In our world of fire and ruin, Drakariel, our own dragon of death, soared through his ashen skies. Drakariel was an ancient beast, a towering figure with scales of ebony and eyes aglow with a sinister flame. His wings, burnt like Icarus, darkened the sky to night. He whispered in flames, and in his sentences were the ashes of humanity. His fire took all that I knew and loved. Since then, I have been here in the lake. Training with Master Kagiso for my destiny: to slay Drakariel with my own spear.

My parents: Hope and Themba. Just like their names, mirrors of each other. They were the peace of a dam and the energy of a river flowing simultaneously. The warmth of my mother’s voice, nurturing the minds of young children with the magic of literacy, echoed in the silence of the training grounds. Her nursery rhymes lingered like a comforting melody, a stark contrast to the fiery roars of Drakariel, which had replaced them. My father, a sturdy mechanic with hands that could craft wonders, appeared in the rhythmic dance of my close combat. His skilled hands had not only built the structure that was our home but had also fashioned me a bookshelf. I begged and cried for it to be painted like the ocean. Deep waters soon became my only solace. My father, only wanting to see his daughter smile, painted the bookshelf in colours of the ocean, a testament to his love and the vibrant hues that once filled our lives. The shelves held stories of joy, tales spun by my mother’s voice, and the laughter that resonated within those walls.

Two full moons after my father’s bookshelf sat comfortably in the right corner of my bedroom, it was a warm summer’s day. While my mother tended to her rose bush and my father was about to leave to sow the summer fruit and vegetables from our garden, I was on the stoop, avoiding my chores, stick-fighting my imaginary enemies. The sun blazed along the edges of my shoulder and back of my neck.

“Thando, please put your sunhat back on!” my mother shouted to me, while working tirelessly at her bush. I grunted a reply, suggesting I would after I had defeated my elusive enemies.

“Themba, please tell your daughter that she will burn if she doesn’t put that hat on, and I will throw away the dough that’s rising for the dombolo,” she said, glancing at my father, and at that moment I raced inside for my hat. My father’s laughter boomed through the house, followed by my mother’s light chuckle.

I ripped my hat out of the bundle of laundry that sat atop my bed and studied my room for a second, realising that if my mother walked in, she would certainly call me back from my play to clean up this mess. After a moment, I thought I had better go out quickly so I could play until the scolding came. As I looked outside my window, a cloud passed over my parents outside. I briefly thought that maybe my mother was being dramatic about the hat.

I ran back outside with the same energy with which I had come out. I stood on the stoop, and darkness enveloped our garden. When I raised my eyes to the sky, all I saw was a large beast, with wings that covered the sun. Then there was fire. Flames engulfed my world before I could take a breath. In a second, the world that was a blue summer’s day turned into the warm hug of orange and finally to nothing. Forever, then, was only a second. That was the last time I saw my parents.

I eventually found myself in the refuge of settlements created for safety from Drakariel’s carnage. One day, an old man came and spoke of the end of Drakariel’s rule with much conviction. He spoke of an angel that visited him, telling him to find me. He had, at this point, trained many men but not yet a woman. He found me stick-fighting my imaginary army, as I often did those days. I found the other children were cruel and hard to get along with as they mocked me, suggesting I was too old to still be playing with imaginary friends. Alone, with no skills except stick-fighting, this is how I found myself in the training cohort of Master Kagiso.

Master Kagiso was a small man of immense presence. His eyes were small slits in his face, shrewd and observant. His voice was calm and steady like the rolling hills of his homeland in the mountainous south. And when a slight smile graced his lips, it was a treasure. He was never easy to impress. He was as tough as love needed to be in a time of survival.

Tell us: What was a moment that changed your life forever? And how did you deal with it?