The Queen of Ash

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. Khione knew the turmoil it will cause when abandoning her role, however she had no other choice. Natures balance had been corrupted and dark forces where colliding. She had been called to war, one that her people would not survive if she took them with her.

It had been two weeks since she left and now Khione trudges through the sandy desert that makes up most of the Southern Tundra. Heat beats down her back as she hunts for the tiniest of shadows in her attempt to flee the relentless pursuit of daylight. Her lips are cracked and so dry that even the flies where no longer interested. Every cell in her body screams in protest, and yet not a single flicker of emotion showed across her face. Her resolve had always been absolute.

And then there it was, a piece of luxury, glistening in the distance of these unforgiving dry lands. It beckoned to her like a siren cloaked in promise sending cooling waves through the heat. Could be a trap, she thought—but to hell with it, what choice did she have? Death by exposure or a gamble for life, when travelling alone, the odds were never in her favour anyway.

Her boots pounded against the scorched earth, kicking up clouds of dust that danced mockingly around her. No mortal woman could have survived this long, but she was still part human, and that weakness was starting to show.

"Come on Khione," she muttered to herself.

Adrenaline now surging through her body as she becomes fuelled by the sight of salvation, her pace quickened. She could almost taste the cool relief, could imagine the sweet caress of water against her tortured flesh. The sun was now at its peak, beating down with all its might as if the world itself sought to deny her this respite.

“Almost there, two words she kept repeating to herself over and over again. The pounding of Khione’s boots matches the thumping of her heartbeat in her ears like a drumbeat urging her onward until at last she stood at the edge of the oasis. The rocky scenery around her a blur as her mind focuses solely on the crystal-clear water that is almost too good to be true.

Khione’s fingers broke the surface of the oasis, a shiver of pure ecstasy cascading down her spine. There are not enough words to describe the feeling of true despair draining away as an overwhelming flood of relief encompasses her body with each sip from her cupped hands.

Knowing not to drink too much at once, she lies back to let her mind clear and think about the next steps.

But peace, like always, is a fleeting mistress in Khione’s world. As soon as she closed her eyes, she hears the scrape of claws on stone and the gentle rustle of leaves from the small bushes that hug the walls of the boulders that surround one side of the oasis. Her eyes snap open, the amber glow of her pupils brightening as power begins to surge through her body.

A snarl came from the direction of the boulders, low and menacing, as shadows peeled away from the rocks to reveal gleaming eyes and bared fangs. One of the large black cats normally found much further south. Their lean and scarred bodies honed by hunger and desperation. They were gaunt, ribs etched beneath dark mangy coats showing that have been trapped up here since the drought. And now they encircle her in silence.

"Of course," Khione muttered. "Which god wants to torment me this time?" Her gaze flicked between the creatures, studying each movement down to the smallest detail. Every species has their own attack strategies and pack animals stick to it the most. They may have had to survive from scavenging around here, but there was no mistaking the predatory glint in their eyes. This is now their territory, and they are hungry.

Steeling herself as they edge closer, she said, "Let's dance."

The scavengers closed in as one. She stood her ground, weak and dehydrated muscles tensed whilst every sense heightened to a razor's edge. They might be many, but she was Khione Frostbane, The Queen of Ash whose soul had bathed in the fire of the elder and welcomed its embrace. She was not about to let a few mangy mutts snuff out her flame.

Khione’s fingers closed around a weathered branch that had been lying near her, its bark rough against her skin—a meagre shield against the snarling beasts. Her pulse hammering in her ears again as she brandished the stick with a bravado she is far from feeling. "Come on then," she rasped, voice edged with a defiance born of necessity.

The scavengers lunged as one, a maelstrom of teeth and claws. Khione swung wildly, the stick connecting with a satisfying thud against a bony snout. The creature yelped, more surprised than hurt, but it was enough to lift Khione’s spirits. She danced back on blistered feet, every cell in her body screaming for that peaceful reprieve she had only one minute earlier, a reprieve that she could no longer afford to give.

"Is that all you've got?" she taunts, even as doubt gnawed at the corners of her mind. They were too many, too hungry, and she was just one woman—albeit one with a penchant for pyrotechnics and godlike stamina that these mutts knew nothing about.

One scavenger, bolder or perhaps more desperate than the rest, made a break for her. Its movements were a blur, a streak of fur and malevolence. Khione ducked, feeling the whoosh of air as claws swiped where her head had been moments before. She rolled, the earth coarse and unyielding beneath her, and came up swinging.

Lost deep in concentration, her face a mask of steel and the branch an extension of her will as she cracks it across another set of jaws. There was a sickening snap, and the beast recoiled, whimpering.

Adrenaline surges like the wildfire in her veins. She pivots, stick arcing through the air in a deadly dance. Each strike was an exclamation, punctuating her refusal to be taken down by the likes of them. She parries a two-pronged assault, stick meeting flesh with a grunt of effort, and for a moment, she imagined the branch aflame, searing through their skin as easily as her magic once had.

"Bet you didn't sign up for this, eh?" Khione sneered, panting as she met each attack with grim determination. The scavengers were relentless, but so was she. Every dodge was a narrow escape, every counterattack a triumph over the odds that seemed increasingly stacked against her.

The salt of her sweat drips into her eyes, stinging, but she quickly wipes it away in a desperate effort not to be blinded.

In a break of composure, Khione shouts "Come on then, hurry up with it!"

Khione’s breath comes in ragged gasps, the dry air of the Southern Tundra clawing at her throat as she continues to swing the stick with a ferocity that belies her waning strength. One scavenger lunges, its jaw wide to reveal rows of jagged teeth, but Khione isn’t fazed by any of it. With a grunt of effort, she brings the branch down hard on its skull, and the creature yelps, retreating into the simmering heat haze.

The others delay in their next attack, giving her a moment to breath and recompose herself. Her grip on the makeshift weapon tightens, knuckles white despite the grime and blood that soaks them.

Then they come at her like a storm, desperation taking over, making them more feral than they had been before, but Khione still stood firm. Another two scavengers charge, their paws kicking up sand as they close in. She sidesteps, the branch whistling through the air, and connecting again with a satisfying crack against a snout. The beast stumbles, giving Khione just enough time to spin and deliver a blow to its companion.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with fire?" she sneered, the memory of her own fiery magic burning at the edge of her consciousness, just enough left to fuel her muscles for a little bit longer.

One by one, the pack dwindle, their numbers no match for Khione’s desperate dance of survival. Each fallen adversary feeding the inferno of determination within her.

But even the fiercest blaze can begin to smolder, and Khione begins to feel the exhaustion seep into her bones. Her movements growing sluggish, less precise, and the last scavenger can sense it. It circles, quickly attacking and retreating, a relentless tide of fur and fangs, and she knows she cannot keep this up much longer.

"Come on," she mutters to herself, "just a little more."

The final mutt moves like a shadow, swift and silent. It darts in, and Khione’s swing is too slow, the branch grazing air instead of fur. Pain erupts along her side as claws rake across flesh, tearing through her tunic and drawing lines across her skin.

"Shit!" she curses, stumbling backwards. Her vision blurs, the edges of the oasis wavering, dunes and sky melding together in a dizzying swirl. The branch slips from her fingers, thudding onto the sand as Khione tries to regain her footing, her breaths coming in shallow, pained hitches.

"I expected more!" she growls at the scavenger, more to convince herself than intimidate his foe. Blood warms the side of her body and the adrenaline that had fuelled her now betrays her as it ebbs away.

The world starts to tilt a little. The Queen of Ash, the last known wielder of fire whose power had reigned supreme, was about to be killed by some scavenger is the middle of nowhere, how typical. She sways but stays standing as her stubborn defiance still shows in the face of overwhelming vulnerability.

The creature bides it's time. A wound like this would normally be fatal, yet it does not realise how long of a wait it’s got. Fate however, seemed to have other plans.

Out of nowhere, a speck of russet and gold streaked across the sky—a desert hawk, its feathers a blaze of fire against the blue. With a screech it dove, a fierce tempest of talons and beak. The scavenger, caught off guard, barely had time to snarl before the bird of prey struck with brutal precision.

"Son of a—" Khione gasped, her pain momentarily forgotten as she watched the aerial assault unfold. The hawk's attack was a blur of motion, each strike delivered with grace and ferocity that would make any swordsman stand in awe. The mutt, outmatched by the avian fury, tried to retaliate but found itself outclassed by wings and claws that cut through the air like knives through butter.

The scavenger yelps, and retreats with its tail between its legs. The hawk gives chase, ensuring its message is well received, before circling back to the oasis, its job done.

Khione breathed out, her heart still racing with adrenaline and now, something akin to reverence. She had seen some things in her life, sure, but this? This was new.

As the hawk lands elegantly on a nearby rock, Khione’s amber eyes meet its piercing gaze. There was a wisdom there, an ancient understanding that seemed to acknowledge the chaos of the world and her place within it. For a moment, neither creature moved, the only sound was the distant cries of the banished scavenger.

Composing herself, Khione finally broke the silence. "Thank you" she said. The words feeling strange in her mouth. Gratitude wasn't a currency she often dealt in, but even she knew when she owed a debt. "You're one hell of a bird."

With a final glance that held more communication than any words could, the hawk spread its fiery wings and launched into the sky once more, leaving Khione alone with the cool oasis, her wounds, and a story no one would believe.

"Damn," she muttered, watching the bird become a speck against the horizon. "Guess the day's not a total loss." She couldn't help the small, grudging smile that tugged at her lips.

Sitting down, she begins to wipe the last remnants of blood from her knuckles, the iron scent mingling with the dry, baked aroma of the Southern Tundra. The hawk, a blazing phantom in this desolate landscape, perched atop a spire of rock before it took to the air again. Khione squinted at the sky, her eyes tracking the fiery plumage that stood out against the blinding blue.

"Where you off to, huh?" she mumbles, half expecting an answer. Her body screams for rest, for a moment's respite in the oasis' shadow, but intrigue had always been a stronger pull than sense. With a grunt, she sets off after the bird, her boots back to kicking up clouds of dust with each step.

The hawk led her on a winding path through the Tundra, its silhouette flickering like a flame caught in a desert mirage. Khione’s throat was raw, her muscles protesting with every mile, but the creature's presence continues to beckon her onward. "Playing guide now? Or just enjoyin' the view of my ass trudging after you?" she called out to the hawk, though it soared too high to hear her now raspy voice.

The terrain here was unforgiving, each rock and crevice a testament to nature's indifference. Khione’s casual swagger had given way to a relentless march, her focus narrowing to the glimpses of red against the monotony of the Tundra. She stumbles over loose stones, cursing under her breath, but keeping moving. That damn bird was leading her somewhere, or was it a wild goose chase designed by one of the gods who are enjoying toying with her fate?

"Figures," she grunts as she scales a particularly treacherous ridge, "finally get a break and it turns into a bloody expedition." But there was something about that hawk, something that stirred more than just curiosity. She felt it in her bones—a connection, maybe. Or a call. Or just insanity.

"The Queen of Ash', chasing fire in the sky," she snorted at the irony, yet her steps remain undeterred. The hawk was more than just an animal; it had saved her hide, and she couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't coincidence. It was a puzzle, and Khione was never one to leave the pieces scattered.

"Keep your secrets, feathered friend," she said, her gaze locked on the horizon. "I've got time. Hell, it's not like I have a war to get to.” With the hawk as her compass, she ventures deeper into the heart of the Southern Tundra, the heat and exhaustion mere footnotes in the story she was determined to unravel.