Plot 201: Heir of Ash and Fire

Bentley
Aodh Lady

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She had been waiting for this day ever since Lilith had first given the news that she was pregnant. Bentley would have another sibling. Another mouth to feed at home. Another baby for her parents to dote upon. Another sibling for Bentley to play with. She was no longer going to be the baby of the family, and she would have someone to take care of. She could not wait.

Eagerly bouncing around, she knew that she was annoying many of the equines nearby. Her small hooves clicked on the ground as she shuffled her feet, the anticipation being too much to bear. Bentley desperately wanted to be with her mother as she gave birth, but had been told time and time again by many, many equines, that she would be in the way. Even her biological father had said so.

He stood not too far off, keeping a watchful eye over the small appaloosa filly. Ron demanded that Varien be with her ever since her attack that still had her scared to death of strangers. Cael also stood by, which Bentley found very comforting. She knew that Cael was a pitfighter, and would be an intimidating enemy to even the strongest of foes.

"When is the baby gonna be born?" She could not help ask the question, peering up at the older equines around her. "Why is it taking so long?"

Post 1 || 235 Words

Grange | Servile Slave

Among the faces of the onlookers, Grange's expression was flat. Despite the fact that they were all gathered, waiting for the moment that Lilith would birth her newest child, Grange could hardly fathom the idea, nor could he understand how this was supposed to make all of those gathered joyful. Taavi was enough of a handful alone; certainly another child of Lilith would be a little hellion. They all seemed to inherit that from their mother. Grange let his gaze slide across the group, wondering if the other slaves that had been brought here felt any of the same emotions he did. It was hard to get excited for a new foal, when that foal's mother held Grange's very life, his well-being, between clenched teeth. Perhaps, if she or Taavi ordered him to be happy, he would fake the emotion. But after the last three months, Grange was certain there was no true happiness left in him. This little brat wouldn't bring it back either.

He had been so close. As he thought about it, he swore he could even taste freedom on his tongue again. Instead, he tasted the cold metal of his new slave bridle, metallic and rank in his mouth. The Vagabonds had slashed his old one, left it laying in the dirt, saying he needed to leave the past behind him. They promised him freedom. But Grange, with his life of ease at Taavi's side, had been too slow. He hadn't escaped the ever-reaching claws of Aodh. He'd been returned to Taavi and Lilith. He told them he'd gotten lost in the confusion. It was true enough. Sighing, the champagne stallion twisted his head this way and that, violet eyes roving over the group once more. This time, he wasn't looking for slaves, so much as he was looking for a distraction. Thoughts of how close he'd come to escaping Aodh always brought him deep sadness, and Grange wished to push the thoughts out of his head, where they couldn't bother him, at least for the moment.

Yet another of Lilith's loin-outcasts was speaking. Impatiently, the lady queried about her new brother or sister. When he first came to Lilith's home, Grange had no patience for questions such as the ones the filly was asking now, but time spent caring for Taavi had trained Grange in the ways of dealing with children. He knew that as uncomfortable as he was, standing and waiting on his mistress, she must be bored out of her mind.

Before Grange had a chance to decide if he dared speak to a Noble or not, Taavi had taken the reins and answered his sibling. Grange could detect the slightest hint of irritation in Taavi's voice, and he wondered if it had anything to do with their missing king. Grange, who had no living family, felt like a fish out of water here. He could hardly understand the devotion that Taavi had to Bentley or to his King. It was just one more thing that Nobles had, and Grange didn't. But, regardless of what Grange did or did not have, he couldn't allow Taavi to be rude to his sister; it was Grange's job to look after the colt, after all.

"It shouldn't be long now, I hope," Grange said, dipping his head to his superiors as he spoke. Despite his upset at being here, in the Aodhian court, his manners had not deserted him. "Soon, all shall be right," he added, hoping his words would assuage Taavi, at least long enough that Lilith could squeeze out her millionth child, and Taavi could be distracted from his woes.

WC: 609

Cael | Pit Fighter

The world was loud, bodies everywhere cascading from every street and building and into the city's square. Exciting though it was, Cael could not help but feel nervousness itching into her hooves. Her ears twitched, overwhelmed by the many voices that seemed to speak all at once but not to each other. But it was not the crowds that unease the fighter this day; as crowds she was well used to. She was no stronger to eyes piercing her pelt or shouts chanting ridicule into her ears. It came with the job and long ago, she had done away with such concerns. No, it was thoughts of Lilith that made her dark coat twitch with anticipation...with worry. Since her Lady's labor had begun, she had been unable to see her, unable to hear her soft words of comfort or reassurance. And while she knew this was no "first-time" event for Lady Lilith, Cael had not been present to bear witness to the birthing of her other children. 

Isador's question broke Cael from her thoughts, and casually she turned to look at the handsome adviser. Her being did not relay her worry to the others; she would not let it be so. There were children in her wake, children who she swore she would protect. And with the recent happening of the last few months, she knew any worry the fighter were to show wouldn't certainly be noticed by their watchful eyes. "I am sorry sir Isador," she spoke with a strong but respectful tongue; her heritage never forgotten. The bit in her mouth felt awkward against her words, its sharp taste far to familiar for her liking. Lilith never made her wear the slave's bridle if Cael had wished not to, much to the flaxen mares thanks. But today, with Lilith not around to call the shots, the bit returned as did the unpleasantness of it all. "I am afraid I know about as much as you, perhaps less so. Despite my living quarters within my Lady's home, I am still a slave. I am sure she would be more apt to tell you than I."

Restlessness seemed to spark small Bently's body then, leaving the filly to speak up above the crowds noise. A light smile crossed Cael's lips at the babes words, followed quickly by the memory of that fateful day. Bently's small body dangling from the vagabonds mouth, the screams, the blood; it was all too much. But a light shake of the head released the thought carefully bringing the dark mare back to reality. Whatever fate awaited this small family, Cael would be sure to protect them. 

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Post #1
Word Count: 442

Isador | Adviser 

With one ear turned to the slave Cael’s reply, the other was turned towards listening to the chatter of the foals, and without dropping his gaze to them, Isador mentally added the voice of another foal to the mix, idly wondering if then the cacophony for the next foaling (because of course there would be another) might be enough to drive roosting birds from trees. They would just have to see. Or perhaps this birth would yield twins- with what could only be considered a streak of masochism, Isador mentally added a fourth voice, and had to work hard to suppress a grimace. He gave his head a minute shake to dispel the horror and turn his thoughts elsewhere; it was best not to tempt the gods.

The pit fighter had finished speaking, but, as with most slaves, had imparted no useful information. Not from lack of intelligence; Isador did not number among those nobles who saw slaves as nothing more than talking beasts. They were lesser beings, certainly, their fortunes decided by the gods, but they were not inherently foolish, and Isador frequently consulted his own slaves on relevant matters. He knew that Lilith was the same at least in that regard, and her pit fighter’s fierce brilliance in the pit was paired with an equally sharp intellect.

So was she truly ignorant of the proceedings, or simply playing along? Isador studied her for a moment, but he could detect no guile in her lowered gaze. Ah well, it had been worth a try.

“I am not so sure,” he replied dryly, looking away. “I have never been adept at guessing the whims of your lady, if indeed any of us have.” Irony seeped into the words, directed towards the extravagant proceedings they were all captive to.

Seeking a diversion from useless thoughts and the piping chatter of the children (as well as the adults attempting to keep them under control), the adviser glanced once more towards Bones, who was being fussed over by a commoner he had seen hanging around the old stallion. Rosie, he thought her name was. Commoner or not, it was wisest to know the names of familiar faces. Knowledge, after all, was the root of true power, and losing track of the affairs of his fellow advisers was how he had ended up in this infuriating ignorance in the first place. He kept an ear on their conversation, but did not interrupt.

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Post 2 | 410 words

Bentley
Aodh Lady

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Bentley huffed at her brother, irritated that he had not given her a straight answer. What did he know, after all? He was a dumb boy and only a few years older than she was. Her words were taken from her moth before she could retort, having been interrupted by Grange. His answer was a little better. At least it developed somewhat, even if untrue, timeline in Bentley's head.

She tipped her head up to Callista when she spoke, her small ears perked.

"I think a brother would be best. Then I won't have to share my things and I have someone to roughhouse with," she replied, a smile crossing her little pink muzzle. It only widened when Grange added the bit about having to care for the new baby. She would be like a grown-up. Once everyone saw how adult she was, she would not be a target. Instead she could handle herself in fights. 

She sighed boredly and moved next to Taavi, leaning on him a little bit, just to annoy him.

"What do you think it'll be Taavi?" Bentley asked eagerly, turning her head to face him, the gems on her bridle tinkling with the movement.

Grange | Servile Slave

Grange listened intently, as he'd been taught to do, when Bentley began making conversations with the adults. He had to admit, he reasoning was sound. As someone who was very against the idea of sharing his possessions, Grange felt he could empathize with her sentiments when it came to the subject of doling out her belongings to a younger sister. At the same time, the idea of another colt in Lilith's - and therefore his - life brought the beginnings of a headache to Grange's mind. Personally, he was hoping for a filly. A sweet, calm, non-invasive filly who would leave him alone, to his books and his puzzles.

Flicking an ear, Grange glanced around the room, feeling his body itch with impatience. He anted to explore. "Lord Taavi, I will be nearby," Grange said, dipping his head to mumble into his charge's ear. With Callista nearby, he was less worried about Taavi. Grange was used to a certain amount of legroom around Taavi; sometimes Lilith even sent him on errands by himself, trusting her quiet house slave would return, as he always did.

Now, Grange exercised his modicum of freedom by walking slowly around, heading in the direction of an ancient, recognizable adviser. A young mare that Grange couldn't place had joined the old adviser, and Grange's curiosity quickly got the better of him. Quickly, he made his way over to the clump of horses, keeping his eyes averted from Isador as he passed.

"Hello, Lord Bones," Grange said, greeting his superior softly. While he didn't know the stallion, his name had gotten caught in Grange's memory, and he used it in a sign of respect. "Ma'am," he added, turning to the mare. She, like Grange, was a unicorn, which was something familiar, almost comforting to the servile slave. In this mix of different horses, different ranks, familiar faces and species were all blessings.

WC: 314

It had been a long night, but Lilith had spent only a precious few of its hours asleep. The previous evening had ushered new life into the world, life that was precious and small but undeniably disquieting, and even as she nuzzled against her baby’s peachfuzz mane, Lilith could not shuck her anxieties. How would this child be received, when Valore’s political climate was nothing more than romanticized brutality? A wool was pulled over the eyes of the common folk, but Lilith knew its apathy and its violence, knew well the example it could make of a young, vulnerable girl. The politicians reacted to change with feigned grace and a knife in the dark, and the mare was under no illusion that her bloodline offered immunity to their games. No, Lilith was no fool. She was afraid and full of wonder, but she was no fool.

The doors to her bedchamber creaked open, and Lilith swung her gaze to the intrusion, prickling. Her eyes met the burning blue of Ember, Adviser to the King, and the midwife that had served her faithfully only hours before. It was she who had orchestrated the Christening with unstoppable insistence and a passion that burned, rendering her fellow Advisers to insignificant bite-flies as she'd suggested, approved, and organized the unconventional event. For only Iscah, Lilith's eldest, had been graced with a formal Christening before now; the event was usually saved for direct heirs to the throne, a future Lilith had denied herself and her spawn with unapologetic choices. It was queer, and as Lilith peered into the severity of her gaze- indeed, the very depths of the abyss- she could not help but wonder if somehow, Ember knew.

“My Lady," Came the grave voice that betrayed nothing at all, "it is time."

________________________________________

Inky hooves tapped a quiet, commanding melody as they traveled down the marble hallway, echoed by a dueting refrain. Ember did not look back over her shoulder as she walked, for she knew that she was followed, would have known even had she been unable to hear the clicking set of hooves, one heavy with fatigue, one light with youth, and both hesitant in wonder. No, Ember’s blazing blue gaze remained turned forward, as every fiber of her being blazed with the knowledge of what trailed in her wake. She felt it thrum with a burning thrill through her entire body, a sweeping rush that held her utterly and totally in thrall to her own senses, her own sense of the here and now.

There was light, now, at the end of the hall, and Ember halted before it, inky hooves placed with unerring precision in the divide between. Ember hesitated, her face hidden in shadows as behind her the echoing refrain too trailed away into a watchful silence. It was a silence that stretched painfully between that razor divide- the future (hundreds of gathered faces turned towards them, witnessing the dawn of the new age) as well as the past (smoke choking the air, screams, snuffed out in a blazing heartbeat of eternity-) and Ember allowed herself a moment, only that one, to live between, on the precipice of what could be and what had been, and rare, unsought emotion temporarily rose up, filling her soul with a blazing surge. She closed her blue eyes, suddenly nothing more than another silent, yawning shadow.

Tiny hooves, still soft with their newness, scuffed the floor behind her, and Ember’s gaze rekindled in the darkness.

She of all equines here, ought to know better than to discard the present. She looked behind her finally, dipped her head gravely at mother and child, and then she strode forwards into the blazing sunlight of the courtyard.

She allowed her gaze to sweep across the assembly, while the sun limned her ebony frame as if in greeting.

“Children of the Fire, most esteemed and glorious citizens of Aodh,” she began, and though her voice was quiet, it nevertheless swept a dampening hush over the crowd. She waited a moment, to be certain that every eye was turned towards her, every ear perked and attentive. “I, on behalf of the King, thank all of you for attending on this glorious, historical day.” She paused again, and though the light remained as strong as ever, her own cerulean eyes seemed to blaze with greater intensity. “Yes, historical,” she continued over the soft murmurs, and her voice had strengthened, though it grew no louder.

“You are gathered here today to witness not just the birth of a child into the house of Soleil, but to witness the dawn of our new age.” She tossed her head, eyes flashing, and did not wait for the murmurs to subside. “Citizens of Eithne, I invite you to now to share in the rekindling of your heritage, the flames that connect each and everyone of you to this esteemed land! The sun shines truly on Valore as we enter this new age, and as we fulfill our destiny, a destiny long denied to us! But you can no sooner deny your destiny than you can deny the turnings of the stars above, and so we stand together now, in this shining moment, and we meet our destiny!”

With one decisive sweep of her ebony tail, Ember stepped to the side, revealing the Lady Lilith as she too stepped into the light, followed on hesitant hooves by…


Little peach cloven hooves stopped at the precipice where shadow met light. Rosy eyes peered out at the crowd, shining beneath the blue and violet iridescence of the scales that ran from the tip of her nose to the end of her tasseled tail. It was the first time she had felt direct sunlight; it was warm and comforting.

“Come on, little one.” Chimed in her ears. The newborn stepped through the door and ran to her mother’s side, clinging close to the mare’s shadow. Even so, her form was unmistakable.

Aodh Commoner

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Rosie's stomach curled nervously when Bones gave her free reign to mingle and socialize. She wanted to, but it was impossible for her brain to ignore the gap between herself and the others, slaves excluded. She wanted to approach nobles, she wanted desperately to cement herself in their glorious world and not just be a passing face, fading away once her services were no longer required. It was a typical commoner dream, or at least one she shared with her mother, yet she was unable to approach, terrified of messing up her chances one way or another. So instead she simply chuckled at ol' Bones and stayed by his side, waiting eagerly for the presentation. 

Someone addressed her and she replied in silence with a friendly smile and dipping her head. Her mind had suddenly gone blank, and she had no idea how to greet the champagne slave. It was mortifying! What wouldn't Bones think of her?! Oh Ignacio, if only there was a rock she could slip under. But Rosie's ordeal wasn't over yet, because another joined them, or at least approached the slave stallion, and this dark figure Rosie did know.

Cael. The dark mare had been Rosie's favorite in the arena for years. And here she was! As glorious as ever with that fiery mane and those intense, incredible eyes! The young unicorn was so shocked, that she had missed the startled gasp slipping out of her, and had no idea she was staring wide-eyed with reddening cheeks. When realization hit she snapped her head back to the courtyard and her face darkened further with embarrassment. 

Rosie caught a small break, for it was at that moment that Ember appeared to address the crowd. The pale unicorn pushed down her shame, cleared her throat gently and listened intensely. Ears twitched softly while the crowd murmured, and when the small one finally appeared and ran for cover by her mother's side, Rosie's first reaction was wonder.

"What a colorful little unicorn, " she mumbled low and with a smile, seeing a tail she recognized from her own form. But then the other details began to crystallize. It wasn't just an unusual pattern of color that followed the filly's top line... Rosie squinted slightly and then she knew. Those were scales. The child was a Kirin. 

"Oh... oh Bones, " she sighed, full of wonder, asking, without putting into words, for the adviser to confirm the little miracle she was seeing. 

---

“Lord Bones? Yeh don’ have ta call me Lord. I may be a Noble by birth but by goodness don’t call me Lord.” He chuckled lightly, soft blue eyes turning to Grange, appreciative of the gestured but finding it superfluous and unusually formal. Bones smiled as he saw Rosie go a bit weak at the knees at meeting Cael.

Bones shook his head a bit and sighed, content. Though, rather quickly, his attention was drawn by the appearance of Ember… and soon after Lilith… and then… my gods.


His ears pulled forward, the hairs at the base of his neck rising. Bones rose halfway, his knees shuddering as he shoved himself halfway upward. At first he’d thought it’d been a unicorn, what with that lionlike tail, but the scales, by the gods the scales had given it away. His lips parted slightly, eyes wide.


“By the gods…” Bones whispered. He suddenly felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room, and all the color drained from his face. He sank back to the floor for a moment, looking as if he’d just been punched in the face. He stayed there for a moment more as murmurs swirled, threatening to break into a roar, before finally rising to his chipped hooves.


Bones rose with a fair amount of difficulty, his knees fragile at best. Once he rose, however, he slowly began picking his way toward the tiny filly, head low in respect. She was beautiful, speckled and greyish, with lovely salmon colored eyes. He slowed to a stop a good distance away, in case anyone got defensive, and smiled at the little lady.


“Well, she’s beau’ful Lilith. Not even countin’ the scales’n the like. Yeh shoul’ be very proud.” The old advisor had a gentle gleam in those blue eyes. Children, regardless of heritage or species, always had a soft spot in that old heart of his.


328 words

Isador | Adviser 


Light blue eyes flicked down and sideways, and Isador inclined his head a modest degree in greeting to his fellow adviser.

“Indeed,” he agreed, and a sensitive ear might have picked up on the slightly sardonic tone of his voice. Not directed at Bones, or not truly, but rather the situation at hoof which had caught both advisers by surprise. He might have said more, but glanced up as some of the other equines around them shifted and talked, and then-

“About time,” he murmured softly, as Ember appeared. Isador narrowed his cool gaze as the dark mare was back-lit by the blazing sun (no coincidence, that, or he’d eat his bridle) and he found his sense of irritated unease growing. What are you up to, mare? Well, they were about to find out- as soon as she stopped her lofty scan of the crowd and actually addressed them. Oh, but he did not enjoy waiting on the revelation of another’s machinations, no he did not.

He liked it even less when Ember began addressing the crowd as if she were the King. It was an almost maternal gaze, a maternal tone that was was taking, and the lofty, distant words paired with her elevated position was lending the adviser quite the platform of authority. That she fit the role better than any appearance the actual King had ever made, was irrelevant- she had no right-

For one, fleeting moment, blue eyes met blue eyes as Ember’s gaze touched his own, and the grey tensed despite himself.

Then Ember released his eyes, as if she’d never held them, and Isador’s gaze was drawn to the side as Lilith stepped from the shadows, and was trailed by…

Isador’s face went cold, and it was as if a stiff breeze had swept through the assembly, snuffing out all sound in its wake. It couldn’t- it’s not- maybe it was a-

“Fake kirin, that’s a new one.”

Shattering the stunned silence with all the elegance of a landslide was the unimpressed voice of that heathen Onean War Lord, and Isador found he could think again, could move, could shut his gaping mouth.

All around him voices rose in confusion, fear, delight, disbelief, congratulations even for the mother, but Isador ignored them as he stood still, a red-splashed statue amongst the restless crowd as he stared hard at the scaled, shivering filly. He was, he decided, in the distasteful position of having to agree with the War Forged mare; no matter what else was at hoof here, the first order of business was to determine if this was an elaborate staging of Ember’s, or…

“We enter the dawn of a new age-” the words rang loud and clear through his memory.

His heart suddenly contracted painfully, and with that Isador finally was move to action. He had to know. He stepped forward swiftly, and as he known it would, the action drew Ember’s eye like a moth to a flame. Isador’s blue eyes held her own, though his heart was beating painfully. He dipped his head the slightest, most minute fraction, acknowledgement of a point won, knowing she would not miss the gesture even as the others would.

“This is a glorious day for Eithne indeed, Adviser Ember, if what you insinuate is true,” Isador said quietly, but he knew his words would carry to the crowd. His eyes as remote and unforgiving as ice, he glanced once more at the tremulous creature. Closer up, he could differentiate between each glittering, edged scale, and the tufts of soft hair that ran from her poll to the base of her tasseled tail.

He suppressed the urge to touch her, and instead returned his sharp gaze to the insufferably placid adviser, and he gave her a more thorough once-over, gaze lingering on her shawl. Because of course, if she were concealing an imbued item of illusion, or reality manipulation… If this were a hoax…

Once more blue eyes met blue eyes, and Isador’s carried a clear message.

Prove it.

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Post 3 | 676 words

As the reality of what they were seeing settled among the gathered masses, Lilith felt fear coil a tight knot in her stomach. She had expected the reception to be mixed, had surmised that many among the populace would call foul. These were conditions fit for a riot, and as murmurs rose, Lilith unconsciously moved to block her daughter from sight- and potential violence.

“Mama?” Taavi’s voice called.

Lilith swung her gaze to the older children, and let the first of few smiles touch her lips. It was a watery smile that didn’t touch her eyes, but children, at least, could be fooled by such things. Bentley seemed to be enraptured by her little sister, but Taavi’s gaze was full of precocious concern. Lilith couldn’t let him know she was afraid. “Shh, come here.” The mare cooed, leaning to nuzzle the boy’s sprightly curls. “We’ll go over your questions later, okay?”

It was with a mute note of pride that Lilith watched Bentley address the newborn, making promises of protection and love. Raised them right, she thought, before her attention focused on Bones. Oh, sweet Bones, at least she knew there would be no trouble from him. Her lips had just begun to form thanks when Isador made his move, storming the stage with quiet, cool dignity. Nothing of his form radiated anger or threat, and yet as he spoke, the knot in her belly grew tighter.

As Isador approached, Ember favored her fellow Adviser with a gaze effortlessly composed. It was not the first time she had been approached with intent, nor would it be the last, and even in her current state the mare could feel the flicker of his emotions, could spy the pain that was hidden and the suspicion that certainly was not. For a moment, just the lifespan of a spark, Ember allowed herself to feel the stirrings of guilt - and then smothered it, raking ash over those long hated embers.

“Of course.” She murmured, and were she the sort to smile, Ember might have then.

Her gaze flicked away from him as though she had forgotten his existence in the same instant. Cool blue raised high to the balcony, finding the War Lord who watched them yet. Ember had not missed the mare’s claim of trickery. How could she? Kaia’s people had all the finesse of the rocks they worshiped; naturally, their leader would have audacity in spades.

“Adviser Isador,” Ember said, and though she did not raise her voice particularly high, the words carried, demanding rapt attention. “I’m certain that you are privy to the attributes of our Lord’s chosen people, but perhaps our foreign friends are not so well informed.”

The Adviser looked to Lilith, and inclined her chin. Tentatively, the mother shifted her weight, allowing her newborn to come into view once again.

“You see,” Ember continued, “not only do Kirins bear the same scales as our God in Heaven, but they are also the only creatures of equinity who can withstand His Flame.”

The mare did not allow the words to settle. She looked at the child and caught hold of her with a burst of telekinetic power, pulling Ingrid’s young form into the light of the sun.

"Kirins," Ember said, each word spoken slowly, "Do not burn."

Lilith felt her heart stop. There was a moment, a moment in which she could have moved, could have lunged and thrust herself between her baby and the Adviser’s disturbed intent. There was a moment in which she could have stopped it, and gods be damned, she didn’t, for the Lady was paralyzed, hooves weighted and a scream stuck in her throat.

She would remember that failure for the rest of her life. She would wake up with it, and go to sleep with it, would relive it in dreams and in her waking hours. Always she would remember how she had frozen, and watched her baby be set alight.

For Ember did not reconsider or hesitate. Standing with the sun at her back, Ember inhaled - and breathed fire.

The scream held hostage in Lilith’s chest broke free of its fetters. She wailed, the sound entirely inequine, her eyes reflecting the thick, blue flame that had engulfed her newborn daughter. The child gave a frightened bleat, but Lilith could not see her. There was only the fire, the bright light, reaching towards the sky as though calling for the Lord of Flame himself.

Lilith lunged. The blaze reached for her legs, licking flesh and fur with almighty heat, but it didn’t matter. The scent of her own burning hair filled her nose, but it didn’t matter. Her hoof found Ingrid’s scalding scales, and the Lady meant to curl her leg around the baby’s middle, to pull her from the flame-

Someone, somewhere manifested a force field. The light shield struck Lilith hard, throwing the exhausted, horrified mother to the ground. Her cannons ached, showing red beneath what remained of her fur. “Ingrid!” She cried, struggling to sit up, “Ingrid-”

Her breath caught in her throat. There stood Ingrid, shivering in the light, smoke wafting from her glittering scales… and not a single hair so much as singed. Indeed, the child seemed wholly unharmed, save for the fear that had her trembling.

Lilith’s rosy gaze met Ember’s cool blue, and then she was up, scrambling to her baby on burned, unsteady legs.

“Kirins,” The Adviser repeated, turning to address those assembled, “do not burn.”

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WC: 931