Dragon of Darkness

Chapter 2

HIS POV

I waited until the darkness finally settled in and the screams outside died away.

The fortress quieted the way old stone always does: not into true silence, but into a low, watchful stillness. The wind slid along the battlements overhead and slipped through cracks in the masonry, bringing with it the faint stink of wet straw, horse dung, smoke, and the sour remains of spilled ale. Somewhere beyond the walls, men still laughed in the distance — the last scraps of celebration — but even that began to thin, swallowed by night.

Inside my cell, the air was cold enough to bite.

I moved only when I was certain the sounds had changed: fewer boots, fewer voices, fewer clanking tankards. The night shift had taken over, and the night shift always drank.

Slowly, carefully, I reached for the chains.

The needle I’d stolen did its work with a cruel little ease. A twist. A patient push. Metal gave way with a soft scrape, the kind of sound that could be lost in a sigh. I eased the cuffs open and laid the chains down on the stone floor, letting each link settle without a clink. My wrists were raw. My ankles burned. Even without the iron, I could still feel the ghost of it — the pressure, the cold, the poison.

Behind me, Hannes shifted.

My body froze.

For a heartbeat, I was nothing but listening. Breath held. Muscles tense. Wings aching where they hung in torn tatters along my back.

Hannes sighed in his sleep, rolled onto his side, and mumbled something I didn’t understand.

I stared at him, the lord sprawled on my narrow cot like he belonged there — like the cell had been built for him and not for me. His hair was loose, his face slack with comfort. Even in sleep, there was something smug in the shape of him.

I couldn’t stop the thought from slipping in.

What makes you so happy in your dreams?

I swallowed it down.

This wasn’t the time for hate. Hate was heavy. Hate made you careless.

I grabbed his shirt and my own trousers.

The shirt was rough linen, stiff with sweat and smoke, and when I brought it toward my wings it felt like dragging sandpaper across open flesh. I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. The pain flared hot and bright behind my eyes.

But this was my chance.

And if I had to crawl barefoot through the fires of hell, I would do whatever it took to get away.

I dressed as quietly as I could. The cloth clung to my skin. Every movement pulled at wounds that weren’t ready to be touched. Still, I forced myself to move. Slow. Controlled. Silent.

Then I went to the lock.

The needle slid in. A turn, a tiny click, and the mechanism surrendered.

The door of my cage opened.

For a moment, I simply stood there, half-expecting the world to lash out and drag me back. But nothing happened. The cell remained what it had always been: cold stone, stale air, iron bars.

I stepped out.

And then, with a strange satisfaction that tasted almost like joy, I locked it behind me.

Now it was Hannes in the cage.

And I was free.

I only prayed this would be the last time I ever had to see his ugly face.

I turned toward the door—

And stopped...

On a small shelf near the wall — left there by some careless guard, or perhaps as a cruel joke — lay two pieces of flint. My eyes fixed on them as if they were treasure. I could breathe fire from my lungs. I could burn men to ash if I had the strength.

But fire from outside could heal me!

Fire from outside could crawl into my wounds, into my blood, and burn the iron’s poison out. It could mend torn flesh. It could restore what had been taken. With fire, I could heal myself in minutes. And if I healed enough…

Maybe I could shift!

Maybe I could become what I truly was...

As a dragon, I could fly beyond the sea. Beyond the kingdoms that knew my name. Beyond Jasper’s reach. To lands where no one had ever heard of me — or my kind.

I didn’t hesitate.

I grabbed the flint.

And then my escape truly began...

*

The corridor beyond my cell was narrow, built of the same ancient stone as the fortress itself. Moisture slicked the walls. Torches guttered in iron brackets, their flames weak and trembling. The air smelled of smoke, rust, and old damp.

My bare feet made no sound on the stone.

That alone felt unnatural.

For so long, every movement I made had been accompanied by the song of chains.

Now I was only breath and shadow.

I moved quickly, but not blindly. I knew this place in pieces — the path to the yard, the stairwell, the turn where the guards liked to linger and gamble, the door that led toward the kitchens.

A fortress like this was a living thing. It had habits. It had rhythms.

And tonight, its rhythm was drunken.

Most of the guards were asleep.

The ones who weren’t…

The first one I saw was slumped on a stool near an archway, his helmet tilted back, his chin resting on his chest. A half-empty mug sat at his elbow. His spear leaned against the wall beside him.

I froze in the darkness, watching.

His mouth hung open. He snored softly.

Then, as if the world wanted to test me, he jerked awake.

His eyes blinked. He lifted his head, swayed, and squinted down the corridor.

I pressed myself into the shadow of a pillar, holding my breath. The torn edges of my wings brushed the stone behind me. Pain flared, but I didn’t move.

The guard blinked again, staring into the dim. For a moment, his gaze seemed to pass right over me. Then he frowned, as if trying to decide whether the shape he saw was real or the work of ale. He stood, his boots scraped on the floor...

“Oi?” he muttered, voice thick. “Who’s there?”

My heart hammered. Not with fear — with fury. With the old, animal urge to strike first and strike hard. But I wasn’t strong enough for a fight.

Not yet!

I needed silence.

I needed the dark...

The guard took one step, then another, wobbling slightly. His hand groped for the spear but missed it, and he cursed under his breath. He laughed to himself, as if the world was a joke and he was in on it.

I moved.

One moment I was pressed against the stone, the next I was behind him. My hand clamped over his mouth. My other arm locked around his throat. I felt his surprise more than I heard it — the sudden stiffening, the sharp intake of breath that never became a sound. He thrashed, but his strength was softened by drink. I leaned close to his ear.

“Sleep,” I whispered.

Then I tightened my grip!

His struggle faltered. His boots scraped once, twice, then went still. I lowered him to the ground as gently as I could, laying him down like a child. He would wake later with a headache and a story no one would believe. I took his cloak. It stank of sweat and ale, but it was better than nothing.

And I kept moving!

I don’t know which fort we were in, but it was far smaller than Jasper’s castle.

Jasper’s stronghold had been a monster of stone — towers like spears, walls like cliffs, gates thick enough to hold back a giant. This place was a lesser thing: a border fort, perhaps, or a lord’s keep built to watch a road and collect taxes. Its walls were still tall, still cruel, but they didn’t stretch into the sky the way Jasper’s did.

The fort sat above a town like a clenched fist.

Below, the town huddled against the outer wall as if it wanted to crawl into the stone for warmth. Crooked houses leaned into one another. Chimneys coughed smoke. The streets were narrow, slick with mud and refuse. The kind of place where men drank hard because the world gave them little else.

I slipped down from the fortress through a service passage and into the town.

The night was cold and thick. Clouds covered the moon. The only light came from a few lanterns swinging above tavern doors and the red glow of hearths behind shuttered windows.

The town wasn’t anything to cheer about, which was only an advantage for me.

A couple of drunken thugs lurched down an alley, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, singing something obscene. A few homeless wretches slept in doorways, wrapped in rags. A single w***e stood beneath an awning, shivering, watching the street with tired eyes.

Nothing to fear.

And yet…

In my current state, I was impossible to hide.

My skin was grey in the dim light. My eyes — cat-green — caught what little glow there was and reflected it back. And the horns… the horns were the worst. Even half-hidden, they gave me away. I stood out like a fox among hens.

I sighed, irritated.

There was only one thing I could do...

I found a quiet alley between two leaning buildings, where the wind couldn’t reach, and the smell of stale piss masked everything else. I pulled the shirt off again and stood in the dark, trembling. With what strength I had managed to gather, I began folding my wings.

It was not like moving arms!

It was like forcing broken bones into place!

I clenched my teeth. Pain shot through my body. My heart hammered as if it meant to burst out of my chest. Tears pressed hot behind my eyes, uninvited and unwanted. I gasped as the wings slowly drew in around me, folding and curling until they became what they were meant to be in this form: a cloak.

The hood rose, shadowing my face, making my grey skin less visible.

With one last grunt and one final, agonizing move---

There!

It was done...

I sucked in air in sharp, shaking breaths. My hair stood on end. My whole body trembled with pain. Sweat ran down my face despite the cold. The taste of blood in my mouth told me I’d bitten down so hard my lips were bleeding.

So far, so good.

I got back on my feet and put the shirt on again. The cloak still showed my wounds as gaping holes, ragged tears where the “fabric” was too damaged to hide itself properly. But what else would anyone expect from a traveler? A beggar? A soldier who’d lost his unit?

I didn’t look safe...

But I looked human enough.

I took off running again and left the town behind me. Outside the walls, the world opened up before me. The road was little more than packed earth, cut through fields and low hills. Somewhere to my left, a river moved through the darkness — a constant whisper of water over stone. The land smelled of wet soil and winter grass. The wind carried the faint scent of pine and distant smoke.

I ran toward the forest.

I followed the river when I found it, letting its sound guide me like a thread through the night. I ran for most of the darkness, not daring to stop. Every time I slowed, I imagined I heard hooves behind me. Every time the wind changed, I thought I smelled men.

I didn’t know if Jasper had already been told.

I didn’t know if Hannes would wake soon.

I didn’t know if the fort would raise an alarm before dawn.

All I knew was that if I stopped, the world would catch me.

And if the world caught me, he would put iron on me again...

I ran until my lungs felt like they were swelling inside my chest, until my legs burned, until my vision blurred at the edges. I rested for a few hours just after dawn, hidden beneath a tangle of dead brush where the forest began to thicken. The trees stood like dark sentries, their bare branches clawing at the sky.

Then I ran again.

All day...

The forest swallowed me the deeper I went. The ground became uneven. Roots snaked across the path. Moss muffled my steps. The air changed, cooler and cleaner, smelling of pine resin and damp leaves.

And yet even here, freedom wasn’t gentle.

It was sharp.

It demanded everything!

I didn’t stop until evening, when I finally saw a few houses on the horizon. By then, I was close to collapsing from exhaustion, and as a small bonus, snow had begun to fall. At first it was only a few flakes, drifting lazily. Then it thickened, turning the air into a cold veil. It clung to my hair. Melted against my skin. My cloak grew heavy with damp.

My heart hammered and my lungs felt like swollen balloons, so it hurt to breathe. I had only stopped a couple of times to drink, and I hadn’t eaten anything all day.

My body wanted to fall.

But my will refused.

I forced my tired legs toward the houses. Luck — or whatever passed for luck in my life — guided me to a small shed at the edge of the settlement. The kind farmers used for animals. The smell hit me before I even opened the door: hay, manure, warm breath.

Inside, a cow stood, watching me. Her eyes were wide and dark. She shifted nervously, hooves scraping in the straw. Even though hunger twisted in my gut, I didn’t have the strength to kill her.

Not now.

Not like this...

Still, she began to move restlessly, bellowing as if wounded.

She could probably sense my true shape.

Hmm...

Once a predator, always a predator, I suppose.

“Lucky for you,” I whispered in my native tongue, stroking her warm neck to keep her quiet so she wouldn’t wake the entire neighborhood. “I’m too tired to eat you.”

Even though I didn’t speak the same language as humans, the animal seemed to understand my intent. She didn’t relax completely, but she stopped bellowing. Her breathing slowed. She watched me with the wary patience of prey that had decided to gamble.

I didn’t want trouble.

I only wanted shelter.

I took a deep breath and sat down in a corner by myself, back against the wooden wall.

Only then did I finally pull out the flint stones. My hands shook - whether from cold, exhaustion, or the aftertaste of the cell, I didn’t know. I struck them together, watching as sparks jumped. I struck again, and again, until one caught and kissed the dry hay. Flame bloomed. Small at first, then eager. It ate through the straw with soft crackling sounds.

I didn’t need more than that.

The fire was not a thing I begged...

It was a thing I claimed.

I reached into it with something deeper than hands — with the ancient part of me that remembered what I was — and the flame responded. It curled toward me like a living creature, wrapping around my body without burning my skin.

Warmth poured into my wounds.

Into my blood...

It drove the poison of the iron out, little by little, like smoke being forced from a room.

The relief was so sharp I nearly sobbed.

A sound made me look up.

The cow was staring at me with enormous, astonished eyes.

“What?” I said, unable to stop myself from teasing her when I saw that expression. “Never seen a dragon before?”

I smiled to myself--- until the painful truth hit me.

How could she have seen a dragon before?

I hadn’t...

Aside from myself, I hadn’t come across another dragon in five years. Which could only mean two things:

Either I was the last of my kind...

Or no one wanted to be found by me!

The fire crackled softly. Outside, snow whispered against the roof. The cow’s breath steamed in the dim light. I sank down into the hay until it covered me completely, pulling the warmth around me like a blanket. And with the certainty that I would probably always be alone, I fell asleep...