracking a thin white scale and lodging in the soft flesh beneath.

The drake staggered and let out a howl. Zyryxa charged, sprinting like a sabretooth, and rammed the wounded drake before it could escape. They tumbled in the snow, Zyryxa clinging to the coldscale’s body as it fought to get up. Though she had the heart of a warrior, at seven, she lacked the strength. This small creature flung her into the air. She rolled, eating snow, and roared.

The princess surged to her feet, determination turning to rage. Zyrthalla called for her to throw her second axe, but Zyryxa knew she had to dominate this beast with sheer will. She charged again, showing the creature which one of them should truly be afraid.

The coldscale spat ice stones. Zyryxa dodged the first spray, smashed the second aside with her axe, and let the last one hit her to prove her superiority. The drake charged her, but she spun out of the way, the net flowing into the space where she had stood. Using the drake’s momentum, the net swallowed the monster, and the drake crashed, tangled on the webbing. Zyryxa cinched the net tight, imprisoning the creature. It clawed and gnashed his teeth, but she held on. It struggled, trying to stand, and Zyryxa pulled the net, slamming the beast back to the ground. It flopped like a fish, its cries desperate. Still, the drake thrashed and Zyryxa struggled, her fingers burning, doubt creeping in.

Just when she was about to let go, her mother roared, “Hold! Victory approaches, my princess!”

Zyryxa couldn’t disappoint her. She roared, her high-pitched shriek echoing across the tundra. The drake set its head in the snow, the fight fleeing its body.

Her mother taught her how to hum a tune and stroke the defeated drake until it was soothed and submissive. She guided her while she rode the conquered beast, helping each time Zyryxa nearly fell off the unsaddled drake. The princess graciously accepted the coaching, admitting that even if the knight wasn’t needed for protection, her instruction was invaluable. Zyrthalla’s proud smiles, their shared giggles, and the triumph of riding her own drake made Zyryxa feel as if she could climb Monzqora and claim Duilahir.

That night they sat on their rooftop, atop the tallest hill of Loxzua, watching the sunset over the sea. The orange and purple sky gave way to the blue moon and an ocean of stars. But Zyryxa only had eyes for her mother, the tall, muscular woman with long blue hair streaked with silver.

Ten years later, she could still smell her mother’s perfume mixed with the windblown salt from the sea, still feel her mother’s strong arm around her back, still see those proud blue eyes, and, most of all, hear her voice like a song. “You did well today, my princess.”

Seventeen-year-old Zyryxa, touching the coldscale tracks in the ruin of Lexyn’s hideaway, choked on sobs, remembering her mother’s love that night. They had recited play-by-plays of her conquest over the drake. When they finished, her mother tossed her in the air and swung her around, pretending she flew upon a dragon.

“Fly, Duilahir! To the Frostmelt!” the little girl commanded.

Zyrthalla grinned. “Duilahir?”

“Uh huh! We will be guardians of Ice and Fire, keepers of peace, and beautiful champions of ice!”

Her mother beamed, swinging Zyryxa with more intensity. “And soaring beside Duilahir is Qorzillux and her rider, proud to call Zyryxa her Champion!”

Back in the gelubor forest, on a low ridge of Monzqora’s east face, Zyryxa curled into a ball and wept for the future fate had stolen from her. She clawed at the snow, wishing she could bring her mother back to life so they could share their promised flight. But the powder slipped through her fingers, just like all her shattered dreams. She couldn’t revive the person who taught her to believe she could do anything.

Stolen story; please report.

Zyryxa surged to her feet, desperate to escape this powerlessness that weighed her down and left her feeling weak. She stalked through the night, tracking the drake that demolished Lexyn’s camp. The wind blew into her tear-streaked face, masking her scent, while her snowsuit blended her into the snow-covered forest. She was no longer a child playing princess; she was a warrior, moving low and fast with deadly proficiency.

As she closed in on her quarry, memories taunted her: drakes caught, wyrms slain, vistas shared, and warm embraces. A childhood’s worth of the warm, sweet memories that made her love life turned bitter and cold in her hateful heart. She could no longer see her mother’s smile, only her drowned face and the smug grin of her killer. With each step, she drew closer to killing Saevah.

The moon had barely shifted when she found the coldscale’s den, a hollow beneath an overhanging cliff. The white drake, the largest she’d ever seen, sat on its haunches, oblivious.

For the last three hundred feet, there was no cover. The moonlight worked against her now. The distance was too vast to charge, and she couldn’t risk a chaotic chase across the mountainside. Guilt gnawed at her for leaving Lexyn undefended, but not as much as the memory of her mother’s pride the day she caught her first drake.

“Dryxl will protect her,” Zyryxa whispered. She dropped to her stomach and crawled toward the coldscale, pressing her face into the snow whenever it glanced her way. It was slow going, but soon she would be close enough to strike. Zyryxa was fifty feet away, preparing to spring, when a grunt behind her alerted the coldscale.

For once, Dryxl should have been late. The darkscale male huffed, charging toward the coldscale female. The female spat a cluster of icy rock at him in judgment. The lust-blinded darkscale took more than one hit, and he crashed into the snow.

Zyryxa skulked forth while the coldscale was distracted. Her roar was no longer the shrill shriek of a girl playing princess but the mighty bellow of a dragon warrior. She dodged the first cluster of ice rocks, smashed through the second with her mother’s greataxe, and permitted the last batch of rocks to hit her in the side. Her technique remained unchanged because nothing made a drake piss on its claws like knowing that it could neither hit nor hurt this huntress.

Unlike Dryxl and most others she had caught in the decade since her first hunt, this proud coldscale did not yield its bladder. Zyryxa stepped aside the coldscale’s charge and drove the greataxe’s haft into the drake’s skull.

Most drakes would surrender after such a blow; this freak of nature got angrier and attacked. Zyryxa didn’t see the tail swipe and the spikes broke through her suit and slashed into her shin.

The blow only sharpened her determination. Zyryxa slammed into the drake’s side, her legs pumping and her arms pushing the eight-hundred-pound beast until it collapsed. She seized the drake’s legs and flipped it to keep the claws away from her face, then locked her arms around the coldscale’s neck, her body pressing into the beast’s powerful back.

The coldscale thrashed, its spiked tail scraping into Zyryxa’s back. She held on, pressing the coldscale into the ground. She headbutted the drake, ears ringing and vision blurring, as she choked the beast.

The cold air stung Zyryxa’s exposed, bloody back, and her muscles screamed with the exertion of holding down a beast half again her height and several hundred pounds heavier. She shifted her body, using her leg to pin the beast’s tail as it grew weaker, if not less determined to throw her. The coldscale tried spitting more ice rocks, but only cold air puffed out of its empty stomach.

Dryxl mounted the beast.

“Divines, Dryx! Get off!” Zyryxa roared. The horny beast didn’t listen until Zyryxa’s booted foot connected with his head.

Zyryxa’s muscles burned, and doubt crept in as the beast seemed to grow stronger after Dryxl’s mating attempt regardless of suffocation. Just when she was about to give out, Zyryxa remembered her mother rallying cry: Hold! Victory approaches, my princess!

Zyryxa hummed a lullaby and nudged the coldscale with her head, praising her tenacity, strength, and beauty. The proud coldscale tried several more times to toss her. Each time, Zyryxa restrained her, continuing the lullaby:

Hush now, mighty dragon, lay your head to rest,

Glide through frozen dreams, where the snow is best,

Hear the winds whisper, in the moon’s blue light,

Gently now, oh gently, let your heart take flight.

The beast whined. Her thrashes were not gentle, nor did Zyryxa allow the coldscale to make her fly. She sang more of the song her mother used to sing her:

Crystals in the starlight, twinkling from above,

Feel the cold embrace you, wrapped in icy love,

Breathe the frosty air in, let your fears subside,

In this world of silence, with the stars as guide.

Zyryxa cried, but she held on, singing as if to her mother:

Hush, oh hush, my dragon, dreams of ice and peace,

In this realm of winter, let your troubles cease,

Feel the snowflakes falling, like a soft caress,

Sleep now, sleep, my dragon, in the night’s embrace.

The coldscale started to soothe. Zyryxa did not let go as the sobs rushed out of her:

Tides of Qoryxa’s magic, flow within your soul,

Calm the raging blizzard, make your spirit whole,

Rest now, mighty dragon, in the land of snow,

Safe within this stillness, let your worries go.

At last, she felt the coldscale surrender. Zyryxa wept. “You were my whole world, and now,” her voice broke, “and now I must live in a world without you.” She stroked the proud white scales on the drake’s reptilian head and kissed them, tasting the ice and salt on her lips. “You are like her, the most beautiful, proudest, and mightiest of drakes.” Zyryxa smiled and petted the drake. “You even have her colors, blue and white. Zyrxl, I name you.”

Zyryxa looked up to see Lexyn trying to soothe an agitated Dryxl. There was no small satisfaction that the creature seemed envious. Lexyn beamed at her. “That was beautiful, Zyryxa. You could … be a bard.”

Zyryxa hollered with laughter. Zyrxl tensed in her arms, but did not try to run. She soothed the beast again with her mother’s lullaby, Lexyn watching moon-eyed, chin in her palms as she sat beside the darkscale that was now her problem.

Zyryxa smiled at Zyrxl, glad to finally have a drake worthy of the proud Zyr name