The chalet was distant from her former abode. It was far removed from what she was used to, but there was a certain homeliness that she liked. For Triskeleth, that feeling of familiarity lay in the alpine roots of the location, and it was hard to let go of that sentiment with all the pressures that arose from her genesis. Seeking refuge in this place was a comfort, even with the lingering sense of foreboding over why she was there.

It was originally a private lodge for skiers and trampers exploring the alps, though the owner, an old friend, had some years prior gifted her with the disused property as a haven. The floor area was rectangular, with the entrance in the longer side that faced down the mountain's slope. Hefty double doors opened from the centre to the main living area of the chalet. The front half of the building was a single cavernous room that rose to the top of the steepened rafters, a good two-and-a-half stories high. One end held a kitchen section; tiled countertops, gas ovens, the pantry, communal dining tables and a score of seats. The middle was cobbled stone with a pair of side benches, allowing for the removal of boots and clothing that was wet and muddy. The other end was a lounge area, with sofas, recliners, carpet, a fireplace, a bookcase and a storage cabinet full of board games. An enormous dividing wall split off the rear half, where there were bedrooms, a bathroom and utilities.

Along the front wall were four large windows, two on each side of the entrance, at even intervals. Each was about five feet high, going from knee height to above the head, and in other times would have served as a portal for the inhabitants to look out at the exterior chill, while they ate, drank and kept themselves warm inside.

From her perspective, it was different.

Candles and the wall sconces were burning, providing light, but the fireplace lay dormant. The cold did not bother her, and now, of all times, it felt wrong to kindle a flame.

Profane, almost.

She stood, watching the snow falling, the wind blowing in a steady gust against the slope of rock and ice.

Surrounded by the cold.

It would not be enough.

Lost in the past, her eyes roamed the sky, a foggy formless white-grey, heavily overcast. There was never any demand from the lady that she partake in the conflict they were embroiled in, and her role as the Tempest's high priestess and seer was one of introspection, knowledge and sagacity. She had guided as well she could, for as long as she had endured the role, and held the burden that was passed down from the previous seer. Such a life was prestigious, a token of her lady's grace, and Triskeleth was ever grateful that she could be such an enabling force for their cause.

Still, they lived in a troubled world.

What she had seen was even more problematic.

The enemy had been fighting for survival for longer than was conceivable, and in spite of all the advantages working against them, somehow they had always staved off utter defeat and annihilation, and their hopes had remained alive.

Somehow.

It did not seem possible that what they strove for could actually become real, but her vision had promised her with a truly uncomfortable clarity that prophecy would ultimately be fulfilled. Recent events had propelled this notion further, and the possibility was less and less a distant fearful thing, and more an increasingly morbid probability that terrorised her waking moments.

It no longer was a matter of 'if', but instead a case of 'when' and 'how' the future would arrive.

She was startled out of her reverie by a sound.

Mostly blended into the gentle moaning of the wind, it was hard to fully catch, but then she had it.

Wings.

Distant at first, but growing more pronounced as it came closer.

The future was already here.

Hurriedly, she turned, running across the stone floor, then around the kitchen counter. Behind it was a large cleaning bucket, still full of unused water, and she hefted it, carrying it to the counter's end, which lay directly opposite the entrance. Crouching, Triskeleth lowered herself out of sight and waited.

Half a minute later, there was the heavy da-doomp of something very large landing on the snow outside.

For another dozen seconds, there was no other sound and then the doors shook as someone pounded on them from the outside, three times.

THUMP.

THUMP.

THUMP.

A male voice called out, muffled slightly, but loud, and strong.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in."

It was parodic, cajoling; arrogant and superior.

She stayed silent.

Moments after, there was an audible blast of displaced air, a smaller mass being replaced with a much larger one. The window to the right of the door shattered, a clawed forelimb ripping through it. Snow and wind immediately followed through the opening, splattering onto the floor and gusting in, while the forelimb brushed along the frame, clearing the clinging glass fragments. It withdrew and in the gap, the tip of a huge snout pushed and sniffed.

I can smell you, little pig. The psychic vocal projection was powerful, and it radiated from the speaker's mind, the same who had given verbal address mere seconds earlier. Don't make me break this place to find you. Won't you let me in? I only want to talk.

Triskeleth plunged her hand into the bucket. Withdrawing it, the water followed, a sphere of it clinging and coiling about her fingers. She made no other movement nor sound, preparing herself for what was surely coming.

His patience did not last long.

The doors exploded inward, a blare of flame pushing them, burning chunks scattering in a conical radius. Behind came a figure; tall, masculine, angry. He strode in, dagger in hand, eyes sweeping the room.

Then she struck.

Triskeleth leaped out, directly in front of the intruder, both hands wreathed in a roiling liquid wrap. With a swinging gesture from her right, she threw the ball across the stone of the entryway and it solidified into a layer of ice on contact. With her left, she flicked her arm high in a vertical wave, and half of the collected water shot from her control as a volley of icy bolts. He blocked some with a swipe of his own arm, but three struck; shoulder, thigh and stomach. Momentarily staggered, he was off balance, and she dashed, sliding on the frozen floor past him. The remainder of the water had crystalised around her hand into a bracer, and she bashed him with it as she passed, knocking him flat, the temporary gauntlet smashing in the process. Then, she was out the door onto the mountain side, and she ran straight forward, crossing the short flat before the decline, and then leaped off the edge.

In the air, the seeress switched her form.

Where a human had been, there was an adult dragon; royal blue, armoured in sapphire, wings beating as she gained elevation. She began to pull away from the slope, the chalet and intruder to be left behind.

For just a moment, Triskeleth thought she had made it.

Escape!

Caught unaware, a massive force collided with her from the right, out of the blind spot. Together they crashed to the ground, furrows tearing in the ice and rock from the speed of the impact. The other dragon was bigger, orange-red, a nasty cunning at play as he wrestled her onto her back, restricting the use of wings; their roars of combat competing for ascendance over the wind while they struggled.

Submit! Accept the truth! He slammed her flat and she pushed back just as hard. Triskeleth's jaw opened, no intention to hold back, and a torrent of arctic frigidity blasted forth at point blank, pelting him in the face. She did not let up, the stream constant, even as the weight of his lower body and rear legs kept her pinned, while the head was drawn back, snarling and shaking side to side from the glacial battering of her breath.

A clawed slash was intervention; a slap across her face from the side, spoiling her aim and cutting short the assault. Teeth closed over her neck, her throat gripped by the original intruder, now arrived from the chalet to help his companion. His voice was so loud and so close, and it was a demand.

Cease your struggle. You are caught.

She stopped.

There was no wish for an early death.

The pressure on her lower body released first, and then so did the jaws, the owner retreating just a touch. He was slightly larger and brawnier than his friend, scales thicker, a Martian brown-red.

I will tell you nothing. She coiled into a sitting position, the pair looming next to her, wardens that would allow no escape. I will not serve you, nor your ambitions to ruin this planet. You would have to martyr me first.

The larger one leaned in, an intimidating presence due to his size. There was a meanness to him, a peculiar cruel volatility that told her he would enjoy hurting her. No, your death will come after, when the incantation has been countered. The grinning countenance was a mockery. We did not go to this trouble to play games. He sidled closer, his rear legs thudding on the broken surface of the alpine slope, loose rock and icy chunks skittering away with the footfalls. Oh, but where are my manners? I am Nero and this is my brother Darren.

The other dragon gave a stare of vengeful contempt as way of greeting. Seeress. The tone was dry, and palpably hostile. I cannot say it's a pleasure.

We are here to do the bidding of the Conclave, Nero continued, and you, Triskeleth, are who we need. There is much to uncover.

His forelimb shot out, gripping her left horn, and yanked her forward so her skull was next to his. The next utterance was so soft it was no more than a whisper in the mind.

So, let us begin.