Before the reign of the humans, the earth was ruled by dragons. They were mighty and powerful creatures, standing as tall as mountains. Their wings knocked over the trees when they took flight, and their fire burned as hot as a thousand suns. Their scales could be any color on the spectrum from black to white, and the colors shone in the sunlight like gems. Some were wise, others...not so wise. And some were kind, but most were not.

The beasts ravaged the land in search of prey, killing at large the small creatures that called themselves 'humans', while some protected the funny little things against the others. Eventually, this flip-flopping way of life changed, through the actions of one ancient dragon.

Thyrule was a massive beast of a dragon with black scales, red spines, and brown eyes, and yet he learned to lower himself, disguising himself as a human and walking among them for many years.

Eventually he took a wife and she bore him twins- a son and a daughter- but they were not quite human. They were born with the wings and tails of his draconic form, and could create fire in their palms, burning red flames that danced at their will.

Not everyone was so overjoyed as the strange couple. The children were viewed as demons, lesser than the humans and the dragons both- a mistake. And so Thyrule and his wife, pained that both the humans and the dragons hated their children so, took them away to a secluded place on the large volcanic island of Syrinn. A safe haven, a place where other similarly-sired hybrids soon flocked.

And so, a nation was born. Eventually, the great dragons had died out, slain by the humans or by each other...but the hybrids remained. Learning from other creatures, they secluded themselves from humanity.

They hunted and farmed, and lived in peace on their island for so long that eventually they had fully colonized the dead husk of the large volcano that had once been as mighty as the dragons. The direct descendants of Thyrule watched over the people, and passed down the reign through their bloodline. One could always tell who was one of royal blood- only the hybrids with the black scales and red hair resided on the throne. Nothing, they thought, could ever hurt them. Not when no one could find them, and the legends outside had faded.

But all things end, and neverending peace was not to be.

Zariah was not born to be a fighter, but a hunter. She was the fourth born in a family of five children. Her father was the chief, and her mother was the best healer anyone could go to. Her eldest brother was a warrior in their small army, the other brother was a blacksmith, and her younger sister, being sickly and frail, unfit for most physical activity, was a seamstress.

One could think that Zariah would follow in her mother's footsteps, but her family was accepting of her interests. So she and her older sister became huntressess. Rivaled by none in Syrinn, the two descended from the skies like dark lightning and struck down prey in complete silence. Their blades were forged in dragonfire by their brother and kept sharp enough to slice through a hair midair.

All that was gone now.

Now the trees were thinned, used by the humans to build their fortresses and keep their fires going. The prey was depleted, even now, after only four months.

Her sister was dead.

Most of them were, or at least they were as good as dead. If any had escaped, she couldn't find them. They'd likely run from the island, scattering into the smaller land masses to the north.

Zariah became a fighter. She had been one of the few escapees from the humans' iron grips, and had watched them destroy her nation. She had watched, helpless, as the straggling remnants of her family were murdered and her people were slaughtered.

No more.

The woman wasn't going to watch anymore.

She'd been utilizing her freedom in the only way she knew how- Zariah started to raid the humans for supplies in a desperate search for food and any other survivors, then would destroy whatever she had to leave and kill anyone that got in her way.

That fateful night was one such moment. It was an outpost she hadn't raided yet- stationed outside the ruined husk of her city, camped on the very ground she'd seen her people's blood spill onto. So under the cover of darkness, when the soldiers- likely drunk after their celebrations- were asleep, she struck. She snuck through every tent, one by one, until she found what she was looking for. Food.

She filled her satchel with bread, meat, and some fresh fruit and vegetables, knowing that sustenance would be essential in her quest to find any escapees, and knowing, too, that when she destroyed the camp, it would all go up in smoke.

Careful to be as quiet as possible, she lifted an axe from the ground to inspect it, the meager moonlight from outside the tent glinting off of the shining, polished blade.

The clank of armor and heavy footsteps sounded outside the small tent, and the unexpected noise made her jump.

The axe slipped from her thin hands and tumbled to the ground.

Almost in slow motion, she watched as it hit the ground. Bounced once. Twice. Dust and grass plumed from where the wickedly sharp blade ripped up earth that had been soaked with the blood of her people. As if that weren't bad enough, it knocked over the nearly empty barrel of water sitting next to it. What with the clang of metal on earth, as well as the loud crunching noise that erupted from the barrel as it fell over, she was sure she would be detected.

The dragoness looked around in a panic for only a moment before her instincts kicked in. She grabbed her weapon from her back and gripped it tightly in her hands before backing herself up to right beside the entrance of the tent. If she had been heard, and someone came to investigate, she'd be able to attack them from behind.

That, or just run for it. She had been getting gaunt lately, and fighting would not be a welcome habit if she were to remain free- and alive. But if she had to fight, she would. Being captured was not an option. She had people to find. But...if she were to be caught, she would make sure she'd die.

Shaky breaths escaped her lungs and she closed her eyes for only a moment before slowly, carefully twisting her body to peek out of the tent flap. If the coast was clear, she'd make a break for it. If not....

It wasn't.

She ducked back in quickly, hoping against fate that the armored figure hadn't seen the movement, and held on to her weapon even more tightly. Another footstep crunched. Closer, this time.

And still, the huntress waited.