The dull clang of her hammer sent chills down Chyrie's spine as she allowed momentum to shape her freshly drawn out cast.

Adjusting her grip, she tipped the would-be hilt slightly and flattened the thick layers of iron and steel until a molten blank remained. Sweat dripped from her chin, accompanied by the occasional sparks of ember and metal scattering across the floor. Thin knobs of carbon she could easily dismantle over many hours of repetitious forging.

Chyrie swiped her arm against her forehead, soaking up the beads threatening to roll into her eyes.

Her eyes glazed over as she studied the small chunks of steel, excess her father had called scales in tender reference to their fire breathing allies. They looked similar to the magnificent scales shielding a dragon and were often just as stubborn.

As if her thoughts conjured him, Chyrie's new friend crept into focus, sniffing the pebbled metal carefully.

She wondered if there might be a trick to incorporating a dragon's scales into weaponry. Her uncle boasted about it once, swinging around a broadsword with little character save for its tapered horn cross-guard and skin wrapped grip.

The weapon might've even been shoddy, though many fawned over it. Begging for his war stories, asking to hold or wield the damned thing during solstice. A priest claimed it bestowed luck upon anyone who held it, explaining how rare it was for someone to possess the flesh of a dragon.

Chyrie sighed through her nose, catching the drakeling's attention for all of a minute before he turned back to the bubbling lava. His round eyes widened even more when a thick slab of rock broke into the lavafall and sunk to the bottom. With a whipped swish of his tail, he crouched. One moment, the small drakeling watched with laser focus and the next he was skidding around the bend to climb the cavern's wall in an attempt to investigate.

She couldn't help but chuckle.

Her idea to name him Dailes– after the island she'd heard of, overgrown with tropical fruits– settled comfortably between them. Chyrie presented the name after his fourth offering, rolling the mango past her anvil with his nose. Dailes answering chuff seemed to be one of satisfaction.

Her drakeling friend's tail swung clumsily into the wall under shifting rocks, revealing a small hole of light.

Brows furrowing, Chyrie set her most recent forge into the hearth and unwrapped her palms.

Dailes pivoted, intrigued by the opening he'd created. His head tipped to the side. More boulders parted under the weight of his hefty paws, allowing soft beams of light through. Again his tail slammed onto the wall, this time intentionally.

Torn between thoughts of his intelligence and curiosity about the newfound space, Chyrie approached.

"What did you find?" she murmured.

Dailes preened, wings flaring with pride.

Testing a theory, she smirked and pointed to the hole.

"Well? Go on then."

The drakeling lowered himself to the ground, adjusting his shoulders and lunging through the gap. Shale and clay rained down on his gray scales, coating him in debris. When Dailes turned back with a frustrated huff, Chyrie couldn't help herself.

She burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the walls of their small chamber. Another shard of mud collapsed onto his snout, irritating him enough to shake.

With the vengeance of an alley cat and the fervor of a wet dog, Dailes flung the dirt around the room. Chyrie was quickly dusted in the same mess, years of dirt and ash coating her tongue.

"Hey!"

Dailes' answering grumble ended in a puff of smoke.

Chyrie's gaze snapped up to the window sized hole, her jaw dropping. Amethyst radiated light through the corridor, illuminating the walls of a carved temple. The purple crystals wrapped around the room, accented with sapphire and emerald, while six pyres of ruby stretched from the ground.

Her mouth went dry as she crouched down, sneaking past the young dragon and climbing over the rubble. Dailes followed, almost stepping on her legs as he crawled through the tunnel of clay.

"What in Setryr's name..."

Realization flooded Chyrie.

A shrine.

Her heart thundered to life in her ears as she stood up and spun around. There, carved into the wall with expert craftsmanship, was a depiction of Niukka herself.

The details chiseled of a strong chin and hooded eyes, coupled with lifelike brown skin and chin length hair grew eerie when she noticed Niukka's eyes were glowing. Citrine had calcified where her irises might be.

Dailes' hole was right beside the impression of the goddess' ankle.

Years within these mines – both through her apprenticeship and even as a smith herself – had never revealed a space of worship or praise. The shrine was constructed from organic mud and stone which were compressed into steps for prayer. A forged railing parted the steps every few feet, along with beautiful weaponry she'd never witnessed.

Chyrie's breath disappeared when she laid eyes on the rapier mounted to the cavern ceiling.

Her mother's sword.

Tears filled her vision, freely rolling down her cheeks as she reached up with trembling fingers. Her height only barely allowed her to graze the pommel.

Dailes chirped, the sound high pitched with a soft rumble on the end. His tail flicked toward the left most pyre where a thick broadsword sat, encased in gold framing and protected by layers of warding.

Sobs shook her body and Chyrie raced for her father's blade.

"Papa..." she whispered brokenly, turning back to the ceiling. "Mama, why are these–"

Everything she knew, everything she was, and everything she would become had been for them.

Because of them.

With love and hardwork, she'd forged her first enchanted weapon. A thin pick of a dagger, but her parents had been proud nonetheless.

Chyrie couldn't swallow past the burning sand clogging her throat, plunging her heart into the deepest pit of rage.

This was a shrine, a sanctuary.

Anryth had tainted their home and smeared blood across their culture.

For that, she could never forgive him.

Even if she wanted to.

Dailes' final call was toward the largest pyre in the room, a towering obelisk with hundreds of carvings on every side. Showing her. He rounded the podium once, twice, then choosing to press his forehead into the face opposing her.

His movements were so intentional, Chyrie blinked. She scrubbed the emotion from her face and stepped up to the obelisk.

The drakeling cracked one eye open, provoking her. He jerked his head into the ruby without breaking contact, command swirling inside those brilliant, golden irises.

Chyrie obliged him, kneeling before the pyre in two fluid motions before she pressed her forehead against the crystal.

Silence filled the room.

Filled her.

The absence of sound had become common, but the internal void embraced her like liquid flames, seeping through her mind and body. The static brushing over her skin felt soothing against the chill passing through the cave. Warm.

Chyrie's body rippled with heat, steam lifting from her skin to surround them and the obelisk.

Smoke swirled around their small dais, forming a tunnel flecked with flame and shadow.

She closed her eyes and counted to ten,
the darkness of her mind revealing a glowing ember.

The kernel of light was unlike anything she'd ever seen, a blooming sun of magic pulsed with life and echoed her vitality. Tendrils of fire wisped from the bright orb, as if they recognized her.

Chyrie reached out, mentally caressing those stoked flames.

"Chyrivelle," a gentle, feminine voice murmured in her ear. "You've come at last."

Her eyes snapped open. She barely managed to keep her forehead pressed to the ruby, fear racing through her body only to find them utterly alone.

Another deep breath sent her plummeting back into the darkness, the vision of light entering her mindseye once again.

This time, the silhouette of a small drake appeared alongside a glowing woman. The spitting image of her mother, save for the ancient eyes burning amber with light. A smile much too old graced her lips.

"Your home is under attack," the woman whispered. "Your people need you."

Her glowing hand gestured to the small dragon.

Mature, molten eyes settled upon Chyrie as Dailes drew near, his aura of blue and violet rippling through their shared light.

"My mother served your mother," he said, bowing his head until his nose touched the floor. Dailes' voice poured into her ears as honey did into spiced tea. "Now, I will serve you."

Chyrie felt herself recoil. "Dailes—I want an equal, not a servant."

He chuffed in response. "I know."

Her eyes burned with tears as the pieces began to click inside her mind. "You led me here... You brought me to this temple in order to communicate with me."

Dailes teeth snapped in reprimand. "I've chosen you."

"But your mother, her brethren, they are no more and it is because—"

"It is because darkness bred darkness and only light may restore what was lost," he replied, eyes narrowing with an emotion mirroring compassion. "I choose you, Heir of Steel."

Chyrie swallowed roughly, unsure of how to respond.

A dragon.

A young drake with a heart of fire had chosen her.

She couldn't believe it.

Her father spoke repeatedly of the unbonded, of the freedom their lands offered drakekind. He taught her the importance of equality.

As if the thought pulsed through Dailes' mind, he clicked his tongue again.

"Will you bond me, Chyrivelle Vespurn?"

Her true name was soft in his mouth.

"Yes," she breathed, barely believing the words. "Yes, I will bond you."

A dream.

This had to be a dream.

Dailes reared back and opening his mouth, revealing razor sharp teeth and a scaly tongue. With one deep hiss, he exhaled blue flames directly into her–

Chyrie's eyes shot open as she gasped for breath, peeling off the obelisk and checking herself for injury.

She was safe.

Her skin was completely unmarred by the raging heat she'd imagined only seconds ago.

Dailes sat with gleaming eyes, calculation and assessment disguising concern until the air shifted. He seemed to decide she was safe, because the drakeling stood from the floor, rising a bit taller as if he'd grown.

He was bigger.

Chyrie knew she was in shock then.

"Come," his voice echoed in her mind. "You've a sword to forge."