The guardians rise.


    The horns resound.


    The monarch freed.


    The dragon downed.


    <hr>


    The sun rises above Blizzardhaven. It’s a rare clear sky. Torren has always preferred the stormy climate, but she can’t deny that a sunny day has it’s charm.


    Despite the day-to-day oppression under the Purplecloaks, the people of Blizzardhaven are in high spirits.


    From the edge of the clocktower, Torren’s keen eyes can catch children weaving through the crowd, trade caravans pulled by lumbering big-horned beasts of burden, and the glint of steel as the Purplecloaks make their rounds.


    It’s progress. Alia’s efforts to separate trade and economical power from the Purplecloaks had been fruitful. Torren didn’t really understand all of it. All she knew is that the merchants could move freely, so long as they paid the Purplecloak’s toll.


    At least the city was no longer starving.


    Torren turns at the sound of a gently knock. She can barely make out Alia through the clock-face. She sighs to herself. Time to get to work.


    When she slips inside, Alia is once again pouring over various maps and parchment.


    When she isn’t scouring over intel or drafting letters to foreign embassies, she’s been studying ancient runes.


    Torren and Alia have been fighting the Purplecloaks for 8 years together. Since that fateful day Torren was given her name. They have been disrupting squadrons and every turn, mixing up orders and causing ruckus, and studying the the typhoon wizards.


    There is something unnatural and ancient about the storm magic those wizard use. Torren doesn’t need any research to know that, she can feel it in her bones.


    Every time a wizard is control of the storm above, it rattles her teeth and makes her more feral. If Torren didn’t have such a calm disposition, she’d likely be swept away by the storms.


    Alia has been studying every rune and text they’ve stolen from the Purplecloaks. Every opportunity to understand the magic and find a weak point needs to be found.


    She’s become quite adept at it to. Torren can’t quite sit still long enough to learn them. She prefers a much more intuitive approach to seizing storms.


    Speaking of storms, “We’re going to need a blizzard tonight,” Alia looks up from her maps.


    Torren sighs in response. It’s hardest to coax a storm in sunny weather.


    Alia smiles primly, “You love the challenge.”


    She’s right, of course. Alia’s always right. Torren can’t think of a time that Alia wasn’t 10 steps ahead.


    Alia has grown in the 8 years they’ve been together. She’s tall and slender and despite living so modestly for so long, she has still retained her princess-like grace. Her white hair falls like snow down past her waist and her once bright blue eyes have since settled into a striking grey.


    They still flash blue when she uses a magic. Torren doesn’t think anyone should look so stunning when they’re bringing lightning down from the sky.


    Alia’s lightning magic isn’t exactly storm magic. But with enough teaching from Torren, some practice, and the absurd amount of magical storms over Blizzardhaven, she is very adept at storm magic.


    She’s a mage in her own right. Unfortunately, Blizzardhaven didn’t have many mages to teach her. And any books on magic were destroyed when the Purplecloaks took ever. A mage would have to be stupid to enter the city while the typhoon mages are in charge.


    Alia has gone back to drafting a letter. Torren just watches her for a moment. After years of working in tandem, they have become each others other half.


    Still, Torren can’t shake the growing unease in her bones. She thought it might be due to the sunny weather, but maybe not.


    “Alia,” Torren’s rumbling voice calls out.


    “Hm?” Alia rolls the letter up and rises, straightening her posture.


    They have a mission this evening. It’s the biggest risk they’ve taken in 8 years.


    “I want to make a pact with you,” Alia glances over her shoulder in confusion. She doesn’t quite grasp Torren’s gravity. Instead, she hooks her letter to the snowy eagle that sits on it’s perch by the window.


    “What sort of pact would we ever need?” it;s a fair question. The bond they’ve forged was made through hard times, easy times, and a burning need to save Blizzardhaven,


    “No matter what happens, we need to keep going. We need to free Blizzardhaven, even if one of us doesn’t make it.”


    Alia whips around and the eagle behind her takes flight. It’s massive white-feathered wingspan shadowing the Alia before it disappears into the mountain range.


    “We will make it.” Alia’s carefully placed mask cracks for a moment. She strides over to Torren, pressing a finger to her chest and looking up to meet her eyes. Her eyes begin to crackle blue.


    “We will free Blizzardhaven. We will do it together. We will survive. End of story.”


    “Alia.” Torren knows how this conversation will go. So does Alia. They’ve known each other too long.


    Alia turns away with a huff, “We have to meet with the rebellion—”


    “Alia.”


    “I had to change the rendezvous point—”


    “Alia.”


    Alia quiets. She turns slowly with a deep breath. Her shoulders straighten and she brings her energy up to her chest. She looks every bit like the Queen Torren knows her to be.


    “Promise me, that you will keep fighting. Until Blizzardhaven is free again. Even if I am not by your side,” Torren whispers. She’s never been good with words, but she won’t shy away from a hard conversation.


    Alia worries her lip but she knows that Torren won’t give in till she agrees, “I promise.”


    The corner of Torren’s mouth lift almost imperceptible, and Alia can only smile helplessly in response.


    Alia’s eyes sharpen, “But you have to promise me. No matter what happens. Even if you’re across the world. Even if you’re in the grasp of the Purplecloaks. You must promise that you will fight to remain by my side.”


    Well that’s easy, “I swear it,” there is nowhere Torren would rather be.


    <hr>


    The sun is high as Torren and Alia make their way through the streets of Blizzardhaven. Torren can see the way Alia’s lips tilt up at the sound of laughter and activity around them.


    Blizzardhaven may not be free. But if it weren’t for Alia, these streets would be empty and silent.


    It’s hard to resist the infectious energy of the people that Torren and Alia love so much. But both of them quickly school their expressions once they reach their destination. Torren carefully scans the area before nodding to Alia as the two of them don their masks.


    They’re about to meet with the rebellion. They aren’t the only ones fighting back against the Purplecloaks, but the rebellion isn’t as capable as Torren would like.


    Instead, Torren and Alia have taken a mysterious lead. Alia is the princess, but she’s considered dead by the kingdom. If she were show her face, people would instantly recognize her. She’s a spitting image of the Queen.


    Torren would just rather nobody perceive her. So the two of them put on wooden masks and hoods when they meet with the rebellion.


    Torren has parchment over parchment over parchment in her thick bulky robes. Not that she’s bothered, with her dragon strength she barely feels it. Alia’s soft white cloak adheres to her figure, but she wears a similar dark outer cloak over it. Wearing white out in the open would gather too much attention.


    Torren has given up on convincing Alia not to wear white. It’s in her blood after all. White dye is incredibly difficult to come by, the white Alia uses even more so. But it is the royal color of the Blizzardhaven’s royal family. Alia was born to bear the white of snowstorm lilies.


    Though it makes their espionage difficult at times. Not that Torren is complaining. She knows that Alia was always meant to stand tall and visible, no matter how much Alia tries to stay hidden.


    They step into a familiar bakery. Torren’s miserable attempt at a distraction all those years ago had worked. Though she is certain that it was more likely due to the baker’s own strength of character. Considering she is now hosts the rebellion in her basement.


    The bakery smells wonderful. Torren can just feel her stomach grumble, despite her affinity for meat. Still, Alia’s graceful steps keep her focused and she stays half a step behind. As always.


    Torren thinks these meeting are a waste of time. She hates the arguments and the bureaucracy and the slowness of it all. If they were more competent and executed the plan she’d drawn up, they’d have way more success.


    They are too cautious.


    Torren has a knack for mission planning. There is something about tactics and strategy that she understands. She also understand the Purplecloaks. How they think. How they react.


    She can meticulously plan missions and account for all variables, but convincing the rebellion to follow through is the hard part. Thankfully, that’s Alia’s specialty. Torren handles the logistics. Alia handles the people.


    Torren thinks that Alia is the definition of diplomacy. She can convince even the most stubborn men. It’s the only reason the rebellion has had any success.


    Torren doesn’t really need to be here. But Alia insists that her “intimidating presence” helps.


    Torren thinks it’s just because she doesn’t want to carry all those scrolls.


    Nonetheless, when the baker sees their visages she simply nods and steps aside. Torren likes the baker. She’s blunt and forward, and she’s one of the few people in the rebellion Torren has faith in.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    As they descend the stairs, Torren’s sharp ears begin to pickup the familiar ruckus. She sighs. The basement causes the voices bounce off walls and buzz over and over again in Torren’s ears.


    She sighs and braces herself. Alia squeezes her wrist in commiseration. Torren will be fine, she’s has good hearing for a her whole life. She can withstand a few long hours of incessent muttering and arguing.


    The voices hush a bit when they see the masked figures step into the basement. The small group stand around a table, covered in papers and maps. This meeting in particular is for the leaders.


    At the head of the table is a bespectacled man with shaggy brown hair pulled into a neat bun. Torren does not remember his name. She calls him Spectacles. He is the leader of the rebellion, and one of the nobles that Torren and Alia saved from the Conquered Palace.


    Beside him is a woman with greying hair and keen brown eyes (and the only person Torren is bothered to remember). Lady Amirah Yelwyin was an advisor to the Queen before the invasion. She was also unofficially considered Blizzardhaven’s spymaster.


    She’s also the only one who actually gets things done.


    Torren begins quietly laying out the scroll she was carrying while Alia steps up to the opposing head of the table.


    Torren can’t help but marvel at her presence. Even with a blank wooden mask adorning her face and the heavy cloak obscuring her figure, the moment Alia steps forward all eyes are on her.


    Alia reaches into her cloak for the only goods she was carrying. The others in the room hold their breath as Alia reveals glowing, crackling orbs of thunder.


    They are each the size of an acorn, but everyone in the room except Alia, Torren, anf Lady Yelwyin tense. Torren rolls her eyes. These people are way too dramatic.


    “You will need these lightning bombs tonight,” Alia begins. Immediately, the room is filled with murmurs and complaints.


    “You’ve broken out every noble! Why must we cause more disruption?!” one cries out.


    “There is one left,” Alia is quiet and her most is firm. This is the most important one, and she will not tolerate their minute complaints.


    “Who could possibly be that important! We’re seeing more and more of their forces arrive and the wizards…” as always the complaints begin. Alia stays quiet, letting them bicker over one another.


    Torren gets more and more irate, but Alia is unflinching. She’s always been more patient.


    Finally, Spectacles finally says something useful, “The guardians have never led us astray. We’d be dead ten times over if we didn’t heed their words. Be silent and listen.”


    “The Queen is in the palace,” some of the council can’t hold their gasps. It’s a reasonable response. Even Alia, who was there when the Queen took a final stand against the Purplecloaks, thought her mother had died.


    That was until Torren took a detour while they were trying to rescue an imprisoned noble family 6 months ago. She wasn’t able to get a good look, but she was certain the Queen was alive. She could smell the crisp, citrusy scent of blood. The only other person who smelled like that was Alia. She was there, trapped behind a force of magic.


    Alia has been planning for this breakout for months. Backup plans for backup plans. Torren has been sneaking into the palace, slightly adjusting runes and papers according to Alia’s specifications.


    All for the mission tonight: saving the Queen. Alia’s mother.


    The meeting goes smoothly after that announcement. Torren doesn’t really understand or care for politics. But she knows that the presence of the Queen would only benefit Blizzardhaven, even though they’re smuggling her out of the city.


    “But what of the weather? There is no cover today with such a clear sky,” Lady Yelwyin asks.


    “There will be a blizzard tonight. Ensure the citizens are told ahead of time,” Alia chooses her words carefully.


    “What could those blasted wizards be planning!” Spectacles snaps.


    Most of the time, that would be a reasonable conclusion. The typhoon wizards were always summoning storms to press down from the powerless. Then Torren or Alia would do a simple bait-and-switch to take control of the storm.


    But this time, the wizards had allowed a clear sky. It made Torren suspicious, but their efforts to find a reason had been unsuccessful. Along with their efforts to find a leader among the enemies.


    Alia had decided that it was best if the rebellion was kept in the dark about their powers. Though Torren doubted it was as secret as she’d like. All throughout the city there have been sightings of Blizzardhaven’s “guardian angels”.


    They come only when the storms are heavy. They break the chains, cut the ropes, strike down enemies and then disappear into the cloudy sky.


    Torren would be calling a storm today, but Alia doesn’t need to tell the rebellion that.


    The council takes her word for it. They’ve always been right about the weather, no matter how ridiculous the predictions sound.


    Spectacles speaks up again, “We can set up a shelter for Her Majesty—”


    “No. She will be taken directly to Twilheim Harbor. On a ship set for Prafulla Archipelago,” Alia cuts him off. It’s too dangerous for the Queen to stay in the city.


    Spectacles nods reluctantly, he understands.


    Alia continues, “You will need to prepare the people. The Purplecloaks will crack down. The rebellion needs to cover it’s tracks and stay under the radar.”


    Lady Yelwyin cuts in, “If I may, I’d like to get on the ship with Her Majesty. I will be of more help to her and Blizzardhaven if I can assist her.”


    The Queen would be able to secure allies and aid for Blizzardhaven, even more so with the help of spymaster. At this point, that is what Blizzardhaven needs.


    The Queen would have the diplomatic power and justification to convince other nations. Well so would Alia, but every-time Torren brings that up, it’s shut down. Alia doesn’t want to leave Blizzardhaven. But Torren knows she’ll need to eventually.


    Torren can only hope she’ll be by Alia’s side when that happens.


    As the guardian angels of Blizzardhaven take their leave, Torren lingers for a moment. She has a feeling it might be some time before they meet again.


    The leaders have split into small groups to discuss logistics but Lady Yelwyin saunters over to Torren. The rebellion is well aware that stays silent, and she won’t speak unless it is to Alia. So nobody ever approaches her.


    She turns curiously to face to face to older woman, tilting her head to acknowledgement.


    The spymaster only smiles knowingly, “Keep your charge safe. She’s Blizzardhaven’s future after all.”


    It seems at least one person was smart enough to figure it out.


    <hr>


    Torren has made the journey to conquered palace thousands of times. For recon missions, stealing plans, and breaking out the imprisoned nobles.


    The crystalline purple palace glimmers even in a blizzard. Torren would have loved wander those beautiful intricate halls. Alia swears that she will, one day.


    Alia is nervous. Torren can see the little quirks that Alia hides behind her prim mask. The side of her left eye twitches ever so slightly. Her only visible tell. Of course the other more obvious tell is how tightly she is gripping Torren’s hand. If Torren wasn’t a dragon she’s certain her hand would break.


    This mission work like clock-work now. Torren figures she’d more worried about what to say to her mother. Though, Torren can’t hide that she’s nervous either. The growing unease she’s felt since the morning has only gotten stronger.


    Alia rehearses to plan under her breath. Torren gently squeezes Alia’s hand. Alia sighs.


    “Start the storm.”


    Torren shifts her attention to the sky. To the wind. To the storm brewing south of the city, over the harbor.


    Torren could create a storm directly over the city, but it would take a lot more energy. The typhoon wizard would also interrupt the process or try to snag the storm as their own.


    Calling a storm is much easier.


    Torren can’t stop the pinch of guilt when she sees some children groan at the rain. Alia’s hand squeezes. Torren refocuses.


    She can already feel the twisting but unnaturally still magic of the typhoon wizards, reaching up to grasp at the storm. Torren drives them out with torrent of lightning.


    All around her, the people of Blizzardhaven scramble for shelter.


    She turns the storm cold. Then soft.


    Three booming blares from the great horns sound out. Blizzard warning.


    The ground vibrates from the sound, shaking the building and causing the spires of the palace to shimmer and chime.


    The Purplecloaks trudge in their direction. Anyone out in the storm is suspicious. If only they kew this wasn’t their storm.


    Alia raises her hand to the sky and Torren passes the storm to her call. Torren has always loved sharing storms with Alia. They do it as natural as breathing.


    Blue lightning fills the blizzard. The Purplecloaks behind them are struck down in a torrent of electricity.


    Torren and Alia break into a run, towards the Conquered Palace.


    Torren smirks as she hears booming from different parts of the city. Alia’s lightning bombs.


    Torren scoops Alia up and leaps into the air. Straight into a large intricate stained glass window. They hide the sound of shattering with the roars of thunder from the blizzard outside.


    They can here the Purplecloaks running through the palace and the typhoon wizards shouting spells. They’ve made the perfect distraction.


    Torren and Alia scale the spiral stairway of the spire they had landed in. They chose that window for a reason. They know exactly where they’re going.


    Normally, they’d make their way to the dungeons. But not this time. Torren follows that unique crisp smell of blood towards the throne room.


    No. Not there. Beneath it.


    Torren pulls Alia away and down more stairs. They don’t need to speak for Alia to realize where they need to go. She knows these halls better than anyone.


    They stand in front of a vault. They don’t have much time before some Purplecloaks find them and sound the alarm.


    Alia tries to unlock it. First with a password, then when that fails through lock-picking. She’s very good at lock-picking, but no lock-picking will get her into the royal vault.


    She turns to Torren resigned. It’s not a quiet solution, but time is of the essence.


    Torren backs up. Her eyes narrow and her pupils elongate. She leaps towards the vault and shoves the door out it’s massive hinges.


    The sound is loud and grating, but it works.


    The door falls and Torren hears Alia gasp at the sight.


    The Queen looks just like Alia. She wears a luxurious silken white dress that flows out like a wedding train.


    Her eyes are the same color as Alia’s. Except she’s frozen. Frozen in a glowing crystal.


    Alia leaps over massive door and begins frantically palming at the crystal. Runes begin to appear on the stone. Alia’s hands begin to crackle with magic.


    She looks back at Torren with a nod.


    I need to buy her time.


    Torren readies herself as Purplecloaks and wizards begin charging down the hallway. Her own arms crackling with bright golden lightning. Her lip curls and her canines sharpen.


    It’s time to fight.


    <hr>


    Torren doesn’t know how many she’s taken down. She’s dodged spells, broken swords, and decimated entire squadrons. But they keep coming.


    Every time she looks back, the crystal still stands.


    She’s a dragon. But she’s getting tired. But I’ll be damned if I let them touch Alia.


    As another squadron runs towards her, their swords gleaming, she lets the breath in her throat build. As she catches her breath, she watches the soldiers’ eyes widen as the veins around her through glow as if lightning has been painted onto her body.


    She exhales with a torrent of lightning and fire. Absolutely incinerating the squadron. She’s so tired. She doubts she’ll be able to do that again.


    She checks on Alia, she’s standing and chanting now. Hopefully she’s almost done.


    Torren feels the unease in her belly lift into her throat.


    Her head whips back to the entrance of the hallway. A single lone man is strolling towards her. Torren’s hackles are raised.


    He smells of death and twisting storms. His eyes are wide but the eyes are deranged. He walks towards her with a smile.


    Torren knows without a doubt, that he is the Thunder King. The man who commands the Purplecloaks. The god who gave the typhoon wizards their power.


    Torren is a dragon. But there is power rolling off this man, more than she has ever had.


    “It seems a little baby dragon has crawled into me den,” he taunts as he steps closer. He wears purple robes and clinking boots. His dark hair is slicked back over his dark skin, and the right half of his face is twisted and burned.


    Torren hears the crystal behind her shatter. She does not take her eyes off the Thunder King.


    “Hmm. Why don’t you shift for me? I’d love to add another dragon to my collection,” he looks over Torren’s shoulder, “and a pretty little princess along with it.”


    Torren snarls protectively. She turns to look at Alia. She’s wide eyed and clutching her mother, who is trying hard to keep her eyes open.


    Alia raises her hand to cast a spell, but it dissolves. Whatever she did to save the Queen sapped her of her magic.


    If I can just distract—


    Torren’s breath catches.


    She turns to look down at her stomach. An obsidian blade coated in freakish dark twisting magic twists into her. The world turns red. She shouldn’t have looked away from the enemy.


    The Thunder King chuckles, “I’m going to enjoy this.” As he lifts his hand, black ichor bleeds from the palm of his hand. He begins to chant.


    An eerie, grating chant that makes Torren’s bone shake. She can faintly hear Alia screaming.


    Torren’s eyes snap open. Alia. She will protect her. No matter what.


    Torren’s vision shifts from bloody red to the flickering of lightning. She sees hurricanes and tornados. She feels the wind lashing at her skills.


    She feels numbing a pain. For a moment, all is quiet.


    Then, Torren roars. Roars?


    Her head hits the ceiling. Her hands are now massive scaled claws. She’s a dragon now.


    She sees the Thunder King smile and whips around to Alia and the Queen. She picks them up as gently as she can and then spread her wings.


    The massive wings whips the air and lightning crackled through her veins. She hold her precious cargo close to her chest and flies.


    She bursts through the towering roof of the Conquered Palace, and into the clouds of the blizzard above. For a moment, all Torren feels is bliss and relief.


    The storm welcomes her. Her wings catch massive winds and she floats weightless.


    Then, she feels a soft current from her within her claws. Alia.


    Torren whips around and out of the blizzard, leaving Blizzardhaven.


    There is a clamor at the harbor when they see a massive dragon in the sky. Torren doesn’t bother. She quickly lands in front of the docks, gently depositing Alia and the Queen.


    She stills for a moment when Alia looks up for her. Alia reaches to place a hand on her cheek. She nuzzles into the touch.


    But then her wounds begin to sting with pain and there are people in the harbor that she doesn’t want to hurt. She rises, and with a final look towards Alia, lifts back into the sky.


    But not for long.


    The blizzard over the city followed her. Now it’s dark and twisted and Torren can smell that same freakish magic. The storm charges at her with a single fury.


    She tries flies away.


    The people Twilheim Harbor what a dragon get struck from the sky by black lightning and deafening thunder.