In a world far from here,
In a land of fog and night,
In a place where Demons roam,
In the twin moons light.

The Dragon lays in wait for pray,
Always eager, always fresh.
The hero’s life will be there laid,
That children may forever rest.

- The Hero’s Epitaph

* * *

My name is Anna. That, at least, hasn’t changed. It’s important, I think, that I can still remember that. I’m not sure that all the others have, or if they do remember then it seems they no longer care.

Once, I was a little girl. It seems so very long ago, though I suppose that’s normal for anyone as they grow up. Looking back, there has always been one night that stuck out in my memory. It was a wet and miserable summer evening when I was six years old. I was out doing some errand or other with my Mother, I can’t remember exactly what, and a monster had wandered into town.

I remember most of all that I was afraid. I held tightly to my Mom’s arm as she slowly backed away from the monster. We were in an alley, I think. It hadn’t spot us yet.

The creature wasn’t all that large, not much bigger than six year old me, but it was dreadfully fast.

A crash.

I had stumbled. The Alley we were in was barely bright enough to see and my eyes were completely locked on the beast rather than my own feet. I stumbled over a tin bucket that was hidden under some trash. It seemed so loud and my Mother and I both held still as statues, praying that the monster wouldn’t hear, that it wouldn’t turn to look.

No such luck. The young wyvern raised its too-large head from the thing it had been eating, scraps of red hanging from its muzzle, dripping poisonous spittle and other things that were unrecognizable to me at the time. It looked right at us, amber eyes narrowing into points.

It just stood there and stared for a time, its prey too desperate and shocked to move. It was almost as if it were waiting for something. Maybe for us to move so it could better see us? Whatever the case, it eventually took a step forward. Then another. By the third it was in a run. My mother hugged me so tight it hurt and put herself between the monster and me.

The dragonling never reached us.

“Not so fast!”

At the end of the alley stood a girl in shining armour. Cloaked in a pail of light, she literally cackled with electricity. You could tell it was a girl from her echoing voice, melodic and fearless, and from her figure. Her figure was mostly hidden, all but her broadest features were impossible to make out beneath the light. She moved like lightning down the alley and as she did so left and after image, an illusion of what might have been underneath, that stayed in my eye for just a fraction of a second. From this I could see some of the smaller details that were hidden beneath her radiance. The ornate breastplate that covered a golden-yellow blouse. The Golden locks that twirled into pigtail points near her shoulders. The fashionable high boots that were left uncovered by armour or skirt.

The one thing that I could clearly see within the light was the girl’s weapon. She held a great spear as long as she was tall with a wide, curved blade.

The girl flashed even brighter as she met the monster. She seemed to jump through the air as blade pushed against tooth and tail. With a flash the weapon moved to bony horn instead. With a flash it cut and stabbed and the girl danced away while the wyvern thrashed and whirled. It was enraged by the girl, but for all its speed she was always faster.

The girl cleaved through stone and wood as if her massive polearm were a yardstick slicing through the air. She cut through the Wyvern’s flesh with one of those slashes, striking a soft spot between bones. The wyvern bled black blood into the wet streets. It was a wound that looked worse that it was, but it seemed terrible to me. Still, it was enough to enrage the beast and to distract it. The wyvern let out a terrible, yelping roar.

It was the signal the girl had been waiting for. She put her spear beneath her and vaulted into the air with a single fluid motion.

She twirled her spear in both hands with a practiced ease until its shaft came to rest against her shoulder, point facing forwards and upwards. She called out “LIGHTENING!” with a boom and then threw towards the heavens with all her might. The spear flew so high I lost sight of it in the downpour.

In its place, a storm of thunderbolts rained down upon the young Wyvern. Where mere steel had failed, this magical assault made quick work of the beast. It was burnt to cinders by the attack, its foul liquids destroyed along with the rest.

With a final flourish, the girl retrieved her spear, sticking out of the ground where the final bolt had struck, and turned to my Mother and I. With one last flash, she was gone. An image remained for a split second longer, a girl smiling with relief.