I woke with a jolt. The sun beamed through the cracks in the walls. The size of my home was little bigger than a shack, but I liked my privacy. I made it myself, in an effort to show that I was able to do things on my own, but my uncle and father both found it amusing, pointless even. I was reminded constantly that I had a room in my father's homestead, but they just wouldn't listen, nor, I thought to myself, would they understand.

I rubbed my eyes, then stretched my arms, yawning long as if I'd been sleeping for ages when I'd only been sleeping for about four hours. I finished late last night, and I didn't even have time to put in furniture. I picked myself up from the wood floor, dusted the splinters and dust off my trousers and tunic, then left the shack.

To my surprise I was greeted by cold, hazel eyes, as if my uncle had not slept at all. He stared at me until I moved my head in confusion, then he blinked, and I knew he couldn't keep up his stern facade any longer, so I pushed him playfully, but he did not budge.

"Been out here all night?" I asked him.

"No," I'm sure he lied. I turned to close the door behind me and he continued," I just came to see if you wanted breakfast."

"Just because I'm trying to be on my own doesn't mean I won't come for..." I hesitated, catching on to his trickery," I mean... I was heading out to hunt for some food mysef."

He smiled at that. He was trying to see if I'd keep up with my act and, opposed to what I previously thought, he seemed genuinely intrigued by my decision. He lifted his arm and I hadn't noticed he was carrying my bow, but I smirked in defeat, then swiped the weapon from his hand.

"Come," he said, gesturing over his shoulder with his head," I know a good spot."

I lifted the bow over my head and rested it over my chest, then followed him down the path to where my mother had set up an archery range. I grabbed a quiver of arrows and we moved past the straw target boards, going down an adjacent dirt path into the woodlands ahead.

My uncle brandished a sword on his waist, but I suppose it was only for defense, since I didn't expect him to use it for hunting. I never really understood why he didn't take up archery, nor did I ever question him about it. Though he may feel like he doesn't need to, I thought he'd find it at least a bit of fun, or practical in general; which it was to one-half of my kin, but i was told it was a rarity one was blessed with the ability to spew fire from their mouth or grow scales from the pores of their skin, and I haven't quite learned how to do that yet so I needed to fill my time with another skill. It pays off, really. During times such as these where I need to be as accurate as possible, one day, when my powers do come, I feel it would be just as easy not to miss.

We travelled down the path in silence for a while. It wasn't that we had nothing to talk about, or that my uncle didn't really speak much, but we were tuning our ears to the sounds of the forest, something I picked up quickly in my early life, much to my father's pleasure. Quite useful, indeed, as I instinctively raised my bow over my head, pulled an arrow out of my quiver, drew it back, and let go. To a blind eye, it seemed I was just firing into the bushes for no reason, but I could hear the arrow fly, and I could hear when it hit the bark of a tree, and I could feel the frustration rise from my toes to my brow.

"You may be able to hear them," said my uncle quietly, as not to disturb the forest," but you need to tune your senses better. You missed by a half-inch."

"I did it on purpose," I lied," I wanted the bird to move to a more favorable position."

"You keep lying to yourself and we'll never get to eat," my uncle growled," you can lie to me, mask it with pride, but don't ever lie to yourself. You need to trust your abilities."

I rolled my eyes at that. Then, I heard it, and I raised my bow high, drew back again, and let go. I could hear the arrow tear through the bird's muscle, and sooner heard the wind brush against the feathers as it fell to the dirt. I smiled, stuck my tongue out at my uncle, and ran off to claim my reward. My uncle sighed and followed, and when I picked the bird up by it's neck, I realized it was not dead. I winced, and turned slowly, feeling my uncle's cold eyes piercing the back of my skull. Always disappointed.

"Could have been better," he approached, grabbing the bird from my hand," if you had just aimed a tad to the right it would have been a cleaner kill."

He raised the bird to his mouth, unclenched his jaw, and bit the entirety of its head clean off. I heard his famous trill, his happiness as he enjoyed a taste of my trophy. His white scales shimmered in the woodland rays of light. His two fangs, bloodied by the kill, were sharp and impressive, and he licked them clean before they folded back into the roof of his mouth.

"Here," he tossed the body to me. I caught it, shook out as much loose blood as I could, then found some leaves and stuffed the open wound tightly. I pulled out some loose string from a pocket in my quiver, tied its feet, then tied the string to my belt. I gave my uncle a funny look and he shrugged, then said he told me he was hungry, so I gave him an elvish remark with my hands and his eyes shifted, so I immediately returned to the path in an effort to hide my childish guilt. I swear I could still feel his eyes.

We travelled a while longer until we both heard the snapping of a few twigs in the distance, so we stopped, and I crouched. My uncle crossed his arms, waiting to see what I would do, and I pulled an arrow from my quiver again, but this time I halted. I waited; I wanted to hear another sound, something that would give me advantage again, but it was silent. I picked myself back up and began to turn to my uncle, noticing his posture and the cold, hazel eyes shift, but I wasn't so quick to notice the claws barely cut my hair on my right, and I could feel my blood trickle down my cheek.

We had ventured close to its den. I didn't realize, but my uncle, as clever as he is, knew where we were going from the start. I would resent him if I wasn't busy dodging another swipe from the giant creature, who roared at me in defiance. I snarled and instinctively roared back, but in comparison it was more of a loud mewing noise, especially since I was so nervous, and so young. I didn't have my knife, I only had my bow and my arrows, but they were going to be of no use as close as I am to this beast. I dropped the bow and plucked two arrows from the quiver, grasping the shafts tight with my fists.

The bear issued another challenge. It stood up on its hind legs in an attempt to look bigger, but it wasn't necessary as I found it to be quite big already, and it roared again. The feeling of being caught off-guard by this thing drove me to anger, and so I was fed up with waiting and charged at it. It wasn't the brightest idea, and my uncle started charging forward to help me, but then I felt the blood boil in my fists, and fire spewed forward when I threw a punch with my right arm.

The bear flinched. The fur on its stomach singed; I did not do any damage otherwise, but it startled the bear enough for it to drop back down to four legs. My uncle had stopped in his tracks not too far away, and he watched patiently, but I could see his mouth was slightly open. I didn't have time to question what had just happened. I roared another challenge and the bear huffed a short bellow before it turned away, took one last look at me, and ran into the bushes.

For a moment I couldn't move, I was waiting for it to come back, but once the rush was over I dropped my arrows and stared at my palms. My uncle approached me, put a hand on my shoulder, and when I looked up at him in confusion, I saw him smile.

When we came home my mother greeted us in the banquet hall. After heaving the corpse of a deer onto one of the tables my uncle approached her, bowed respectfully, then leaned in close and, to my embarrassment, seemed to kiss her on the cheek while he held her hand. At least, that was what it looked like, but it appeared a second later that he just whispered something into her ear, and she turned to look at me with a wide expression of surprise.

"So soon?" she said. She was quiet, but my practice with tuning made it easy for me to hear.

"I saw it with my own eyes," he said just as softly," not quite so powerful, but it's a start."

"But she's still so young," my mother said," what is the expectancy rate?"

"Well, she's sort of a special case, mind you, so perhaps it's quicker than we thought."

"So young, my daughter," she said, then lifted her arms to beckon me close, and so I did, and I embraced her. What caused me to do so I had no clue; maybe it was just a mother's embrace, and she was always so warm.

"We killed a bird, three rabbits, and a deer," I told her, though I don't know why. I wanted to ask about what they had just been talking about, but I had to remember my manners. Eavesdropping, I am told, is rude in most cultures, but I couldn't help it. My uncle had trained me well. My mother seemed to read my thoughts, and gave me a short smile.

"You should go see your father," she said," let him know you are home." I rolled my eyes at that.

"Not that he doesn't already know."

"It's a big house, dear, he may not even sense you."

"Yes, because he has such a problem with tuning." I was being obnoxious, I knew it. One of the reasons I built the shack was so that my parents didn't always know what I was doing. The settlement was small; smaller than most up here, and I sometimes wished we had just rebuilt the palace and lived there, but my father, as stubborn as he is, refuses to even step a foot inside. I never understood why. Nor did I care. Perhaps one day, I thought, I would go there and begin the work myself.

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"Your father just worries a lot, that's all," said my mother," you aren't bound to this place, you may do as you please, but he would prefer you came home every day. And so would I, for that matter, but you have your father's blood and, therefore, his stubbornness."

I growled, and she chuckled. She waved me off gently, not that I needed permission to leave, but she wanted to talk to my uncle alone. So, I did as I was asked, and after leaving the three rabbits and bird on one of the long tables, I went off to find my father.

He wasn't hard to find. He was resting on his bed, his wings spread across its entirety, and I thought back to when i was younger and cuddled with him under his wing; and just like with my mother, my father seemed to read my thoughts, and outstretched his hand to beckon me close. I hesitated, but I don't know why, then immediately moved to take his hand and he pulled, causing me to shriek in alarm, and soon I was tucked into his wing, curled up in his armpit.

He lifted the wing a bit to dote on me. His soft blue eyes were the color of the sky, and I peered back, blushing in embarrassment.

"I'm not a child anymore," I said softly.

"You're my child," he said," and that still makes you a child."

"You know what I meant."

"Vysedda," he sighed, but he wasn't upset," I am roughly six-thousand years old, and your mother is half that. You are twenty. You are still a child."

I could hear his breathing. I could hear his heart. It had been a while since my father and I embraced like this, but that was due to my reluctance. For about five years now, all I've wanted was space, and now, in my father's arm, this was all I wanted.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. It just kind of blurted out. My uncle told me once, that if one says something without thinking, it is the truth, and so I didn't try to hide it. My father blinked slowly.

"For what?" he said.

"For..." I sighed," for being distant. I just wanted to, I don't know, prove to everyone that I could do it."

"You have," he said, a soft growl emanating from his throat," in fact, I respect you for it. I just didn't see why you would. But I've always said, you can do what you want. So long as we can do this every once in a while."

I smiled at that, then remembered what happened in the woods. I raised my left hand, as it was my only free one, and stared at it for a moment, then muttered a question to myself.

"I don't know what happened."

"What do you mean?" my father asked, a hint of concern in his voice, but he kept his eyes closed.

"Well, I was out in the woods with Uncle Tsu'caro," I started to explain," hunting, and practicing my tuning, and there was this bear, and I screamed at him because he screamed at me, and then I got mad, and then my hands were on fire, and I didn't—"

"What did you say?" his wing flew open, and if it wasn't for his arm holding me I think I would have rolled off the bed.

"M-my hands," I stuttered with concern," I was... I charged at the bear with my arrows, because I didn't know what else to do. Uncle tried to come but, it was all so fast and..." I looked at my hand again. "... the bear's fur was burnt, and he left us alone."

My father stared at me, slack-jawed as if I gave him too hard of a riddle. His wing bent gently and he moved his arm so that I would roll off the bed with ease, and I landed on my feet with a puzzled look on my face; and once the realization set in, his face went from confused to bright, as if he had just won something.

"My dear child," he laughed between his words," you have no idea how great this is."

"What?"

"How about your wings, eh?" He said excitedly," come, let me see. Turn around... I'm just gunna lift up your tunic for a moment, and... no, no they haven't come in yet. There are no slits here between your shoulder blades. What about... turn around Vysedda... stop... stop moving just, let me... no, no fangs. Incredible."

He took his hand from my cheek and touched his chin, then smoothed his long blonde hair back and out of his face. He grabbed my wrist with his other hand, albeit forcefully, though he seemed excited rather than upset and I did not react. However, the questions were building in my mind, and I was starting to get frustrated.

"Nothing shimmering in your pores," he let go of my wrist," this is all very interesting."

"Can you tell me what's going on, now?"

"I thought you were beginning to show signs," he said, the excitement dissipating in his voice," but for now it seems you can only wield fire."

"Wield it?"

"Of course. Tell me, when the flames came, what did you feel?" I pondered this question for a moment.

"Just... warmth. Aside from my frustration, I suppose." He smiled.

"So, it's been a long while, but," he was calmer now, so when he started explaining it was easier to process. He told me about when he first began to show signs, about how he got frustrated at something, but he wouldn't tell me why, and I saw a hint of pain in his face. He quickly got over it, however, and continued to explain that the fire first manifests as a strong feeling. Whether mine was fear or anger, I didn't know, and he did ask, and I told him so. Then, he told me to reach out my hand, and he grabbed my wrist again, this time more gently.

"What do you feel now?"

"Confusion."

"No, I mean, when I grab your wrist." I processed the question by closing my eyes. It took me a moment before I answered.

"Warmth," I said softly, and I heard a soft, pleasing growl come from his throat.

"Focus on that," he said, but when I opened my eyes he shook his head and ran his fingers down my face," keep them closed."

I meditated for a moment, focusing only on the warmth of my father's hand, until I could feel a sensation from my palm. It felt as though my skin started to sweat, and then as if my father was running his fingers across my palm.

"That tickles," I tried to hold my laughter," stop."

"What do you mean?"

"Quit touching my palm."

"Focus."

Suddenly, I heard my father make an exclamation with no words. It was sudden, and startling, so I opened my eyes quickly to see what happened, and my jaw dropped open. I was holding a small fire in my hand.

"What the f—"

"Language."

Later on, in the night, my father held a feast. I sat with him, who wanted me to, with my mother to my right, my brother next to her, and my uncle and aunt next to him. We were at the high table, reserved for high nobles, which seemed only to include the royal family. I was distressed; I despised being put on the spot, but my father shouted something about coming of age, and I would have thought a few years ago was when I came of age, when I first started bleeding; but this was something else entirely, and I think my mother rolled her eyes as well, much to my amusement. We, or I, pretended to be happy, no matter what the presentation was about, but I could sense that the Red Sky, our only remaining kin, I was told, and who didn't seem to care about social status as they intermingled with the elves, were just as happy as my father, and I felt as though I was too young to understand the importance of it all.

"Soon we should see her soaring through the sky!" my father shouted, and raised his cup of ale. I heard my uncle trill, and watched my aunt look at him with a soft smile on her face. Warmth coursed through my body, and it was then that I realized I valued my uncle's opinion more than my father's, but that was no surprise, as my father seems to only want to loaf about and my uncle would spend most of his time training me.

"And soon, should we see Tallam, as well," my father shouted, not as forcefully but enough to get the room to acknowledge my brother, who raised his cup of ale bitterly. It was apparent that he was jealous; I'm sure he hoped he would show signs before I did. He had said that he would rather go exploring than train, but I like to think that he tries to find his own way of doing things, which isn't dissimilar to my way of thinking as of late. While I enjoyed my alone time, I also enjoyed the company of my uncle, or of my mother, or of my aunt, but my brother always wanted to be alone, and nobody chided him for it, but we were the same age and I, too, was jealous of him.

"Is it because I'm a girl?" I said aloud, not knowing I did. My mother heard this, then grabbed her drink, but appeared to look formal as she talked to me.

"Whatever do you mean?*

"Tallam doesn't get this much attention." My mother tried to stop herself from frowning, and she leaned a bit for me to hear her hiss.

"Your brother is the heir to the kingdom of Dractalemh. Of course he gets the same amount of attention as you do."

"I just want to be left alone, really."

"Well you should've thought about that before you told your father."

"What would you have done instead?" I asked, starting to get loud, but she shushed me quiet.

"Vysedda, Tallam is being instructed on how to rule a kingdom. Just because you don't see it, doesn't mean it's not happening. Imagine the weight on your brother's shoulders and be grateful you don't have a—"

"Lord, if I may speak," a drake stood up and bowed, interrupting my mother, and I was relieved. I could take a chiding from my father but my mother's was always so brutal. My father, who's mouth had clenched shut, seemed to emanate a bit of stress, and I felt like I knew what followed.

"You may, Lord Greyneith," my father replied. Greyneith left his seat, circled the table, then stopped in the middle of the room. I dreaded what came next as he bowed again, and when he returned to form, my fears became reality.

"Your daughter is of marrying age, is she not?" he said, rather bluntly. I could hear both my father and uncle growl in displeasure.

"I suppose she is," my father said, reluctantly. He did not look at me.

"I would like to offer myself as a candidate," said Greyneith," as well as a bride price, of course. Twenty-three pounds of silver." I had to keep my posture.

"Lord Greyneith," said my father," I am glad you feel comfortable enough to ask for my daughter's hand, but I believe we've moved past the traditional ways of marriage."

"My lord, it's just..." Greyneith hesitated. My father took note of this, and beckoned him to speak. So Greyneith continued.

"There are some who believe in keeping the line pure. While it is acceptable for elves and drakes to coexist, mind you, I believe, and I'm not alone in this, that the strength of Dractalemh will decay the further the royal line continues in this manner." He received some jeers for that, but just some, and I noticed there was a great many drakes who did nothing. I raised myself from my seat, and my mother did not stop me.

"Lord Greyneith," I said, clearly," You offer my father loyalty with one hand, and disrespect with the other."

"Lady, I did not mean—"

"Return to your drink, or I will have your balls as throwing stones." Greyneith looked puzzled, first at me, then at my father, who said nothing. The drake must have sensed something, because he slinked back to his seat as quickly as he could after bowing to my father. After a moment of awkward silence, my father spoke again.

"Those willing to betray me on this night," he said with a low growl," step forth, or honor abandon you."

None stepped forward.

"Greyneith, I will forgive you this one time," he said, " for your courage and honesty." His voice raised, and I could hear his growl return, and his voice deepen.

"But those of you, who remain in silence and have your doubts, those who wish to undermine my right to rule, those who follow the ideals of the pretender, Azarül, I bid you a sleepless night. For we, mighty as the sun, who wield its fire as clothes and heat our blood with it's warmth, our kind will never cease to exist. I have proven that!"

It started as a sprawled cheer, but grew louder and more apparent as my father continued. He beat his chest with his fist, and between words he dripped fire from his jaw.

"I, Azmondalius, King of Dractalemh, who defeated Azarül in combat, I will be your lasting impression! I am the one who brought peace, not him! And you still question my right to rule?!"

I looked at my mother, who stared at my father helplessly. He was far too gone now; I'd never seen him like this, and it was frightening. I grabbed his hand and felt the same tickle as before, and it took a moment for his eyes to soften. For another moment longer all was silent, save for the few whispers running through the room. My father exhaled a puff of smoke through his nostrils, then sat down.

"Continue drinking. Continue eating," he said simply," enjoy the night. For the sun will come, and we will all have headaches, I'm sure." He rubbed his temple with his free hand, but grasped at mine hard. He was shaking.

"Father..." I began to say, but he didn't look at me. I watched his eyes, and his pupils were sharp. He was staring ahead at what I thought to be nobody in particular, but when I traced his line of sight, I saw who he was staring at. At the end of the hall were three cloaked figures. One of them removed his hood to reveal a disheveled head, and my father's grip on my hand tightened.