The NightWing soared in the dark, his wings matching and blending in with the silent and peaceful night. He looked down, checking his surroundings, and saw a faint light. He got curious, and he dove down, the wind whistling in his ears as he folded his wings into a tight dive, and landed on the ground smoothly. He reached out and brushed the light source with a wing, when a something rammed into him. He flew up into the air, ready to defend himself from the thing, his sharp dark green eyes shining in the moonlight, blazing with enough fire to be a fourth moon, and saw a weird dragon in front of him.

Her bright amber eyes were shaped strangely, and her pupils were small, despite the lack of light. She had bright yellow-gold scales, with orange and white scales dotted around her body. Her wings were large, beating powerfully in the air, and her tail was spiked, rather like an IceWing's, the NightWing thought.

"Who're you?" he demanded angrily, hating this dragon for disrupting his peace.

Swiftstrike was an assassin in training, and he had been sent out on his first mission to explore the new islands along the coast of Pyrrhia. They had been formed after a great rumble had shook the ground. The dragons that travelled to those islands rarely came back. It was the only time in all of the NightWing's wonderful history that all seven tribes on Pyrrhia were working together.

The smaller dragon puffed out her chest, a small plume of flame escaping her jaws as she snorted indignantly. "You have no right to question me on my territory," she hissed, warning him.

Swiftstrike shook his head, growling in anger. He flew forwards, grabbing her tail and biting down on the vulnerable spot he knew every dragon had. She screeched out in pain, fire blowing in all directions as she tried to free herself.

Oh, not so fast, Swiftstrike thought. He grabbed her neck and pushed her down onto the ground, pinning her wings down gently. "Don't move," he snarled.

She blinked at him, misery in her eyes. "Will you let me go if I tell you who I am?"

"Maybe," Swiftstrike ceded. This dragon was truly a mystery.

"I'm Princess Flame," she told him arrogantly. "And you were trying to steal my Light."

"Light?" Swiftstrike wondered. "What Light? You must be hallucinating. No dragon can hold light."

"No!" Flame snapped. "The glowing rock. Every SunWing has one. The rocks hold their powers. Without them, we'd be defenseless."

Swiftstrike decided that this peculiar dragon was out of her mind. "You're coming with me to the NightWing kingdom," he growled.

Now, it was Flame's turn to be confused. "NightWing?"

"Yes, the supreme rulers of Pyrrhia!" Swiftstrike's patience was wearing thin and he applied more pressure to her neck.

Flame gasped suddenly. "You must be one of those SavageWings! The ones who are always killing and fighting!"

"We don't kill and fight!" Swiftstrike protested before realizing it was true. How many dragons had died due to Darkstalker? How many dragons had died from the war? He had grown up knowing the stories of these dragons yet had never considered the immense amount of deaths. His heart sank as he realized a major portion of his life was false. NightWings were not the superior dragons he'd always imagined. They were...normal.

And this new knowledge broke him. Deeply.

"You know it," Flame said gently. She took the opportunity to escape, wriggling away from his limp grasp and winging away towards the sunrise.

Swiftstrike yearned to follow her. His heart ached with a passion that he hadn't known before. But Flame was quickly disappearing and Swiftstrike knew he needed to report back to his tribe. Slowly, sadly and mournfully, he cast one last look at the fading shape of Flame, who was playful and true, before heading back towards the Night Kingdom.

On the way back, he debated whether he should tell his queen about Flame. But as he thought about the few words he had exchanged with her, his mind became made up. No, he would not tell her about the SunWings and their peaceful existence. They didn't need to have the heavy weight of war on them, or the blinding pain of grief.

We really are SavageWings.

All of his fury and longing burst out of him and he roared a jet of flame. He flew harder than ever, but not towards the Night Kingdom. Back towards Flame. The dragon who had opened his eyes and let him see everything.

Flame was the dragon who had...ruined it all.

She had stopped him living his carefree life, with no pains or worries. He flew faster and faster, harder and harder until he caught up to her.

He grabbed her in his powerful talons, shaking out his green-black wings and he prepare to snap her neck off.

A better idea flashed into his mind and he grinned. He would bring her back to the Night Kingdom. She deserved to suffer.

Swiftstrike bowed before his queen, Flame in chains. "I have brought you...a gift," he drawled silkily.

The large dragon before him dismissed him before grabbing Flame, stroking her head and peering at her wings. "Interesting..." she muttered. "Interesting."

That night, Swiftstrike tossed and turned on his bed, unable to sleep. He growled in frustration, knowing why he couldn't fall into the land of dreams. It was because he had condemned Flame to torture.

Swiftstrike, from that moment on, would become harsher than ever as he tumbled into a pit of his own guilt. Every time he saw Flame being played with, like a toy, by the queen, his heart would break into two.

Because he knew it was his fault.