Ignoring his question, I said, "We need to get out of here."

Cryhn laughed incredulously. "You think you can just walk out? You're stuck. I've been here for thirty nine years and that numbers only ever going to go up."

"There has to be something we can do! What about your element? You're advanced enough to use it when they take you outside." I paused then, and, hoping to glean some information from him, asked, "How'd they even capture you anyway?"

"There is no outside. I've been kept inside this same cage for the entire time I've been here. They're not stupid in that sense, and they'll likely place more restrictions on you so you can't use your fire."

Like I'd even be able to use it in perfect conditions anyways.

"As for how I got captured, that's none of your concern."

Now it was my turn to scoff incredulously. "How is it not our concern if a - what? Ascendent? - was captured? We need to know how powerful the dwarves are if we're going to escape."

"Master." At my blank look he explained, "I'm a Master. Nearly an Ascendent. And still, my capture is not important. It won't help at all with determining their strength or how to escape. Just give it up, kid."

After a slight pause he continued, "What's your name, anyway?"

"Rylar."

His eyes widened slightly and I leaned toward him eagerly. "What? Did you know my parents? Or my sister?"

"She wouldn't happen to be named Nemyra, would she?"

The hesitance, maybe even worry, was clear in his voice, but I was to ecstatic to notice.

He knows her! Maybe he can take me to her once this is all over.

"Yeah, that's her name. Have you seen her? Where is she?"

Cryhn's reply was drowned out by the grinding of rusty hinges, alerting Fyrlia and I of the danger. We both slumped to the ground, reenacting our previous ploy, but it was to late.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

We were to slow, they saw us.

The dwarf in the lead laughed as he strode confidently across the room toward us, sending an uneasy sensation quivering through my belly. Three other dwarves maintained their posts by the door while one followed a pace behind the lead dwarf, holding out a torch so that everyone could see clearly.

The pair stopped a tail length away, amusedly observing Fyrlia and I's struggle in untangling ourselves from each other while rising to a standing position. Once that was done, I cocked my head to a slight angle, allowing me to better examine our captors from my single eye.

The lead male was clad in dwarf sized armor. He sported an iron chest plate, greaves, and steel-toed leather boots, while his helm remained clutched against his side. His beard and hair were exceedingly long and tied up in a braid that reached his midpoint on both fronts. The color of both was dirty blonde — quite literally, there were bits of mud caked in more than a few strands — and while his face was etched in lines, his eyebrows furrowed, and his stance radiating authority, his eyes didn't seem exceptionally cruel.

Maybe there's still hope that we can make it out of here unscathed.

"What are you called, small ones?"

His voice was as smooth and crisp as the surface of a polished stone, and not at all what I had expected.

I waited uncertainly for Fyrlia to speak, but when it was clear she wasn't going to respond, I said, "I'm called Rylar and she-" I flicked my tail in Fyrlia's direction, "-is called Fyrlia."

“What’s your element?”

I hesitated for a moment. If I told him the truth he wouldn’t believe me, and it’s not as if he would be able to tell if I lied due to my eye color, so I said, “Fire.”

He nodded as if his guess had just been proven correct, and then asked, “And you, Fyrlia? What’s your element?”

She hesitated even longer than I had, but must have reached the same conclusion about him knowing about the correspondence between eye color and element because she answered truthfully.

“Light.”

Once again, he nodded, and then continued with his interrogation.

“What were you two doing on this mountain?”

As a result of my impaired vision I was unable to see Fyrlia, so I once again waited until it was clear she wasn't going to speak.

“It was an accident. We were just passing overhead and drifted off course. Before we could correct ourselves we crash landed and then, well, you know the rest.”

He let out a hearty guffaw that the rest of his crew mimicked, all mocking us at our expense.

“How does a dragon accidentally run into a mountain?”

I turned my head to display my scarred eye as an answer, and while his entourage of guards all gasped in horror at the grisly sight, the leader remained silent. Unable to see his face in this position, I twisted my head back to its original position to look. Unsurprisingly, considering he had no audible reaction, his expression was just as stoic as when he had first entered the room.

Perhaps recognizing the truth in the story, he dropped that line of questioning but continued his prying with a new inquiry.

“Where were you going?”

“Estryai.”

“And what would two young dragons be wanting from the City of Peace?”

Estryai had been aptly nicknamed the City of Peace because it was the only area where anyone from anywhere could meet on common ground under the protection of a peace treaty. All species had helped in the development of Estryai — and in naming it, each species chose one letter for the name — thus a treaty was signed and the peace upheld by guards from all races who pledge themselves to serve the only the city. Of course, many exploit the treaty as a way to safely conduct illegal or evil businesses, so the dwarf had every right to be suspicious.

“Information.”

He scrunched his eyebrows and eyed us with skepticism. “About…?”

“The dark elves.”

The same frown remained etched on his face and he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could question our motives again I said, “I think they took my sister, and we’re trying to find her.”

“Interesting,” he mused. “Her name doesn’t happen to be Nemyra, does it?”