The dragon's voice echoed in Lavender's skull like thunder in a cave.

  You're small. Even for your kind.

  She couldn't speak. Her throat was locked. The magic in her chest blazed bright and hot, responding to the creature's presence with an intensity that bordered on pain.

  The dragon shifted. Scales scraped against stone. One massive eye, gold shot through with threads of amber, studied her with an intelligence that had nothing animal in it.

  And you have fire. Poorly contained fire. How interesting.

  "I..." The word scraped out. She swallowed. "I'm not..."

  A threat? No. You are nothing. A spark in a world of ash. The dragon's head lifted slightly, and a wave of exhaustion crossed its features. Pain, Lavender realized. The creature was in pain. But you are here. And that raises questions.

  Brute pressed against her leg. His body trembled, but his eyes had fixed on the dragon with an expression she'd never seen before. Recognition.

  Your beast knows me. The dragon's telepathic voice carried something like dark amusement. Or knows what I am. What I represent.

  "What are you?"

  Zemmal. The name settled into her mind like a stone dropped into still water. I am called Zemmal. And I am dying, little flame. Which makes your presence either fortunate or irrelevant.

  The dragon shifted again, and Lavender saw the wound.

  A gash ran along its hindquarter, deep enough to show muscle beneath the scales. Dark liquid seeped from it, too thick and too black to be blood. The edges of the wound pulsed with something oily, something that moved with a will of its own, spreading across the damaged flesh in slow waves.

  "What happened to you?"

  Your Authority. Zemmal's voice turned bitter. They have new weapons. Things that should not exist. Things that fight even dragon flesh. He shifted his wounded leg, and a tremor ran through his body. The bolt that struck me carries their corruption. It spreads. Soon it will reach my heart.

  Lavender should run. Every survival instinct her father had drilled into her screamed it. The dragon was wounded, vulnerable, but even weakened it could kill her with a single swipe of those claws. Nothing good could come from staying.

  The magic in her chest reached toward the creature. Reached toward the wound.

  Ah. Zemmal's gaze sharpened. Your fire wants to help. It senses kinship.

  "I don't control it."

  Clearly. The dragon's mouth curved in what might have been a smile. But you could. With training. With time you do not have.

  A shout echoed from below.

  Lavender spun. The ridge path twisted down toward the tree line, empty in the fading light. But voices carried. At least two. Male. Getting closer.

  "Who..."

  Your Authority. Zemmal's head dropped back to the stone. They tracked me here. Or they tracked you. It matters little. They will kill you if they find you, and they will try to finish me off, I suspect.

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  More shouts. Closer now. Lavender could make out words. "Up there. Movement. Two contacts."

  She looked at the dragon. At the wound. At the ridge path and the soldiers climb toward them.

  "Can you fly?"

  No. The word carried exhaustion. The corruption has spread too far. I cannot lift my own weight.

  "Then they'll find you."

  Yes. And I will kill them. As many as I can. Zemmal's eyes closed briefly. It will not matter in the end. I am dying. A few more deaths will not change that.

  The voices grew louder. Boots on stone. The click of weapon safeties disengaging.

  Lavender's hand found her knife. Useless against soldiers. Useless against a dragon. Useless against whatever the corruption spreading through Zemmal's flesh was.

  The fire burned in her chest.

  "Contact!" The shout came from twenty yards down the path. "I see her! One human, one animal. And..." The soldier's voice spiked. "Holy shit. Grant, you seeing this?"

  Two soldiers emerged from behind a boulder. Black fatigues. Black armor. Rifles raised. Their faces were young, barely older than Lavender, but their eyes held the cold focus of training.

  The one in front stopped. His rifle barrel dropped an inch as he stared at the dragon.

  "Is that..."

  "Dragon. Wounded dragon." The second soldier, Grant, raised his rifle higher. "Command's going to want this one. It matches the description of the one that hit the convoy last month."

  "What about the girl?"

  "Magic user, by the look of her." Grant's eyes flicked to Lavender, dismissive. "Bring her in for processing. The dragon's the priority."

  Zemmal's head lifted.

  Rude.

  The voice must have thundered through all their minds. Lavender staggered. The soldiers froze.

  You shoot me from ambush with weapons forged in darkness. You track me while I bleed. And now you stand in my presence and speak of me as if I am a thing to be collected.

  Grant recovered first. He raised his rifle. "Hostile magic detected. Fire!"

  The crack of gunfire split the air.

  Zemmal moved.

  For a creature that couldn't fly, he was terrifyingly fast. One moment he was curled among the boulders. The next he was upright, scales flashing purple and green, jaws opening to reveal teeth longer than Lavender's head.

  Grant disappeared.

  One bite. His legs remained for a moment, boots planted on the stone, before they toppled sideways into the snow. Blood sprayed. The other soldier screamed.

  Zemmal's tail swept. The second soldier flew backward, struck the rock face behind him, and didn't get up.

  Silence.

  The dragon settled back onto his haunches, wounded leg dragging. His breath came in harsh gasps. The exertion had cost him.

  Rude, he said again, softer now. And dumb.

  Lavender stood frozen. Blood pooled on the snow. Steam rose from Grant's remains where they'd fallen. The other soldier's body slumped against the rocks; neck bent at an impossible angle.

  She'd seen death before. Her father, peaceful in his bed. Animals caught in her traps. But nothing like this. Nothing so sudden, so violent, so absolute.

  The magic roared in her chest.

  Fire burst from her hands.

  It happened before she could stop it, a reflex born of shock and terror. Flames erupted from her palms and struck the stone beside her, scorching the rock black. She screamed, clamped down, and the fire died.

  Brute was at her side, pressing against her, his warmth the only anchor in a world gone mad.

  Zemmal watched.

  Yes, he said. That fire. Uncontrolled. Dangerous. His golden eyes fixed on her. And yet, it wants to help me. Your magic reaches toward my wound like a healer seeks a patient.

  "I can't heal." The words came out ragged. "I burn things. That's all I do."

  All burning is destruction. But destruction can be used. The corruption in my flesh is not natural. It fights against my body's defenses. Perhaps fire could purify it better.

  Lavender shook her head. "I don't know how."

  I never said I believed you did. You could learn. Zemmal's head sank toward the stone. The brief burst of violence had drained him. His breath rattled. I could teach you. If you were willing.

  "Why would you teach me anything?"

  Because I am dying, little flame. And I would very much like not to die.

  The dragon's eyes began to close.

  My mother could help you. She could teach you control, purpose, mastery. She could show you what you truly are. His voice was fading, going distant. Help me heal. Take me to her. And I will ensure you learn what you need.

  "Your mother?"

  She is... old. Older than this world's current shape. She has waited for someone like you for a very long time.

  Lavender looked at the foul liquids on the snow. At the dead soldiers. At the dragon dying before her. At Brute, who watched with eyes that held knowledge beyond anything canine.

  The magic hummed in her chest.

  "How?"

  Zemmal's eyes opened. A flicker of hope crossed his features.

  First, I need you to touch the wound. I need to see what your fire can do.

  Thank you for reading my story. I spent a long time working on it and am glad I get to share it with others. Not your speed though? Check out another cool author below to give a try!