The old warden's office that Flag called home was much like the waterworks cavern in that it was once an open hole in the cliff face. Whether they were chiseled into the rock, or built brick by brick, he would never know, but the rooms he called home wrapped around a piping structure that must have once delivered water into the tower above. A false floor had been built into the large waterway and it now served as his ritual chamber. It was here that the sorcerer should be spell casting within, but the frustration with his daughter sent him outside to the veranda instead - the only "room" that didn't receive an outer wall.

Flag had slammed the door as he stepped out and, naturally, the glass within it had shattered. He swore under his breath as he turned to pick up the pieces.

He was never known for his patience. On the contrary, he was famous for his temper. “The Silver-Haired Scourge” he was called; a man who felled an entire army with a deadly glare from his fiery eyes. This absurd act was supposedly what allowed the once-young Siamera general to become the king of Libris Del Sol.

While it was true that Julian and his subordinates now lived in the kingdom of the infamous desert library, the story was pure exaggeration. Flag’s eyes were the color of the sunsets, but he couldn’t shoot down anything with them. The truth behind the event was that he had almost killed himself performing a simple lightning spell to take out a few advanced raiders.

He never bothered trying to correct the rumors though. The big benefit of the story was that it had elevated him out of the slave status he had spent most of his life as. It also allowed him the solitude he needed since the passing of his wife – for the most part. He still had to share his life with his only offspring; an insolent brat who had killed her mother in childbirth and was forced upon him later in life.

Flag had made it a point that she knew just how important today’s ritual would have been and yet, she blew it off as she had a number of times before. He had locked her in her room as punishment for this, but largely he just didn’t want to look at her anymore.

Dragonira was very much like her mother in the way of appearance. They both were small, lithe, and had hair the color of midnight. The biggest difference between them was in their eyes. Ta’nia had calming blue eyes that reminded him of a lake he once found solace in. His daughter’s eyes were a haunting green that literally illuminated her disdain for him. They were also the eyes of prophecy.

Shortly before his wedding to Ta’nia, he had suffered from a strange series of dreams in which he would find himself in the middle of a burning city, face to face with an abomination made of black ink. The monster threatened to destroy everything he had loved, and selflessly he would attempt to defeat it using the same set of war-winning spells he had learned from his bride-to-be, who would throw herself in his path so as to protect the demon.

After weeks of being impaled in his nightmares, he sought counsel with the Orianna to find out if they meant anything. To his dismay, she had told him they were signs a loved one was going to betray him in death, and that it would ultimately lead him to his own demise.

On the surface, the realization of this prophecy had been less dramatic than its symbolism played out, but it had destroyed him as promised. Ta’nia’s death had left a gaping hole in his heart and caused him to become a bitter shell of himself. Dragonira only served as a reminder of this.

He threw the pieces of glass over the railing and watched them fall as far as his vision would allow. The sun glittering off of the shards awoke a second, older insecurity within him. A feeling of brokenness – a sense that he had once been a part of something larger and majestic. It was a feeling that pursued him his whole life despite his many efforts to write it off as the wistful thinking of a child servant. No. There was more to it, which is why he was so upset when his daughter failed to show up when he needed her.

Frustrated, he dropped into a wicker chair and allowed his eyes to wander around the terrace. Eventually, his gaze landed on a little yellow thistle flower that sat in a jar in a little alcove by the door.

His thoughts shifted back to the day they had discovered the briar patch. The king – with his own young son – had invited Flag and an eight-year-old Dragonira to join them on a day-long survey of the outer wall. The trip was an uneventful inspection for damage that was over much faster than they expected and to kill time, they set up a picnic in the late afternoon shade of the structure. This routine event wouldn't have been of any note had it not been interrupted by Julian’s son, Pavlova, screaming for help.

While the adults had been discussing the state of the wall, the two kids had evaded their caretaker to play at the top of a small hill. Dragonira then tripped on a rock and tumbled into a briar patch at its base. A more caring Flag had rushed to make sure his daughter was okay and found that her arm had become entangled in a mass of branches.

That was the first time he noticed the flower; a single dilatory bloomer that Dragonira had bled on. Late as it was, Flag had not expected to see the flower again when he returned many weeks later to eradicate the dangerous plants. Even after he burned the thorny bushes to a crisp, its petals retained all their brilliance. Stunned by this, he kept the flower and made it a point to understand why it would not simply die as the rest of the plant had. Eventually, he developed a theory that it had not been a feature of the flower, but rather a condition belonging to his daughter.

As the years progressed, and they grew increasingly more hostile toward each other, he had many chances to test and prove this theory – none of which Dragonira remembered. A part of him felt that he should regret killing her over and over for his rituals, but she really was doing the kingdom a service as he no longer needed to sacrifice the citizens for his research.

Which is why it was so important that she had been on time!

Flag jumped to his feet with renewed fervor and stomped across the terrace, not caring so much if he broke the door this time. He slammed the locks open on the door to her room and prepared to vent his frustration, but he was greeted with an unexpected sight.

She was gone.