Chapter 20 - Beneath Draegon
1276 Words
Elara followed the quieter stretch beyond the town while the sounds of morning slowly faded behind her.
With every step, the territory changed around her. The warmth and movement woven through the streets gradually disappeared until only the sound of her boots against stone remained. Shops gave way to older buildings darkened by time, their narrow windows shuttered against the early light. The scent of fresh bread and coffee no longer reached this far. Cold stone, damp earth, and rust lingered in the air instead.
Nothing blocked the road ahead, and that caught her attention immediately.
There were no gates stretched across the path or guards demanding answers before allowing entry. The place existed openly, tucked into the edge of the territory like something everyone already understood without needing to speak about it.
People knew this place was here.
They simply stayed away from it.
That unsettled her more than any locked entrance could have.
Elara slowed slightly, her gaze moving carefully across the buildings surrounding her. Lanterns still burned low beside the walls despite the growing daylight, and the stone beneath her feet had been swept clean recently enough that dust barely gathered in the cracks.
This part of Draegon territory mattered.
She just hadn’t figured out why yet.
A guard stood farther ahead near a narrow side entrance built into the stone, his attention fixed on another wolf while they spoke quietly between themselves. When one of them finally noticed her approaching, uncertainty crossed his face before he straightened quickly.
Neither of them stopped her.
The brief pause told her enough.
They didn’t know whether they were supposed to question her.
Elara used that uncertainty before either of them could think too hard about it.
Cold air drifted through the partially opened doorway carrying the scent of damp earth and iron.
She stepped inside.
The temperature dropped sharply around her while stone walls closed in on either side. Dim lanterns flickered weakly along the corridor ahead, their light barely reaching the darker corners. Water dripped somewhere deeper inside in uneven taps that echoed softly through the silence.
Then another sound followed.
Metal scraping slowly against stone.
The noise pulled sharply through her chest before her thoughts fully caught up.
Elara slowed instinctively as the corridor widened farther ahead, revealing iron bars built directly into the stone walls on either side. Thick locks sealed each cell shut while silver chains hung coiled beside several doors.
A prison.
The realization settled heavily in her stomach.
The first cells stood empty, though signs of recent use lingered everywhere. Folded blankets rested near the walls beside metal cups and untouched trays. Silver stains marked sections of the stone where prolonged contact had burned into the surface.
Elara moved farther down the corridor.
A cough broke through the silence, rough enough to scrape painfully against the stillness itself.
She turned toward it before she fully realized she was moving.
A man sat against the far wall of one of the cells with his head lowered, dark hair hanging across his face while silver cuffs wrapped tightly around his wrists. Angry burns marked the skin beneath the restraints.
He looked thinner than she remembered. Older too. Like the years had slowly stripped pieces from him one at a time.
Something inside her chest tightened painfully.
The man lifted his head.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then his eyes widened.
“Elara?”
Her name left him unevenly, disbelief breaking through every syllable.
Shock rooted her in place.
Time had carved sharp lines into his face, hollowing him in ways that made something twist hard beneath her ribs.
Still familiar.
Still someone she knew.
“Garrick?”
His breathing faltered before he pushed himself upright too quickly, catching the bars for support.
“You’re alive.”
The words hit her harder than the prison itself.
Movement stirred deeper in the corridor.
Another face appeared behind iron bars.
Then another.
A woman stepped forward gripping the bars tightly while tears filled her eyes the moment she saw Elara standing there.
Recognition spread through the cells faster than words could follow.
Valemere wolves.
Her people.
Alive.
The corridor blurred around the edges while face after face emerged from the shadows to stare back at her. Bruises marked skin stretched too tightly across bone. Silver burns scarred wrists and throats. Some looked worn thin beneath years buried underground while the world above them kept moving without them.
“Elara,” the woman whispered again, her voice breaking halfway through her name.
Elara stepped closer without realizing she had moved until cold iron pressed hard against her fingertips.
“How long have you been here?”
The question barely made it past the tightness in her throat.
Garrick looked away briefly before forcing himself to meet her eyes again.
“Years.”
The answer hollowed something inside her chest.
Years.
While names slowly disappeared back home.
While families mourned wolves who never returned.
While grief settled into places that never fully healed.
They had been here the entire time.
Heat climbed sharply through Elara’s chest until breathing around it became difficult. Anger tangled tightly with grief and guilt, each emotion feeding the next until she could barely separate them anymore.
Another wolf stepped toward the bars farther down the corridor, his expression caught somewhere between hope and fear.
“We heard you died,” he said quietly.
Elara swallowed hard against the burn in her throat.
“So did I.”
Silence spread heavily through the prison afterward while somewhere deeper inside, chains shifted softly against stone.
A sound behind her finally broke through the stillness.
Elara turned sharply.
The guard from outside stood near the corridor entrance now, his face pale beneath the lantern light.
“You shouldn’t be down here.”
She stared at him while something colder settled beneath the anger burning through her chest.
“Open the cells.”
The guard froze immediately.
“Elara—”
“Open them.”
Her voice cracked through the corridor hard enough to silence everyone behind her.
The guard swallowed visibly before shaking his head.
“I can’t.”
Elara stepped toward him slowly, every breath scraping harder against her lungs now.
“Why not?”
The guard glanced toward the cells before answering.
“Alpha Thorne has to approve it.”
The words hit like a blade twisting between her ribs.
Thorne knew.
The realization burned through her instantly. Every warning. Every rule. Every attempt to control where she went and what she touched suddenly carried a different weight.
He had known her people were here.
Known they were alive.
Behind her, the prisoners had gone silent again, watching her with the kind of fragile hope people carried only after disappointment had carved itself too deeply into them.
A woman stood wrapped in a thin blanket near the back of one cell, her eyes swollen from crying. Another wolf looked away entirely, like allowing himself to hope again would hurt too much if it disappeared.
Elara looked back toward Garrick.
Toward the silver biting into his wrists.
Toward the exhaustion carved into faces she had once known.
Something inside her shifted quietly into place.
The anger remained.
So did the grief.
Resolve settled deeper beneath both.
“I’m getting you out,” she said softly.
Fear crossed Garrick’s face immediately.
“Elara, don’t. They won’t allow it.”
Her gaze moved across the bars separating them before shifting toward the guard standing frozen near the entrance.
When she looked back at her people again, her voice came quieter this time, though far steadier.
“They don’t get to keep you.”
- Writer
