《Echoes of Thunder》 Prologue The wind whispers for our freedom. The thunder crackles against our chains. The lightning trembles with our fury. We will rise under the wrath of the blizzard. We will attack with the roar of the tempest. They will hear our echoes of thunder.
The drumming of the rain across the earthen roofs should sound like thousands of pounding drums with the girl¡¯s heighten senses. But the rain has always been a comfort rather than a grief. She prowls across the patchwork of clay tiles, lithely leaping from rooftop to rooftop. She feels at home here in the storm. Despite the weather and the cold from snowy mountains around the city walls, she wears only a worn tunic, rough pants and soft, weathered boots. Just the way she likes it. She¡¯d come out to enjoy the storm. The wild, relentless roar of nature was a cocoon of comfort for her. She was not daft, she knew it wasn¡¯t normal to seek shelter with a storm. There is something different tonight with the storm above. There is something in the air, and it¡¯s making her antsy. The storm is trying to tell her something. So the girl closing her eyes, ear raised towards the clouds, and listens. The storm call is strong. So the girl follows the harsh wind as it guides her toward the center of the city. Towards the glimmering Conquered Palace. There¡¯s a ruckus near the Conquered Palace, as always. The girl sighs to herself, bracing herself as her sensitive ears readjust to the noise. Blizzardhaven has only been a ruckus since the Purplecloaks invaded. Their typhoon wizards brought blizzards from all over the mountain range. Despite the name, the onslaught of super-powered weather mixed with the waves of barbarian forces had been too much for the city. Blizzardhaven has never had much military defense, much less magic defense. They had fallen so quickly. And now the people have been suffering for two years under terrible rule. It¡¯s no longer the safe haven it was. The girl stills and crouches low as she reaches the edge of a rooftop. Her fists curl as she watches the Purps drag crying citizens away from the premises. One day, she¡¯ll find a way to free Blizzardhaven. The girl presses her cheek to the tile below. What a ridiculous dream. Who would ever believe that a girl with no name who loves storms would ever save Blizzardhaven? What could a nameless orphan do for the once great city-state of Blizzardhaven? What is she even doing here? So close to the Conquered Palace? If she¡¯s caught by the Purps, they¡¯ll smite her down with the storm above. Or would they? This storm seems quite fond of her. It urges her forward. She slides off the rooftop, landing silently within the narrow, cobbled lanes. The crowd grows louder as she nears, and she is filled with smoldering fury. She recognizes the baker, who would give her bread every morning, among the lines of tied up citizen and crying out as her two daughters are taken from her. The Purps are ¡°recruiting¡±. The twins are only ten years old, same as the girl. The entire street is abuzz with shouting and crying. The Purps trudge around, occasionally silencing protest with their hulking figures or bloodied swords. Blizzardhaven has been subject to ¡°recruitments¡± every month. Children are separated from their parents. People are forced out of their homes. The girl had tried to find where they went, but once they¡¯re taken by the Purplecloaks, they are never seen again. One of the giant Purps grabs both the struggling twin by the collar. Lifting them high into the air with a single massive hand. The young girls are crying and screaming. The girl readies herself to run after them. But a fierce torrent lashes the wall beside her. No. Not there. Her people are in trouble! The storm must be mistaken! She can help! It wouldn¡¯t take much to pull the ropes apart¡ª Her ears pick up another sound. She hears the chanting as the dark clouds above begin to twist. A typhoon wizard. She hears the shouting of the Purps. They¡¯re running after someone. The storm above begins to roar. Help her. Everything muscle in the girl¡¯s body has to stop herself from running towards the giant, but the storm has never been more insistent. The rain around her turns harsh and sharp as it tries to pull her away from street of her suffering people. The girl takes one last look at the horrible sight, and tears away from them with an angry snarl. She won¡¯t do nothing. Instead, the girl leaps up high into the sky. The ground beneath her feet crumbles at the force and shouts ring below her as people catch sight of her silhouette against the crackling lighting. She hears people yelling and hopes that the distraction is enough to help. She refocuses and becomes one with the storm. Anything the storm touches, she can find. She can hear the typhoon wizard¡¯s murmurs. She can hear the purple cloak¡¯s unsheathe their metallic swords. She can hear the soft sobs of another girl. There. That¡¯s who she needs to help. The Girl Of The Storm cuts her own trajectory in the air, nosediving down into the city below. The ground nears quickly, but her hawk-like vision catches scene. Purps with glinting swords surround a girl with snowy white hair and an flowing alabaster dress. The typhoon wizard stands behind the soldiers, staff raised towards the sky. But the storm doesn¡¯t seem to be cooperating. Instead, lightning crackles around the Girl Of The Storm. The wind picks up, guiding her towards her destination. The tempest above her roars. The girl with white hair looks up. Her icy blue eyes widen at the sight of the girl diving down towards her. She reaches her hand up, and blue electricity crackles around her. A shield. The Girl Of The Storm strikes with the force of a collapsing star. The ground splintered beneath her, cracks racing outward and toward the enemies. A violent gust of wind howled as the shockwave of debris and torrents of lightning sweep across the Purplecloaks in a relentless force of nature. The Girl Of The Storm whirls on her heel to face the girl the storm had entrusted to her. The lightning barrier around her had dissipated. The girl with hair like snow stared at her with wide, scared eyes. Wait. Now she has to actually talk to her. Start a conversation? No way. The storm above crackles in humor. A gust of warm encouragement is sent her way. The Girl Of The Storm sighs. The girl with white hair smiles softly. Before she can saying anything however, her head snaps to the side. Her ears catch the heavy clank of metal boots beneath the drumming of the rain. The blast has left them too exposed. Backup is on the way. She grabs her new charge and pulls her into another crooked alleyway. The girl in white gasps at the force of her pull but quiets at her frantic look. The boots grow louder even as they disappear further and further into the cramped city. She doesn¡¯t stop until they¡¯re far, far away from the Conquered Palace. When she finally slows, they¡¯re in a dim, overhung alley. The girl in white gasps as she catches her breathe. The Girl Of The Storm winces. She¡¯d forgotten to keep a normal pace. The girl in white is shivering. Strangely, she doesn¡¯t seem scared. In fact, she seems¡ªdefiant. Determined. She gathers herself quickly, though she can¡¯t halt her body¡¯s reaction to the cold. The Girl Of The Storm wish she had something to help, but it¡¯s not like she wears doublet. She doesn¡¯t need one. The girl in white straightens her shoulders and puts her feet together. Standing prim and proper. ¡°Greetings. I thank you most deeply for your assistance. I am called Alia; who might you be, noble lady?¡± ¡°You¡¯re welcome. I¡¯m not noble nor a lady,¡± the Girl Of The Storm responds. She¡¯s not sure why the storm asked her to save someone like this. Hadn¡¯t all of Blizzardhaven¡¯s nobles fled or died during the usurpation? This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. She looked up to the clouds above for an answer. Nothing. They swirl above in their usual turmoil. ¡°And your name?¡± the girl in white¡ªAlia presses. ¡°I don¡ª¡± CLANG. The nameless girl whips her head around. Alia watches her confused. ¡°What are you¡ª¡± the girl clamps a hand around her mouth and raises a finger. Alia cannot hear the footsteps from so far away, but she can. How did they find us? It could just be a patrol. But her instincts tell her something is wrong. She looks back up to the storm. A single glint in the clouds catches in her augmented vision. A storm tracker. That typhoon nitwit managed to cast his spell in time. She¡¯ll have to break it herself. She looks back down at Alia, ¡°Stay here. Stay quiet. Stay still.¡± Then she backs up and leaps high up into the air. Into the clouds. Right towards the swirling, iridescent blue sphere she found. All it takes is the momentum of her leap and heaving kick to smash it into pieces. She nosedives back toward the ground. But this time, she heaves up just before she collides with the ground. The air around her lifts and slows her file as she glides down. Alia looks up at her with wide eyes, ¡°You have wings, too?!¡± ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Maybe she¡¯s in shock. Purplecloaks can be frightening. Never-mind that, her presence in the air will have been alerted. Thankfully, she knows just the place. The clocktower.
Alia was so tired. She¡¯d been running and hiding for so long. But she promised. She would survive. She would escape. She would free Blizzardhaven. It¡¯s her purpose. By blood. By honor. For her mother. Alia tries and fails her to hold back tears at the thought. But she needs to be strong. She promised. She¡¯s so tired. Her legs ache from the days of endless running. Her stomach grumbles from the lack of food. Her face and arms pinch from scratch and bruises. Her fingers and toes are numb from the biting cold. Her shoulders sag under the weight of her country. She leans against the soft clay of the building next to her and huffs in frustration. She¡¯s accidentally found herself close to the palace again. She has no idea how to navigate the back alleys and she keeps getting lost. Worse, she¡¯s closer to Purplecloak patrols. Still, the main streets are warm with the masses of the crowds, and she¡¯s a lot more likely to find someone who will give her food. It¡¯s a risk she has to take. Her white dress does nothing but draw attention, but she can¡¯t bear to part with it. She passes a bakery, one that she remembers would give out old bread. When she gets to the door, her heart sinks. A jagged symbol of an arch with two smoking eyes within is scorched into the wood of the door. They¡¯ve been ¡°recruited¡±. Alia balls her hands into fists. She can do nothing but watch her people be mistreated. She is useless. She¡¯s just an eleven-year-old girl. What can she do? Alia shakes her. No. She¡¯s eleven now, but if she survives till she¡¯s older: she can fight back. She has to keep moving. Keep¡ª ¡°There she is!¡± A Purplecloak patrol races towards her. The massive men push bystanders out a way as they carve a path towards her. Alia breaks into a sprint. She tries to dodge and weave through crowds. Then through alleyways. But they stay just behind her. She¡¯s a fast runner, but her legs are weak and the grown men can cover much more ground. Still, Alia refuses to give up. She sees an alcove of carts set up for market ahead. She copies what she¡¯d once seen an urchin do while stealing fruit. She turns the corner and ducks under the furthest cart she can find, praying that the merchants will cause too much fuss for her pursuers. Thankfully, as the soldiers trudge into clearing, the merchants immediately begin hollering. The Purplecloaks are always bad for business. Alia takes the opportunity to dive into a nearby alleyway. She runs until she can¡¯t run anymore. Then, slides down a wall as she gasps for breathe. Thank goodness¡ª. CLANK. CLANK. She whips around to see a hulking Purplecloak racing towards her. She yelps as she forces her body back into a run, trying her best to lose him in an alleyway. All of a sudden, more appear from all directions. Alia panics as she tries to reroute, until she hits a dead end. She turns in fear as the Purplecloaks close around her. The massive shadows of the barbarians loom over her. They¡¯ve got a typhoon wizard with them. Alia had been able to ignore the rain in favor of survival, but now she can¡¯t help but feel the clouds above turn dark and malicious. ¡°Well looky here, boys,¡± the huge man who had found her smirks. Alia backs further away. She¡¯s panicking and she can¡¯t see a way out. But wait. She hides a hand behind her back and tries to call her magic. ¡°We¡¯ve found the little snow princess herself,¡± he bellows. She feels a hint of static, just for a moment. If she can catch them by surprise, then just maybe¡ª Suddenly, Alia feels a force of magic. It¡¯s feels familiar. Natural. It¡¯s definitely not coming from the typhoon wizard before her. But up? She looks up, and she sees someone diving towards her from the sky. Lightning encircles them and the twisting storm swirls above them like the beginning of a hurricane. She sees golden eyes with slitted pupils descending towards her. This must be how it feels: the moment right before you are struck by lightning.
¡°Hey, stay awake,¡± the Girl Of The Storm says as they finally reach their destination. Alia was exhausted. She didn¡¯t look like she had been eating. The girl was worried she was freezing to death. Halfway through their journey, Alia had finally given in to her insistence. So now she clings to the girl¡¯s shoulders as the girl of the storm carries her to the clocktower. The clocktower is strangely inconspicuous despite it¡¯s purpose. It was high enough to see the palace, even though it rested against the city wall. But the clock was broken and the building too torn down to gather attention. The rest of the street was in similar disrepair, but nobody unsavory wanted to take up a room on the city¡¯s edge. That amounted to nothing less than death by frostbite. It was perfect for the Girl Of The Storm. She never got cold. Unfortunately, the girl over her shoulder was freezing. ¡°You are remarkably warm,¡± Alia says, even as her teeth chatter. The girl ignores her in favor of climbing the high but narrow steps. When she reached the top, she carefully placed Alia down, supporting her before she falls. When she pushes the door open, a warm gust of air brushes past them. She ushers Alia in and shuts the insulated door. The room inside is simple and welcoming. Rough-hewn stone walls and low, timbered beams frame a modest space warmed by the soft glow of a crackling hearth. A simple wooden table and a well-worn chair, adorned with a patchwork quilt, complete the room. The rain is muffled inside, and it is only through the semi-translucent clock face which covers the entirety of one wall that the flashes of lightning are revealed. The girl leads Alia to a small bedroll in the corner of the room. She grabs the quilt from the chair and layers it over the thin blanket. Then she busies herself with start the fire. She¡¯s never been good at conversation. Besides, the girl in white looks about to drop. Still, the girl of the storm counts to three and turns to face Alia. She sighs in relief. She¡¯s asleep. Wait a minute. Isn¡¯t it bad to sleep in wet clothes?
When Alia wakes up, she first thing she feels is warmth. Warmth? She jerks awake. The only reason she would be warm is if she was captured¡ª ¡°Wait! Calm down! You¡¯re safe!¡± Alia stops fussing at the voice. That did not sound like the low, grating tone of a Purplecloak. She opens her to see a another girl around her age. She has wavy black hair and earth-toned skin. And her eyes. Alia immediately recognizes her. The flurry of events from before come back to her. The girl¡¯s eyes are glowing golden and her pupils aren¡¯t slitted anymore. But they are still a bright burning amber. The girl watches her earnestly as she calms down. She sidles closer with a bowl of the most wondrous soup. Alia hadn¡¯t eaten properly in months. Sitting near the fire and covered in blankets, all she can do is reach for the offered meal. The soup is nothing compared to the meals the castle chefs would prepare for her, but she¡¯s so hungry that this soup tastes far better than anything else she remembers eating. The girl¡ªdragon¡ªjust watches her. Head tilted like a puppy. Alia doesn¡¯t look up till she finishes her bowl. She blushes when she realizes she¡¯s being watched. She¡¯s not at all eating like a proper lady should. Nevertheless when her bowl is finished, the dragon girl simply takes it from her and then comes back with a rag and another full bowl. Alia itches to grab the second bowl but she remembers her manners. She wipes her mouth and sits up straight. The girl tilts her head again, this time with an eyebrow raised expectantly. ¡°You do not speak much, do you?¡± Alia cannot believe those are the words that come out of her mouth. This girl just saved her life for goodness sake! ¡°No. I don¡¯t,¡± the girl says. ¡°Well, that¡¯s quite alright. I must thank you sincerely for rescuing me¡­¡± she trails off as the broad shouldered girl waves her away. ¡°All good. Did what anyone else would do.¡± Alia¡¯s face must betray her doubt because the girl quickly amends, ¡°Well not what anyone would do. But¡ªwhat I would do.¡± Alia smiles, ¡°May I know your name, dragon?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have a name¡ªwait, what? Dragon? What are you talking about?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have a name?¡± They both quiet as they interrupt one another. Alia speaks first, ¡°You are a dragon, right?¡± She was sure of it. If the eyes weren¡¯t a dead give away, the wings she saw as the girl floated down from the storm confirmed it. ¡°Do I look like a giant lizard to you?¡± ¡°Most dragons stay in human form,¡± she¡¯d met many before the invasion. Many dragons were nobility or associated with nobility and would visit from far and wide in the castle. The girl still stares at her like she¡¯s crazy, ¡°You have inhuman strength! You¡¯re eyes were glowing! You had wings!¡± Now that she thinks about it, they weren¡¯t wings. Rather, lightning in the shape of wings. That was still pretty dragon-like in her opinion. The girl just sits there, thinking for a moment. ¡°¡­do they talk to storms?¡± ¡°¡­do you talk to storms?¡± ¡°Maybe?¡± ¡°Well unless you¡¯re a storm dragon, but they don¡¯t¡ª¡± Both children whip their eyes up towards each other. Storm dragons disappeared decades ago. But they¡¯re the only ones who could naturally influence the weather. The girl clears her throat, ¡°Well maybe I am. But what about you?¡± ¡°What about me?¡± ¡°Why were those Purps going after you?¡± Purps is a delightfully ridiculous name for those stupid, blasphemous excuses for soldiers. Alia hadn''t heard that before, but she''s stealing that now. Still, what if this girl turns her in¡ªBOOM. Lightning flashes just outside the clocktower and the thunder send shuddering vibrations through the building. Alia yelps and jumps as her own magic kickstarts. Blue light begins crackling around her fingertips. Her eyes flash electric blue. Warm hands steady around her wrists. She looks into the girl''s earnest, amber eyes. ¡°You are important to Blizzardhaven, right?¡± ¡°H-how did you know?¡± ¡°The storm told me.¡± ¡°That was the storm?!¡± She shushes Alia, ¡°Listen to me. I will help you. I will help Blizzardhaven.¡± Alia stares into the burning, determined eyes. She sighs and prays that she won¡¯t regret this. She can just hear her mother''s warnings about strangers in her head. ¡°I am Crown Princess Alia Snowreign of Blizzardhaven. Heir to the Frost-Kissed Throne.¡± ¡°Hmm. Makes sense.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?!¡± The dragon shrugs and stands, taking Alia¡¯s now empty bowl with her. She sets it on the table and walks over the to clock wall. She beckon Alia with a tilt of her head. Alia rises, pulling the warm quilt tight around her shoulders. She stand beside the much taller girl and looks out the tower. She almost gasps in awe. The storm has turned into a calm snow. From their view, you can see the colorful array of Blizzardhaven¡¯s districts and the glimmering purple palace all enveloped by the snow-covered peaks surrounding the city-state. It¡¯s a beautiful and serene sight. Alia can feel the tears fill her eyes. She tries to hastily wipe them before the other girl can see. She cannot cry now. Not yet. Not until her people are free. Not until her people have no need to cry. When she turns to the Girl Of The Storm, she sees flurries of snow around her arms. The dragon had turned the thunderstorm into snowfall. ¡°I want to help Blizzardhaven. You want to help Blizzardhaven. So, I will help you,¡± the dragon reaches out her hand. Despite every one of her mother¡¯s teachings ringing in her head, Alia knows that she can trust the girl in front of her. She takes the hand. Around their arms, electricity crackles. Yellow sparks from the dragon. Blue sparks from Alia. ¡°Well if we¡¯re going to do this, I¡¯ll need something to call you.¡± The Girl Of The Storm shrugs, ¡°Don¡¯t have a name.¡± Alia thinks back to when she first saw the girl. Diving towards her in a torrent of lightning. Torrent¡ªno. ¡°Torren.¡± Chapter 1 The guardians rise. The horns resound. The monarch freed. The dragon downed.
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¡ª¡± ¡°Alia.¡± ¡°I had to change the rendezvous point¡ª¡± ¡°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.
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¡ª¡± ¡°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.
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.
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¡ª 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.