She was the colour of flame, red and orange and yellow and white, and moved with the grace and fluidness that comes with a millennia of emulating fire. She was firedance embodied, flamesong solidified, and she could kindle the awe of fire in all who saw her, or strike the terror of wildfire in the hearts of those who aroused her wrath. Her red-orange, yellow-white colour shifted and changed with her every movement, or with the simple breath of her viewer. She was grace and beauty, fear and perceived kindness, all in one. All loved and feared her, at the same time that they loathed her for the unthinking obedience that she inspired in them. She was the center of their existence, of all who saw her. She was worshiped by all, a reaction that never ceased to puzzle her. They named her Diablo, a name that had meaning in a long-dead culture, exterminated centuries ago when she and her semi-divine brethren had emerged from their aeons-long sleep to once again walk the earth. The pantheon of elementals had awoken to find the world much changed, the worship of the old Gods no more, the Gods themselves dead and forgotten. They, once the holy Avatars of those Gods, fell upon the world in a rage, destroying the churches and temples, and causing the altars of THEIR Gods to be raised in their stead. They, those semi-divine beasts once called Dragons, discovered that their powers, once able to terrorize the world, were so diminished as to be unrecognizable. The innate power that each of them possessed was intact, and so, without their Gods to keep them in order, they squabbled, each wanting to rule their own corner of the world. They finally settled into an uneasy truce, watching the borders of their territory with a cautious eye.

Diablo chose this place, a land of searing sands and hot sun, where brittle grassland on the fringes of the desert frequently fell to the mercy of crackling wildfires that swept across the plains to die of lack of fuel on the sands. It suited her, this place, although her worshipers were ill suited for such extremes. They seldom lived long, falling to the elements if they managed to escape her frequent flares of temper. There were times when she would sweep down upon them, screaming in pain and sorrow, with a voice like the crackle of flame, laying about her with claws and teeth, moving so fast and shimmering like the sun, that her worshipers hadn't a chance to move from her path of destruction. Suddenly she would stop, raise her equine-shaped head, and roar, screaming her defiance to the air. Then, with a snap of wings, she'd leap into the air, angling her long neck and head downward, breathing fire over the carnage field she had left behind. She'd turn then, and sweep away on wings so huge they blocked out the sun, leaving the furneal pyre burning behind. The survivors would then go about the grim business of cleaning up, with spirits broken and eyes dead. Yet none could leave, for they were one and all held in thrall by Diablo, whether or not she realized or willed it. One, however, wished to end the captivity of himself and his people. So, with a sharp knife and that courageous thought, he set out to find her lair. And to kill his Goddess.

He traveled a long way, following the shadow of the sun, for that was the way that Diablo always traveled, always toward the center of the desert, the center of her domain. The first day, he trudged over the rolling dunes, soon leaving behind his city, then leaving behind all explored territory. Still he traveled, the setting sun shining in his eyes. Once the last orange glow of the apricot sunset had faded behind the endless sand, he rested in the ancient way of his people, scooping out a hole in the still hot sand, and then curling within it to ward off the night chill. The next day he was up and traveling, keeping the sun at his back. Every so often in his lone pilgrimage, he would stop to slice the top off a cactus and drink the water it had stored, stealing its lifeblood. He traveled this way, becoming almost proficient in hunting small desert creatures for food with his slingshot. Thus passed his first week in the desert.

The eighth day was a day of discoveries- he caught sight of the sun sinking in bloody glory behind distant mountains. Such a discovery picked up his spirits-for he no longer had to suffer the scorching sun of the day, and could instead travel by the cool, concealing night, using those dark, brooding shadows as his guide. It was also on the eighth day that he discovered a small oasis just ahead in his path, hidden by a ridge of rock covered with concealing sand. He stayed for two days, precious time wherein he could regain his strength. It was also in this time, with the mountains looming so near, when he asked himself why he continued to travel, when he could stay here. It seemed as if he had been living in this wasteland forever-memories of his life in the city were hazy and few. It bothered him for a short time that he could not remember his name-bothered him until the beauty of the night sky and the scent of the flowing wind soothed the thought from his mind. As soon as it was daylight, he was traveling once more, toward the wind, toward the sunset, thoughts of the city, and his name, left behind at the oasis.

He reached the mountains at the end of the eleventh day. He stood at their foot, staring upward at the sun dying in glorious colours, the feeling that had been growing in the pit of his stomach expanding - a feeling of familiarity that flowed through him. He closed his eyes and swayed unsteadily as he envisioned himself soaring above those mountains, dancing in the colours of that sunset, screaming with joy and freedom- he shook himself, pushing away the grip of such a impossible vision, a vision that something deep within him cried out to be a true memory. Something within him demanded to know his name- something tried to call him back from this place, back to his life in the city- your name will set you free, it told him. He shook his head, for at the same time something called to him, something from those mountains, something that said you belong here. This voice was answered from within, and he began to climb.

The dawn of the thirteenth day since leaving the city found him standing on a precarious peak, an outcropping of rock that leaned over the steep drop that was the mountain. He stood, arms open and eyes closed, feeling the rushing wind swirling around him, calling to him, bringing him faraway scents, and whispering to him with a caressing, soothing voice. He longed to leap into the air, to feel the wind's exultation as it lifted him, carrying him over the desert, over his home. He could almost feel the exulted presence by his side, the presence that had been with him always. She was calling him, calling him to join her....he took a step forward, and was started out of the trance that the wind had inspired- for the step wasn't right, his leg...he shook his head, forcing the thought to retreat. He stepped back from the drop, startled. What am I doing here? He remembered making a fire as darkness fell, then staring upward at the stars, feeling the cooling wind....then, nothing. I must have fallen asleep and sleepwalked, he explained to himself. Taking one last look at the steep drop, he moved back toward the mountain and began climbing.

Late on the fifteenth day, he saw Diablo. She entered her cave just as the sun was setting in desert glory. Diablo was hi-lighted in the sunset's red and orange glow as she glided with deadly grace into a landing, her own glorious colours shifting and changing with every slight movement of her wings. He watched with mixed feelings, conflicting thoughts and emotions churning within. He held up his knife, seemingly so small and useless against such a creature. He suddenly remembered his life in his city, so long ago, it seemed, and so far away. He remembered buying the knife, sharpening it until it shone-and one day, vowing to use it against his Goddess. He stiffened his resolve, sheathed the knife with one smooth movement, and marked the entrance to Diablo's cave well. His stated intentions calmed the emotional morass that swirled within him, calling forth one voice out of the depths. Almost, he could recall his name, almost could remember why it was important- almost...the lone voice from within was stifled by a roar of anger from another source, a roar that spoke of soaring across the sky, with the caressing wind in his face....why was his name so important? He wasn't among humans; he didn't need a name.

He watched her cave for three days, taking no chances were she was concerned. She was still a Goddess - a mortal Goddess, he had to believe, but still a being with powers beyond his comprehension. I can show you her powers, whispered that insistent voice within him, I can show you the world.... Always this voice was accompanied by the sensation of the wind on his face, of the ground rushing by...and of a understanding presence flying by his side. He shook off such fancies, listening instead to the voice that whispered Watch. Wait. Listen. She will give you your chance. Sometimes he would be amused, listening to the conflicting voices, feeling the conflicting sensations of freedom and flight, war and triumph. Eventually, his patience paid off - for on the dawn of his fourth day of waiting, he saw his chance.

Every morning at dawn Diablo left her lair, flying south, or east, and she always returned by sunset. On this day, however, she did not leave her cave- if fact, he saw her, just inside the lair, lying as if asleep, one wing folded at her side, the other spread carelessly across the lair's opening. She had been out late the night before- returning long after the sun had sank behind the darkly hovering mountains. Her head and long serpentine neck were curled back out of sight, farther into the cave. He allowed himself a long moment of hope that his job had been done for him - until he saw the steady rise and fall of her side. He was momentarily disappointed - and at the same time relieved. Before he could more closely examine these conflicting feelings, the voice that had grown stronger since his intent to kill Diablo had strengthened ordered him down and over the cliffs to her lair. Almost before he realized it, he was standing before her cave, knife in hand.

He moved forward, treading softly where none but Diablo had ever tread. He moved right up to her great bulk, her scales shining in the sun like some lost treasure of red gold. He carefully followed the curve of her great back and long neck around to where he knew her head would be lying upon the ground. For the first time in his whole life, the oh-so-insistent voices that had ordered him here were silent. He paused but a moment to consider that, but quickly chased the thought from his mind. He had Diablo to deal with. One quick thrust through the eye, he thought, and my job will be done. He moved to her head, and raised the knife high, aligning it perfectly with Diablo's eyelid. Suddenly that great glittering eye opened, and he knew he was about to die.

"So you have come to kill me," a voice stated into the silence. "I knew that it would come to this. Just tell me one thing: What is your name?" He opened his eyes and gazed at her, trying to determine why she had asked him. "I...don't know." He finally answered, confused. He called for help, for an answer, from those voices that none but he could hear, but received only silence. "You do know," she said, raising her head high above him, "you have two names. Your choice will determine both our fates. Chose. Remember." Suddenly, and with painful clarity, memories came rushing back, crystal clear. Memories of his childhood in the city he had left behind, growing up, from a boy to a young man...memories of his family, left so far behind...and older, far more ancient, conflicting memories of flying, riding upon a storm, lighting flickering just beyond his wingtips...memories of a laughing, exhilarated presence gliding at his side. He was driven to his knees by the strength and clarity of the memories, and kneeling there, head bowed, he finally remembered his names.

"Talim," He said, "And Vertigo." He raised his head and looked directly into Diablo's eyes, and she was startled by the knowledge and inner strength that gazed out at her, even though she expected it. "Vertigo was my mate," she said softly, "in a bygone age. When the old Gods were weakened, we slept- and I awoke to find you gone from my side. I searched for you- and found from one of the old Gods before his final death that you were alive- and that you would return. But it would be your choice whether your return would mean our reunion- or my death. It was never your knife that was meant to harm me- it was only the tool. It was always your choice that was the weapon. You are now two souls living in one body- it is your choice to decide which one gets to dominate- the Dragon, or the Human. One voice you will silence forever, one chapter of your life you must close. I will respect your choice." Her speech made, Diablo laid her head upon the ground within easy reach, closed her eyes, and awaited his choice. He gazed at the knife he held, lifted it high- and Talim/Vertigo silenced one voice forever.