Dragon of Darkness

HIS POV The noise outside told me we had won. Not that I ever doubted it — but the laughter, the cheers, the drunken shouting, and the w****s’ shrill sneezes still drove a sharp pain through my chest. Victory meant another day in captivity. Another day in chains. Another day without hope. I drew a slow breath and turned toward the wall. The cell was carved into the belly of a medieval fortress: stone upon stone, old enough to have forgotten the names of the men who laid it. The air never truly warmed, not even in summer. It clung to my skin like a damp cloth. The grey bricks stared back at me, scored with scratches and gouges that still seemed to reek of the fingernails that had carved them. Marks left by hands that had clawed at the world in despair. Some were shallow, some deep. Some were so frantic they looked less like writing and more like wounds. They told a quiet story about everyone who had sat here before me. Their fear. Their rage. Their slow, inevitable walk from human beings into primitive, starving animals who thought only of the next meal. And escape. Always escape. No matter how far madness sank its teeth into them, escape was the one thing that drove them forward. The hunger for freedom. Fresh air and green meadows. The power to choose. Free will and self-determination. Common to all animals. To me. I would get out of here. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t tried before. I had tried many times. I’d tasted freedom for a day or two before the world snapped shut around my throat again. But one day… One day, I would get far enough away that he would never put his hands on me again. Never again. I shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t make my joints scream. The iron chains around my wrists and ankles rasped as I dragged them over the floor. The sound was sharp in the small space — metal on stone, like teeth grinding — and the bite of the cuffs against my skin felt like fire. Even when I didn’t move, I could feel them: their weight, their cold, their certainty. The shackles were fitted well, forged by someone who knew exactly how to restrain a creature like me. My cage sat inside the cell like an insult. Iron bars bolted into stone, thick enough to hold an ox. There was barely room to stand at full height. A narrow cot was fixed to the wall, its straw mattress long since reduced to something that smelled of old sweat and rot. In one corner stood a bucket that no one bothered to empty often enough. And above it all, high in the outer wall, there was a window. Not a proper one — not a mercy — just a narrow slit between stones. Too small for escape, too high to reach in chains, but large enough to mock me. It was my only thread to the world beyond. Through it I could hear the fortress courtyard, the soldiers, the celebration. Through it I could smell smoke and spilled ale, horses and wet earth. Sometimes, if the wind shifted just right, I could even catch a hint of pine from the distant forest, or grass from the fields beyond the walls. Those scents were torture. They reminded me what air was supposed to taste like. My wings ached. It hadn’t been long since I last tried to flee, and every time I did, it was my wings that suffered. In my humanlike form they were a thick black cloak, folding around me the way I wanted, bending and shifting at my command as though made of living shadow. They wrapped me when I slept. They shielded me from the cold stone. They moved like silk when I wished them to. A small advantage, when you had to survive in a hell like this. But now they were torn and ragged, hanging in tatters around my thin body. A punishment for trying to escape. A lesson meant to be felt every time I breathed, every time I shifted my shoulders. Oh. You’re wondering about the wings? Yes — I suppose I forgot to mention that I am a dragon. And yes, I could become a beast the size of a mountain. I could become the kind of thing armies wrote songs about and mothers used to frighten their children into obedience. But when I wanted to — or when I was forced — I looked like a human. A human with scales. Sharp teeth. Catlike eyes. And if I didn’t feel threatened, I could even pass for ordinary. I hadn’t felt safe enough for that in a long time. I’d gotten used to looking like a monster. I must have fallen asleep. Somewhere out there, I heard the lock on my cage turn. The iron mechanism clacked, and the sound carried through the stone like a sentence being read aloud. Even before I opened my eyes, I knew who it was. Hannes. I could smell him before I saw him: sweat trapped beneath armor, the metallic tang of oiled steel, and blood he still hadn’t bothered to wash from beneath his boots. Blood from unarmed peasants. Or already condemned soldiers, executed because mercenaries had been paid to make an example. The always-brave lord. But beneath all of that, I smelled something else. Something I had come to dread more than the blood. Lust! The scent of it was unmistakable. Desire, heavy and sickening, clinging to him like smoke. He wanted me. His voice poured into the cell in a stream of honeyed threats and sweet promises, words that blurred together until they were no more than a buzzing fly against the roar of celebration outside. It irritated me, but I knew I couldn’t avoid what came next. The ritual never changed. He never tired of it. I took a deep breath and turned toward him. He was already hard — already excited — as he methodically removed his outer clothes with the precision of a man preparing for battle. The arrogance of it made my stomach twist. What I wouldn’t give to get out of these damned irons. He crossed the small space in a few steps. Gripped my chains and forced me to stand. I didn’t resist. In my current state, he was stronger. He was big, broad-shouldered, well-fed — and unlike me, there wasn’t a single mark on his perfect, muscled body. I looked down at myself. Normally, I would fold my wings around my torso like a shirt, covering my chest and stomach. But after the whipping, they hung uselessly down my back, like great strips of black, ruined fabric — or like excess skin. Ugly! And worse, they exposed my scars. Old ones... New ones... Some so faded I barely noticed them anymore. Some still raw. And a few… a few I had no memory of earning at all! How was that possible? I wasn’t entirely sure. I could only remember the last five years, and in those five years, I had already been in this cage. In those five years, I had served the King of Fanser — Jasper — and been his loyal weapon in his campaign for world dominion. Or at least, that was what he wanted people to believe. I hated Jasper. But alone, frightened, and perhaps also naïve, I let myself believe he had my family. That I would only see them again if I obeyed. I killed every man, woman, and child who crossed my path in the hope of seeing my own blood again. Of finding the key to my past. It took years before I realized there was no family. I was alone. Betrayed! And, for all my strength, little more than an idiot... But my reputation had already spread — the tale of a murderous, bloodthirsty dragon under Jasper’s control. It had reached every neighboring kingdom. Even if I escaped, I had nowhere to hide. They had won. I don’t know why I ran anyway. Hope? No! I didn’t believe in that kind of nonsense. I had long since accepted that I might never escape Jasper. But I could always make sure he knew I didn’t surrender willingly. I was, after all, an animal first and foremost. Freedom would always have its claws in my soul. Suddenly, I was forced down onto my knees. I hadn’t noticed that Hannes had loosened my trousers. The chains shifted and pressed coldly against my thighs. He yanked the shackles hard enough that for a moment I feared he would tear my arms from their sockets. When he pushed into me, my face was crushed against the stone floor until pain bloomed behind my eyes. The world narrowed to cold rock, iron, and breath I couldn’t draw properly. I knew what would happen... When it was over, warmth ran down my thighs. Hannes groaned, smiling from ear to ear, laughing as though he had been gifted something. He finally released the chains and straightened again. My shoulders throbbed. My face felt like someone had used it as a football. I took another breath and forced myself upright too. But I wasn’t allowed to dress. Hannes pulled me into his arms, and we stood like that for a moment, still as statues in the stale air of the cell. Outside, the noise of victory continued, distant and muffled through the stone — a world celebrating while I remained caged. “Why,” he whispered against my ear, soft as prayer. “Why can’t you love me the way I love you?” I didn’t even understand what he meant. Was this love? To hell with it. I hated his love. It made me sick down to the bone. If this was love, I would rather have nothing of it. I would rather be free. He pulled me down onto the cot, and we lay there until he fell asleep. Only then could I finally breathe again. Slowly, carefully, I opened my clenched fist. A needle — the pin from Hannes’ weapon insignia. Yes! I could smile too. My nights with Hannes didn’t give me love. They didn’t give me pleasure. But they always gave me a key. A small, sharp piece of freedom I could hide in my palm. And that… That I enjoyed...