Fireheart

Two-hundred strong stood shaking upon the ramparts; half from the cold, half from fear. The Knights of Yan were not prone to either of these things, so clad in armor were they, but the looming threat gave pause to even the greatest among them. There was little light to be had, for the ashen clouds had smothered the sky for two days and two nights, and even the cold heat of distant stars was denied them. Everything had fallen still, so that even the softest breeze seemed to them a herald of the oncoming enemy.
They heard the screams first; shrill cries of the men and children echoing in the distance, before being choked by the all-pervading fumes and fading into silence once more.
“Stand!” came the cry of the Battle Matron, and four-hundred feet stamped in unison.
The glow came second, an undying spark that pulsed and grew in intensity, until the darkness was a happy memory.
“Brace!” came the cry of the Battle Matron, and two-hundred armored knees dug into the stone of the ramparts.
Third was the heat, an oppressive wave that cooked the very air they breathed, roiling and churning until their lungs burned.
“Lances!” came the cry of the Battle matron, and two-hundred lances shored the walls of the fortress.
There wasn't a roar, there wasn't a snarl; there wasn't any sound at all. There was only a momentary glimpse of a colossal, flame-shrouded claw parting the smoke before the world turned upside-down. The beast hadn't even touched the fortress, the mere shock of its passing had rent the battlements beneath it into dust. Stone and steel fell to the earth as the ramparts crumbled, the sounds of their impact erased by the blast of air that leveled the fortress like a pillar of sand.
Many of the knights were dead before they reached the ground, most of those who survived wished that they belonged to the first group. A few struggled upright on broken lances, leaking blood from the gaps of their crumpled armor as they surveyed what remained of the once-great fortress of Al-Cheir.
The screams began anew, but this time they did not fade into the night. Instead, they were swallowed up by the sound of the beast as it began its fiery assault in earnest. The sound of flame became like that of a storm, a hellish tempest who's heat scoured through the surrounding debris. No barricade would slow the fire, no wall would halt its advance, it was spreading everywhere.
With great difficulty, the knights who remained climbed the rubble to behold the unseen disaster, and as they crested the summit of stone, they were met with utter devastation. The city of Jysa, the crown jewel of the Riodan Quendom, was nowhere to be seen. The towering spires, the ornate palaces, the lush orchards and crisscrossing fountains... gone. Only fire remained, fire... and the dragon.
It was beyond comprehension, beyond terror and understanding, it was apocalypse wrapped in flame. Its wings stretched as far as the horizon, searing against the starless sky like the eyes of an unholy deity. Limbs stouter than the strongest towers crushed the rubble to dust, its tail whipped like hurricane, spreading fire as it went. The beast turned, and its head spun to face them, breathing flames brighter than the sun, so bright they simply could not look upon it. And when it finally roared, it was the sound of the end, a cataclysmic shriek that rent air and hope alike as it reverberated through the valley.
It was then that the ashen clouds parted above them, revealing a different fire in the sky. An aurora, pulsing a steady red and orange, snaked overhead, cutting through the haze of smoke and cinder as it wound towards the beast. The dragon crouched low over the ruins of the city, back arched in defiance towards this new challenger. A blinding stream of fire erupted from its maw, only to be consumed by the aurora as it descended and coalesced into a new form. The aurora became something no less frightening than the beast before it, but at the same time beautiful and comforting to those who saw it.
Much later, the knights who bore witness to this event gave conflicting accounts on just what it was that they saw, some saying that it dwarfed the dragon, others swearing it was almost too small to be seen in comparison. Some described multiple, tentacle-like wings only for the others to counter that they resembled a multitude of bony limbs. It had either many faces or none at all, and was hunched over itself or stood at a straight angle. It hummed softly and said nothing or it was silent as it spoke gently to them. There was one thing that they all agreed on though; it was surrounded by multiple flaming eyes, and those eyes were all focused on the dragon.
What happened next amounted to less of an epic battle than a singe blow, and the dragon reeled from the lance of fire that pierced its heart; a fire far brighter than anything it had been able to emit, yet somehow soothing on the eyes. The ground spasmed beneath the knight's feet as the beast collided with the earth; its flames cooling from searing white to burning yellow to smoldering orange, until only dying reds remained.
The aurora creature dissipated and faded, but not before flexing its limbs in a beckoning gesture to the knights watching. Not daring to disobey, they descended the crushed battlements and picked their way through the steaming ruins of Jysa, making slow, hard progress towards the dragon and its victorious foe. After the better part of an hour, the weary knights found themselves before the charred husk of the beast, and to their surprise, the aurora creature had been replaced by a crimson-haired woman in flowing robes.
Unlike the preceding form, the knights all described the woman in exactly the same way. At first she was completely unremarkable, the kind of woman who you wouldn't give a second glance to as you passed her on the street. But the longer they looked upon her, the more beautiful and wonderful she became, until her appearance was so absolutely perfect that it was agony to look at her. It was incredibly clear just who it was that had saved them. The knights kneeled with averted eyes,whispering in unison.
“Yan Casilla.”
IT IS AS YOU HAVE SAID.
She didn't speak, as the knights would say later. It was as if she had already spoken, and that they were merely remembering what she had said, only she had never actually said it.
“What do you require of us, Lady?” asked a knight.
There was no need to thank Casilla, nor to offer up praise or oaths of dedication in her name. She had done what she had chosen to do, and the matter was settled.
LOOK UPON THAT WHICH I HAVE BROUGHT LOW... SO THAT YOU MAY UNDERSTAND WHAT IS LEFT TO BE DONE.
The knights removed their helmets and turned to the dragon, or what remained of it. The beast had already begun crumbling to ash as they'd journeyed to its corpse, the colorless flakes drifting on the ember-pocked winds. They watched for a time as the dragon eroded away; first its wings, then its limbs and head, until finally the torso joined the scattered remnants of smoke.
But something remained where the beast's heart had been; stricken, bloodied, gasping in ragged bursts. A man, naked and frail and struggling to breathe, regarded them with a single eye filled with hatred. Even in such a pitiable state as he was, the knights felt a strange terror stir in their hearts as they met that gaze. Not only did it clearly display a seething fury that would not be quelled by mercy or reason, it belonged to someone they knew all too well.
“Is... is that Prince Urrath?” asked another knight.
IT WAS HIM... BEFORE HE STOLE THE TAINTED FIRE.
A third knight stepped forward, clutching at the hilt of her sword. “And might I ask what he is now, Lady Casilla?”
There was silence for a time, broken only by the irrythmic wheezing of the former Prince. Casilla looked down upon him with an unfathomable mixture of pity and anger.
HE IS THE FIRST.