I was eight when the dragons fell. I still remember the few days of freedom we had, and the terror that consumed us before we had been captured. Fire burnt the earth: fire that couldn't be put out. All that remained of the beasts that had once ruled our world was fire and bones. I can still recall them flying through their skies, their wings blocking out the sunlight that blazed down on us all day. The day the creatures came for us, I did not give up the hope that one day we would be free. I did not give up hope when chains were wrapped around me, when shackles were clamped around my neck, wrists and ankles.

When the creatures had come for us, my mother pushed me away. But they had found us. Run, she had screamed at me. Run. But I hadn't. I hadn't wanted to leave her. I clutched at her skirt, hiding in the flowing fabric, hiding from the terrifying creatures that had made people bleed, had made them unable to rise. What followed, I did not want to remember, I couldn't remember.

Those first days were the hardest: the heat, the labor, the cruelty. Bit by bit, my soul crumbled. Everyday I had walked past the whipping posts, hearing the shrieks and seeing people hanging unconscious, the skin on their backs torn and bleeding. Everyday I wished I could help them. Everyday I failed.

Throughout the years, I hung onto that slim piece of hope that still remained. I hung onto the belief that someone would find us. But now I have given up. I can hold onto hope any longer.

No one is left to hear our pleas.

Hi! I hope you liked this very short chapter about some of her past! As always feel free to comment what you think and any suggestions you might have!

Freja :)