Mira’s hands trembled as she traced the worn runes carved into her grandmother’s ash staff. Three days she’d stood at the ridge overlooking Thornwood Valley, watching the dragon’s shadow circle the blackened ruins of Millhaven. Three days of that distant roar making her ribs ache.
The dragon had taken everything. Her village. Her family. Her nerve.
She pressed her eyes shut and felt failure settle between her shoulder blades like a familiar weight. Master Kellan was wrong about me. The thought tasted bitter. I’m no battle-mage. I can barely light a candle without singeing my eyebrows.
The wind shifted, carrying smoke and something else that twisted her stomach. Fresh burning. The beast had found new prey.
Mira gripped the staff tighter. She thought of little Tam from the baker’s shop, how he’d saved her the burnt biscuits because she liked them crispy. Old Henrik teaching her to weave protection charms from meadow grass, his weathered fingers patient with her clumsy attempts. Her sister Senna, barely sixteen, visiting their aunt in the eastern quarter when the flames came.
All ash now. Ash and silence.
“Coward.” The word cut deeper than any blade. They were dead because she’d run.
The truth burned worse than dragon fire. She’d had one chance to stand with the village defenders. Instead, she’d hidden in the root cellar, clutching her staff and weeping while the world ended above her.
Another shriek split the afternoon air. The dragon was hunting again.
Mira opened her eyes and studied the valley. The creature was massive: scales like black iron, wings that swallowed sunlight. Every muscle in her body screamed run. Find a deep cave. Wait for real heroes with proper training and courage that didn’t dissolve at the first roar.
But what if no heroes came? What if she was all that stood between this monster and the next village?
Her grandmother’s voice echoed from childhood lessons: Magic isn’t about power, child. It’s about will. The strongest spells come from those who have something worth protecting.
Mira had nothing left to protect. But maybe she could prevent others from losing what she’d lost.
She pulled her travel cloak tight and started down the rocky slope. Each step felt like wading through honey, her terror so thick it seemed to slow time. The staff hummed against her palm, responding to her racing heartbeat.
Focus. She forced herself to breathe. Remember the lessons. Channel the fear.
Halfway down, the dragon spotted her. It landed with a bone-rattling impact, golden eyes fixing on her small figure. Up close, it was even worse: ancient and intelligent, with malice burning behind those reptilian features.
“Another little morsel comes to feed my flames,” it rumbled, voice like grinding stone.
Mira’s knees nearly buckled. Her mouth went desert-dry. Every instinct begged her to flee.
Instead, she planted her boots in the rocky soil and raised the staff. The carved runes blazed silver, light dancing along the weathered wood. It wasn’t much against such darkness, but it was hers.
“I’m Mira of Millhaven,” she said, surprised her voice held steady. “You killed my family.”
The dragon laughed, a sound like collapsing mountains. “What can one frightened girl do against…”
It never finished. Mira’s terror crystallized into something pure and sharp, and the silver fire exploded outward like a falling star.
She might die here. Probably would.
But she wouldn’t run again.
