Caffeine and Magix

Based off of this tweet (X) about a witch who decides she’d make a better chosen one than the 15 year old kid who never asked for this.

————–

“I’ve gathered you here today,” the King says, “to give you an important mission. Perhaps the most important mission I will ever assign.”

Tris feels her lip curl at the grave set of his jaw. She can’t bring herself to kneel like the other witches are, can’t bring herself to bow her head, can’t bring herself to feel honored by her invitation to the castle. 

Her village is still burning, a day’s ride to the east. Dragon fire. Can’t be put out. The King’s condolences will warm the survivors as they search for a place to lay their dead.

“The Ancient Dragon shows no sign of going back to sleep,” the King says. He beckons the Court Magician forward. “Lord Monkswood has divined the answer.”

“There is a child,” Lord Monkswood says, chest swelling with importance. He’s not from a witch clan and yet he’s the one standing beside the king, above them all. He holds out a crystal ball. “A child of fifteen summers who has been blessed with divine power. He is the one who will save us. He is the one who can slay the Ancient Dragon for good.”

Divination is small magic, but the situation is dire. Nobody else has been able to divine anything about the Ancient Dragon’s weaknesses. The witches in front of Tris whisper to each other and there’s hope in the words. His words will go down as a Prophecy with how quickly they all are to believe him.

Tris’ nails dig into her cloak.

“I am asking you to use your power to find the Chosen One,” the King says. The Court Magician bows his head, stepping back as the King reclaims their attention. “Find him and bring him here so we can support him in battle.”

“Of course,” the head of the Arrowroot clan says. Her clan lives a mere five minutes from the palace. She does not stink of dragon’s fire. “You have my clan’s full support.”

“We are the best trackers in the kingdom,” the heir to the Bloodmoon clan says. He raises his chin, red aura pulsing around him. “We shall not fail you, your majesty.”

“The Chosen One will need guidance,” the High Priestess of the Helios clan says. She bows her head. “It would be our privilege to help him on his journey.”

The other clans murmur their agreement, their gratitude at being allowed to assist the grand defeat of the Ancient Dragon. They promise to find this boy, to help him, to guide him into the path of a calamity that burned her clan to the ground.

A child.

Tris’ magic lashes against the suppression headpiece her clan favors (favored). She’s different since she arrived too late to the screams of her people. Her magic screams like a beast under her skin, churning the air around her  and rattling the light fixtures on the wall behind her.

Tris has their attention now without having said a word. Even the King is looking at her, the King who did not send troops to her people’s aid, did not send healers, did not send help. 

“You rely on a child,” Tris says. The air pulses around her and she knows her headpiece must be struggling to keep her family’s wild magics contained. “A child.”

“He is not a normal child,” the Court Magician asserts, eyes shifting to the king and then back to glare at her. “He is blessed.”

Tris’ lip curls. She should not speak. Her family coaches silence and temperance. She says, “The children of my clan carried nature’s blessings when the dragon burned them.” She steps away from the wall, makes eye contact with each witch who is brave enough to return her hardened stare. “We are mature witches with the power of the mother to call on. Do you doubt her? Do you turn from her in favor of divination?”

There is tittering at that. Divination is small magics and this is already being considered a Prophecy. Some witches look away. Others stare stonily back.

“Not all of us are wild witches,” Matron Arrowroot says. “The earth does not answer our call as easily as it answers yours.”

“That is an excuse,” Tris says and laughs. “Too afraid to send your own children to war, Matron?”

Arrowroot bristles, the moon on her forehead flashing. “Watch your tongue, Tris Corona.”

“Or what?” Tris asks. “You’ll send your infant grandson to my door?”

The King says, “I can not force you to accept the task I have laid out.” His tone tells Tris that he is only barely refraining from having her banished. “I ask you not to mock those brave enough to face the Dragon, Witch Corona.”

“Face the dragon?” Tris makes a point of looking around the room. “I don’t see anyone here volunteering to face the dragon, your majesty. I just see cowards.”

Matron Arrowroot swells with rage. “Witch Corona, you are out of line.”

“Then Challenge me,” Tris shoots back. She spreads her arms wide. “Anyone here, Challenge me if I lie. Show me that it is not cowardice to sacrifice another mother’s child.”

Dark whispers wind through the room. Tris smiles bitterly when nobody rises to her bait. None of the clans came forward to help her village either.

“Such bravery, your Majesty,” Tris says and sweeps a mocking bow. “I’ll excuse myself.”

“Your grief only allows you so much mercy,” the King says. He watches her back. “Remember that.”

“I will,” Tris says. She pauses at the door and looks back at them. “I’ll ponder it as I kill the Dragon myself.”

She sweeps out on another roar of voices, exclamations of disbelief and sneers of contempt. 

———————-

Mateo Arrowroot catches up to her two days after Tris sets out on her journey. She senses him coming and turns to meet him around  the next bend. He draws his horse to a stop when he sees her waiting for him.

He speaks first. “You’re going after the Ancient One.”

She considers him. The eldest of the Arrowroot clan, the next in line to be Patron. He is defying his mother by being here, she can see it in the line of his shoulder and the way he’s squared his jaw. Arrowroot are stubborn. “News travels quickly.”

“Not as fast as you,” he says. He eyes her bare feet on the ground before meeting her eyes again. “Will you allow me to fight by your side?”

“I won’t wait for the Chosen One,” Tris warns. If that’s his goal, to convince her to support the king’s decision, she needs to be clear now.

“I won’t wait either,” Mateo says. He offers her a hand and his hair falls away from his forehead, revealing the trademark moon of his clan. It is alight with the magic even in daytime. “I fight my own battles.”

She grabs his forearm and allows him to pull her up in front of him. His magic washes over her, turning her weight featherlight so it does not strain the horse. She smiles grimly. “Good.”

They continue on.

——————

The next morning brings two surprises, one right after another. Tris is asking the earth to smother the fire, Mateo saddling the horse, when the first comes.

Hedda Helios materializes in the middle of their campsite just as the last bit of sun comes up over the horizon.

Tris can’t do anything but stare. “You’re too young to sun-walk.” It’s well known that the Helios clan’s greatest magic is the ability to travel along the sun’s rays. The elders use it in times of great need while the young ones spend years trying to master the same skill.

Hedda is barely 20, two decades too soon to be mastering her family’s magics.

Hedda lifts her chin. “Not that young. I can sun-walk, can’t I?”

“That seems like a circular argument,” Mateo says. He crosses his arms. “You’re definitely too young to be here, Hedda, sun-walking or no.”

“I’m older than 15,” Hedda snaps. She looks at Tris. “I couldn’t speak out of turn during the King’s audience. You were right. This is on us, not some child.”

Tris wants to tell her to go home. Hedda is barely not a child herself. She hesitates. “Can you fight?”

Hedda’s eyes light like solar flares. “Yes.”

“Then welcome,” Tris says.

“Hold up,” Mateo protests. “Let’s talk about this.”

Tris shrugs. “I don’t think just the two of us will be enough to fight the dragon.”

“You were going to fight it by yourself!”

“I do a lot of reckless things,” Tris dismisses. She feels a pang of grief at repeating her mother’s words. Tris, you’re too reckless. “The more fighters, the better.”

“Oh,” a voice says from behind Mateo. “In that case, I can fight too!”

Mateo whirls, silver magic surging to his raised fists. “Who’s there?”

Brendan Bloodmoon emerges from the woods, face streaked with camouflaging oils. “Yo.”

Mateo gapes. “Did you follow me?”

“Tracked you,” Brendan says, tapping his nose. He grins. “Pretty good, huh? You nearly caught me when the moon came up. How far does your magical awareness go? Like half a mile, right?”

“I veto this one,” Mateo tells Tris. “Bloodmoons really are reckless.”

“True,” Brendan agrees. He examines his nails. “Reckless like little witches who sneak out of their bedroom to go find a dragon.”

Tris looks at Mateo who definitely snuck out to find a dragon with her. “He’s got a point.”

“I know.” Mateo stalks back over to his horse. “You’d better have ridden, Brendan. I’m not letting you ride Daisy.”

“I don’t even want to go near that mule,” Brendan says and has to dodge back into the trees when Daisy takes exception.

——————-

“Oh dear,” Hedda says. She pulls a staff from the bottomless bag at her waist. “Uh, we might not have thought this through.”

The Ancient Dragon hasn’t spotted them yet. He’s lurking outside of the mountain Hedda had seen him resting in, snuffling at the burnt trees for the last scraps of the cow he just ate. He is definitely not asleep like Hedda had assured he would be.

Mateo backs their group up, one arm out to keep Brendan behind him. “You think?” He glances at Tris. “You have any ideas?”

Tris is staring at the dragon. She wasn’t in the village when it attacked and only saw its shadow when her desperate sprint to answer her clan’s calls. This monster is the last thing so many of her family saw. Did it loom over them, easily twenty feet taller than their tallest house? Were they forced to watch as each needle-like fang came closer and closer? Or was the last thing they saw  a flash of gold scales as it rained fire down upon them?

“Tris?” Mateo asks.

Tris reaches up, rips her magic suppressor off her head, uncaring of the hair that comes with it, and drops it to the ground. Magic so thick it looks black ripples down her arms and snakes into the earth. The ground rumbles.

Brendan grabs Mateo and Hedda by the collars of their shirts, yanking them back as the earth surges and bucks beneath them. “Too close! Too close, Tris–”

Tris digs her feet into the ground, welcoming the flood of magic that the earth gifts to her, and lunges. The power boosts her, throwing her hundreds of feet in a single stride, and the dragon rears in surprise as it senses her.

“Fuck you,” she says and slams her magic-covered fist straight between its nostrils before it can react.

The dragon’s head snaps back, but it doesn’t go down. It’s an ancient being, rooted to the Earth against her will in ways that even Tris’ brand of wild magic can’t understand. Its eyes shine red, lips curling to expose its awful teeth. Light builds in its mouth, flickering and dancing.

Tris lands at its feet, eyes locked on the building glow and heat.  Fire. Dragon’s fire burns for seven days and seven nights. She can’t let it strike, but she’s already on the ground, so far below it that she’ll need to call on the earth again to make the leap.

Hedda falls from the sunlight, staff held like a club in her hands, and smashes the dragon right between the eyes. Tris dives to the side, out from under the dragon’s body as it falls, and towards where Hedda is now tumbling to the ground. She catches the younger woman and springs to the side, sensing the dragon’s swipe before it comes.

The dragon roars when its long, razor sharp claws miss and struggles to its feet.

“Distract it,” Hedda demands, twisting out of Tris’ grip only a moment after they just miss being sliced. “I’ve got a spell.”

Tris grunts and launches herself back in the air. 

Mateo and Brendan finally arrive as Tris opens a slice of earth right under the dragon’s hind feet. She presses her advantage, driving a branch she’s taken from a dying tree towards its eye. Like every single one of her attacks, the branch doesn’t so much as piece an inch into the dragon’s scales, instead skittering off its brow ridge and sending her plummeting down.

Mateo slings silver magic at her, catching her just before she hits the ground. He’s got one of his clan’s blessed swords in his hand. “You could have waited, you know.”

“Hedda’s preparing a spell,” Tris says. She wipes sweat from her forehead and pants for breath. “I can’t find a weak spot.”

The dragon’s head snakes towards them, vicious snarl rattling them to their bones. Mateo shoves Tris out of its way and slashes at one of its teeth. He shouts when the dragon slams its head into him, sending him flying back into a tree.

Brendan slides into the dragon’s line of sight as it goes to swallow Mateo whole. “No!” He fires three arrows at once, all aiming at the roof of the dragon’s mouth.

The dragon shrieks, stumbling back and pawing at its snout. Spurts of steam slip between its teeth and acidic blood oozes down its jaw.

“Are you okay?”  Brendan asks Mateo. He helps the other man sit up and swears. “I’ve only got basic healing–”

“I’m fine,” Mateo gasps. He staggers to his feet. “The mouth. The arrows hit.”

Tris tucks her chin. “It can bleed.” The earth throws her forward. She hears the other two shout and rush after her.

———————–

Tris doesn’t know how long they fight the dragon. The battle comes to her in bits and pieces. Flashes of golden scales finally, finally chipping under her and Mateo’s combined attacks. The black fletching of Brendan’s arrows as they flew past her ear, again and again and again. The scent of magic, so thick she nearly chokes on it, as the sun slides higher and higher into the sky.

Her throat is raw from screaming. She’s been hit, they all have. Slashes from talons and horns that they couldn’t quite avoid. The dragon, in comparison, is only scratched. It shows no sign of growing tired, no indication of pain or exhaustion.

“We can’t keep this up,” Brendan says. His legs give out for a moment and he barely catches himself by digging his longbow into the ground.

“Speak for yourself,” Mateo says, but the point of his sword wavers.

Tris spits blood. She feels half feral, the pounding of the earth heavy in her head. “Hedda’s preparing a spell.”

The dragon’s throat begins to glow from within again. So far they’ve managed to keep it from breathing fire, but each time their reaction is a little bit slower. Always a little bit slower.

Tris is the first to shoot forward, black magic sputtering around her fists. Her core is as scraped raw as her throat and she grits her teeth. Just a little more, just a little–

Her fist connects with the dragon’s top row of fangs just as fire appears in the back of its throat. She screams as the heat burns her, blisters her skin in a second, but she made it. The fire flickers and dies, the dragon’s head snapping back from the force of the blow.

Mateo drags her out from underneath the dragon’s furious stomping. She can barely stand after that punch, her power a low burn inside of her. 

Brendan chucks his quiver to the ground. “I’m out.”

Tris collapses when Mateo does, sucking air into her lungs. The dragon didn’t manage to breathe fire, but she’s burned. Badly. “It can’t end like this. My family–” she chokes off, gritting her teeth against the pain.

Mateo drags himself to his feet. There’s death in his eyes. “I won’t let it.” He holds out his sword towards the dragon. “My family doesn’t have grand magic like your clans.” The moon on his forehead changes color, turns as dark as the night against his skin. “There’s only one texhnique we have. Life force magic.”

“No!” Brendan tries to take a step towards Mateo and falls to one knee. He reaches to grab Mateo’s shirt. “No, you can’t, life force magic will kill you–”

“It’s the only way,” Mateo snaps. He jerks out of Brendan’s hold and wipes blood from his lips. “The dragon can’t be allowed to live–”

A pillar of light smashes down from the above, so bright that Tris cries out as her eyes burn. The other two scream, but Tris can hardly think to help them around the all encompassing light. She feels like she’s going to be destroyed,  every cell of her being burned away by the searing ray that–

Tris blinks. She looks at her hands, surprised to be able to see her hands. She thought–she thought she was dead. She thought they were all dead. “What?” Her head whips up when she remembers the dragon. She stares. “What?”

“Uh,” Mateo says. “Am I imagining things?” She’s glad he’s seeing it too.

There’s a crater where the dragon once was, earth melted and smoothed into obsidian. Bits of charcoal-dark bone sticking up from the ground is the only evidence that there was a dragon there at all.

Hedda sways, completely white on the other side of the obsidian crater. “Oh cool,” she croaks. “It worked.” And then she passes out.

“Did anyone know she could do that?” Brendan demands. His voice is awfully weak.

Tris’ vision begins to tunnel. “Nope.” And then she passes out too.

————————-

The Chosen One trembles in front of the King. He is surrounded by people so powerful that his parents stood no chance of stopping them when they knocked on his door. Kings and Magicians and Witches. He’s not a witch. He doesn’t have any special talents  and yet they’re telling him–

“You will save us all,” the King says. He bows his head to him. Him. A 15-year-old. The King looks at him with kind eyes. “You will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”

Send me home, he wants to say. If you must reward me, send me home. He doesn’t understand anything about the power they say he has. He’s maybe got a green thumb, but he doesn’t understand how that will help him defeat a dragon.  “Th-there’s been some mistake,” he stutters. He’d been yelling that first but here, in front of the King, he can barely find his voice. “I can’t be the Chosen One. I-I’m a farmer.”

“You’re Blessed,” the kindly older man who found him says. He wears the crest of the Bloodmoon Clan on his breast. “It is destined.”

“You must be looking for a witch,” the Chosen One says. “They–we hear stories about witches in my town. You’re powerful.”

“But not blessed,” the Court Magician says sadly. The Chosen One doesn’t like the Court Magician very much at all.

“Without you, the kingdom will fall,” the King says. “I know we ask for much, young hero. I would not if there were any other way–”

The throne room’s doors burst open.

Four people stagger into the room. They’re covered in blood, dirt and ash. One of them looks like they’ve been hit by a lightning bolt with how her hair sticks up. The other woman, the one most drenched in blood steps forward. “So you went for the kid after all.”

“Witch Tris,” the Court Magician spits. “Failed your little dragon hunt, did you? The Chosen one is the only one who can–”

Witch Tris literally laughs in his face. “Your little divination was wrong, Monkswood. We killed the Ancient Dragon.”

Silence rings through the throne room. The Chosen one stares, hardly daring to believe it.

“Well,” the woman with her hair sticking up says. “Technically, I killed it.”

“Hedda,” Brendan Bloodmoon says. The Chosen One barely recognizes him under all the soot. “Hedda, I was in its mouth. Twice.”

“It was a group effort,” Hedda amends.

“Mateo,” Matron Arrowroot says. Her face is ghostly pale. “You–you fought the Ancient dragon?”

“And won,” Mateo confirms. He stares at his mother for a moment and then shakes his head. “We need to talk, Matron.”

Matron Arrowroot’s shoulders slump. “I-I suppose we do.”

Tris points at the king. “My home’s burning, my family’s dead, and we killed the dragon like I said we would. I’m using the Royal Suites to clean up.”

The King flounders. “There’s a royal guest suite–”

“No,” Tris says. She ushers the three of them out the door. “Your rooms.” After a moment of consideration, she turns on her heel and grabs the Chosen One by the shoulder. “I’m taking him too. You lot can’t be trusted with children.”

“Oh thank god,” the Chosen One blurts and then looks guiltily at the the elder Bloodmoon. 

“Completely reasonable reaction,” Tris says and steers him out of the room.